Finding Light

"Sorrow drips into you heart through a pinhole,
like a faucet that leaks, and there is comfort in the sound.
But while you debate half empty or half full,
It slowly rises. Your love is gonna drown."

"This is my daughter." Lisea placed the school photo down on the bar and slid it forward.

Kevin, the bartender, picked up the picture and examined it closely. "She's beautiful," he concluded, holding the photo up beside Lisea's face to compare the two before handing it back to her.

Lisea was sitting at the same Manhattan bar she had a few days before. She was the only one at the bar and began to make friends with the bartender as she sipped her scotch.

Kevin was one of those gay men that you wouldn't assume to be gay, unless they told you. He was a well built 35 year old and was actually quite attractive, with shaggy dirty blonde hair; he looked a lot like Steven from the Fuse Network. He opened the bar after getting rejected from NBC studios where he hoped of becoming a writer, but now he 'preferred to help the citizens of New York get trashed'.

"She is," Lisea replied as she slipped the photo back into her wallet. "She's with her father out in California, now, though." She frowned a bit and took another sip of her drink.

"Ah," Kevin said with a nod. "You miss her?"

"God, yes it's like everything started falling apart when she left."

"Well," Kevin threw his rag on the bar and began cleaning, "I guess that's what happens when you miss someone." He smiled at her and then nodded toward her scotch glass. "But don't go thinking that's going to solve your problems."

"I don't!" Lisea said defensively, tipping the glass and watching the brown liquid swirl around the glass.

"I've just seen too many people throw their lives away here." Kevin looked toward the doorway and shook his head. "I don't want that to happen to you."

"It won't," Lisea said quietly

"That's what they all say."

"Who were you talking to?" Tré asked as he walked into the kitchen, just as Ramona hung up the phone.

"Charlotte," she replied, spinning around once in the kitchen stool before resting her head on her arms. Tré passed the name off as a friend as he poured himself a cup of coffee. It was traditional in the Cool household to brew a pot of coffee after dinner, that way Tré could stay up late doing God knows what.
"Where's Eliot?" Ramona asked her father when he sat down beside her.

"In the shower," he answered, obviously trying to hide the smirk on his face. He took a sip of his coffee.

Ramona didn't even want to know. "Dad," she sighed, turning to the punk rocker "Why don't you just ask her?"

"Ask her what?" he replied, pretending like he didn't know what she was saying.

Ramona rolled her eyes. "Ask her to marry you, Dad. You obviously want to."

The drummer looked a little sheepish. "Is it that obvious?" he asked.

"Kind of," the red-head smiled. "Well to me, at least. I don't think El suspects anything."

"Good." Tré took another sip of his coffee and looked down at the table.

Both father and daughter looked up toward the ceiling when they heard the shower turn off and footsteps in the master bedroom upstairs.

"What are you so afraid of?" Ramona asked, swiveling her stool toward her father.

"Nothing," Tré said quietly, but then looked in his daughters blue eyes, which were so similar to his, it was frightening; and the words began to pour out. "It's just, I have two failed marriages and one failed engagement." He shook his head "I'm bad luck with commitment, I should know that by now. So what makes this relationship any different?"

Ramona shrugged simply. "Eliot's different."

Tré opened his mouth to say something but, just chuckled in response "You are just like your mother, you know that?"

Ramona gave him a sad smile and Tré felt that familiar pang of guilt in his gut. He got up and wrapped his arms around his daughter, kissing the top of her head before he began tickling her neck with the whiskers of his chin, something he used to do when she was little.
Ramona laughed and tried to squirm away. Tré began laughing, but still didn't let up.

"Are you high or something?" Ramona said in between fits of laughter.

Tré pulled away a little bit and pretended to look shocked. "Excuse me? I haven't smoked weed in like, a year!"

"Good for you!" Ramona pretended to cheer.

Tré pouted and placed his head on his daughter's shoulder, pulling her in for another hug as Eliot appeared at the doorway.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything," she said as she rubbed a towel through her dark hair. She smiled at the pair as she opened the fridge and pulled out a pint of Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream.

"No, we were just talking about weed," Ramona smirked as her father let go of her and pranced over toward Eliot.

"Ah, I see." Eliot quirked an eyebrow at Tré as he came up behind her; he wrapped his arms around her waist, causing her to lose her breath a bit. Tré kissed her neck for a minute and put his head on her shoulder, just like he had done with Ramona moments before.
He looked at his daughter and winked, mouthing to her, "Not a word."

Ramona winked back, smiling.

**

"Hey," Ramona opened the door to Joey's bedroom and slipped inside. "How are ya feelin'?"

Joey sat up and wiped his nose. "Like shit," he said as she sat down as the foot of his bed.

Ramona laughed, "Jakob told me you were puking everywhere the other night, very nice. You know, it's only the 3rd week of school Joe, I thought you would have been able to stick it out a little longer."

Joey ignored her comment. "What did I miss?" he asked, moving various pillows so she could sit on the bed more.

"Not much," she answered. "Dane Martin and Chris Lowe got into a fight. Not like the whole world didn't see that coming, stupid idiots fighting over a girl." She rolled her eyes.

"Well they had good reasoning. Have you ever seen Krista Colombo?"

Ramona shot him a look. "She's a skank," she said. "I could tell right away."

"So?" Joey mumbled, and Ramona hit him with a pillow. "Jesus! I've got the flu and you're hitting me. What the hell?"

"You're such a guy," she explained as if that was enough reason for hitting him.

"Yeah, a hot guy." Joey tried to seem tough and macho, but ended up in a coughing fit; he braced the side of the bed, afraid he was going to hurl, yet again.

Ramona leaned over and rubbed his back as he hovered over the trash barrel. When it was apparent he wasn't going to puke again, she sat back, and the two returned to their original position.

"I'm sorry," Ramona said quietly, feeling as if she was the one who had caused everything. She'd been feeling like that a lot lately.