Once You Have Me

“Sarah! Sarah, oh my god, THEY’RE COMIN’! JESUS, FINALLY.” my best friend Erin screams into the phone, excitement pouring out of her voice. I laugh aloud, sitting down in my desk chair.

“What are you talking about, child?” I ask with another laugh, shaking my head. I set the pen I’d been writing new lyrics with down onto the pad, cocking my head to the side and listening intently to her reply.

“Escape the Fate is finally coming back around,” she answers, a wide grin apparent in her words. A huge smile forms on my lips as I do a small, barely noticeable happy dance in my chair.

“Are they really? Finally. It took them long enough, the douche bags.”

“I know, right? I mean, really.” she grumbles, the sound of her bed’s metal springs stretching underneath her rather light weight echoing down the phone line.

“So when’re they gonna be here?” I pick my pen back up, tapping the other end of it onto the pad absentmindedly.

“In three weeks, at the Fillmore,” she laughs, “like ten minutes from my house.”

“Meh… You live an hour away from me…” I whine a little, jutting out my lower lip in a pathetic pout to nobody as I look down at the floor. “Oh well, I’ll figure somethin’ out.” I pray my dad has another business meeting out of town on that night, biting down on my lip and sighing softly. He has this thing about me going through a phase of wanting to be ‘another one of those losers that listens to noise and calls it music.’ Oh, and all music-lovers only get into the industry because they’re not smart enough for college. He says that, too. I often find myself wondering just what it is that makes my father such a hateful person. Shouldn’t being a middle-class businessman humble you in the slightest?

“I’m sure it’ll work out, doll,” she assures me, sighing softly, “Your dad can’t stop you from doing EVERYTHING that makes you happy.”

“I know…” I mumble, slumping my shoulders where I sit in the chair.

“Alright, well, my mother is downstairs yelling at me to do chores, so…” she trails off, not wanting to hang up so soon. I reach up and run my fingers through my thick brown waves.

“Yeah, go on, Er. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Love you, hoe bag,” she smiles.

“Love you too, slutmuffin,” I grin, laughing with her before I hear the click on her end, signaling that she’s hung up.

I step out of my room, my bare feet padding along the carpet of the hallway as I make my way for the stairs. I head down and peek into the kitchen, not at all surprised by what I’m confronted with.

Mom is at the sink, vigorously washing the dishes and cleaning the sink. The kitchen is spotless, but she spends most of her time cleaning it regardless. Dad sits in the living room beyond the kitchen, his laptop set on a lapdesk on his knees as he types away, his glasses resting on the lower bridge of his nose. I smile over at mom, walking in and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Lunch is on the counter,” she murmurs, motioning toward it with her head. I nod, smiling a little and taking the lunch plate off the tile counter.

“Thanks, Mom,” I say, rubbing her back with my hand as she turns back to the dishes. I sigh heavily, leaving the kitchen and hurrying up the stairs, softly humming The Guillotine to myself with every carpeted step. This will be my fifth time seeing Escape the Fate live. They’re an absolutely amazing band, and they’ve been there for me through their music when I needed it the most. I’ve also kind of always had a thing for the bassist. Max Green. He’s the reason that I play bass.

And the reason I have three tattoos my conservative as ass father knows nothing about.

In the days leading up to the show, I start playing my bass and acoustic guitar to every Escape the Fate song there is. I have such a passion for the music, it really kind of surprises me sometimes. I’m the same way with Iron Maiden, Aerosmith, Falling In Reverse, and My Chemical Romance. The music is too amazing not to know by heart.

Since my mother and father wouldn’t buy me a band tee if I fell to my knees and screamed words of praise to their very name, I decide to pull out a blank shirt and make my own. But of course, knowing my luck, the only fabric I’m able to find is a bright yellow, neon tee shirt. It’ll have to do. Two and a half weeks into the wait, I had my shirt made, the songs well-practiced, and had planned to buy my ticket with Erin at the show.

Besides, the concert was on a Tuesday night, could the show really get sold out?

Every day, Erin and I talk about the show, and sometimes it seems as if everything revolves around this one night. What was so special about this particular concert that was getting me so nervous? I’ve been to several in my life; I’ve seen them play and screamed my lungs out a thousand times before. I just can’t ignore the persistent feeling in the pit of my stomach that this one was different.

With three days left to the concert, I was starting to feel those nerves build up even more. What is it with this show? I flop down back onto my bed, breathing heavily from all the cleaning I’ve just finished, and pull out my phone, dialing Erin with a grin on my face.

“74 HOURS, BITCH!” she laughed, beating me to the punch.

“I know! I hope you‘re prepared to be asked for private lap dances from the boys after the show. You‘re too sexy for them not to.”

“Oh lord, Sarah. Really?”

“Yep. Really really,” I laugh, wiping a bead or ten thousand from my forehead.

“So did you ask your dad about his schedule to see if he’ll be out of town?”

“Uhm…well…no.”

“Sarah! We only have 3 days,” she scolds me, giving a huff of frustration into the phone.

“Don’t worry, Erin, I’ll figure it out. I’m going to that concert, do or die.”

“Alright, I trust you. I’m not goin’ to this thing alone. You know I‘ll end up doing something stupid if you‘re not there to hold me back,” Erin mumbles, my mind easily picturing her sheepish grin.

“Yeah, yeah I know,” I laugh, reaching up to pull a piece of lint from my hair. “You’d be lost without me, right?”

“Damn straight. Now I gotta go do muh homework, chica. I’m doing Tuesday night’s homework now so I won’t have to deal with it,” she mutters. I laugh more at the frustration in her voice.

“You’re such a goody-two-shoes, Er.”

“Oh, and you’re not? You finished high school a year early, Sarah…” she trails off. My eyes catch the diploma I’d gotten at the end of this year, pinned to the wall above my homework desk with a paperclip because I couldn’t find a tac.

“I only finished early because I took classes over summer every year from middle school up,” I reply, narrowing my eyes at the diploma that came a year early.

“Whatever, either way, you’re still a good girl.”

“Just go do your homework, chil’,” I laugh. She giggles evilly.

“Love you, Sarah, see you soon.”

“Love you too, and I can’t wait for the show,” I mumble honestly, grinning like a complete dufus.

“Tuesday night!” she screams randomly instead of the normal “bye” you would’ve expected. Yet another laugh tumbles from my lips as I hang up the phone, shaking my head at my best friend’s antics. Here’s to hoping I find a way to sneak to that concert.