Ten Things I Hate

The Maine practiced several times a week, mostly in the Kirches basement because hauling a drum set between houses just wasn't practical. I'd suggested that many multiple drum kits were in order, until Pat had told me they could cost a lot of money for top notch equipment like he needed for playing shows. The band had been gaining populatrity and had done several small tours while I was in my first year of college at Arizona State. Rachel had gone on the first one and come home early, telling me that she would "never again step foot inside that disgusting van". They had offered for me to come along with them, but I had declined as I was too busy at the point, struggling with my first year of college study.

I'd been to their local shows and I'd been to some interstate. I'd watched them practice almost every weekend since the band formed a year ago, their musical and writing skills developing enormously. They began to get more confident, and when I watched them onstage, I couldn't believe that this was the same Garrett I'd known since I was four, or that it was the same John O'Callaghan that had been two years ahead of me at school. However, the Kirches heating had overloaded itself and broken down, leaving us all to literally chill in the freezing cold basement. Garrett, Kennedy and Jared were complaning that their fingers were too cold to strum the chords on their respective guitars. Pat was unable to hit the base drum with his foot and was shivering so much that he could barely hold onto the drumsticks. John was the only one willing to practice out of the five boys and he was getting frustrated.
"C'mon, we'll do a few songs and then we'll do something else! We have to practice, there's a show coming up soon..." he was pleading with the other band members to at least join him in a few songs. Pat had brought his knees to his chest on the couch, covered in a blanket that was up to his neck, shaking his head. Rachel and I were huddling on the couch, also sharing a blanket. Even though it didn't even get that cold in Arizona, we were all complaining because of the unusually hot for Arizona weather we had been getting as of late, only to have it plummet to an average of 55 degrees. It was frustrating, as we had also been getting harsh rain and typical desert thunderstorms.
"John, it's so cold. So, so cold." Pat chattered from the couch, wrapping the blanket further around himself. Garrett was rubbing his hands together in order to warm up his fingers to play the bass, as Jared and Kennedy did the same.
"I dunno, I kinda agree with John, we need to get at least some practice in before the show..."

Kennedy said he agreed with Garrett and picked up his guitar, playing a riff but unfortunately missing several chords. John asked what song it was and when Kennedy told him it was Daisy, he frowned. "That sounded like Undressing the Words." I let out a laugh, but quickly became quiet, almost afraid that I would offend the newcomer. Kennedy had only been part of the band for four or so months at this point, and we hadn't really talked at all. Garrett and Jared picked up their respective instruments, while Pat sat on the couch still, refusing to move.
"I'll be Pat!" I laughed, picking up his drumsticks and sitting on the little stool behind the drum kit. At first he looked amused, until I started randomly hitting the drums and all different times and completely ignoring the base drum pedal altogether. My arms were flailing about, I must have looked ridiculous but it was all in good fun. Everyone was laughing, I was laughing. "What do you say? I think I'm good enough to be part of the band."

That was when John made the fatal mistake of poking a little fun. "Of course, you keep it together better than Pat! At least you can hold a beat, Sophia!" And then Garrett joined in, not noticing the obviously hurt look of Pat's face. The young boy (well, he was older than me) had never been good at having fun poked at him. We were quite similar in that respect, except for that Pat had no confidence about himself to take a joke. After years of living in his older brother's successful and popular-around-town shadow, it had definitely taken its toll.
"And you look better playing drums than Pat does too!" Garrett giggled, earning a few laughs from the other boys and Rachel. I seemed to be the only one who had noticed Pat's hurt expression. And just like that, he was up off of the couch and up the stairs, the blanket on the floor. The laughter died down when everyone else noticed that he was missing several seconds later. I put the drums sticks carefully on the snare drum, attempting to balance them so they didn't fall. They did anyway when I got up to follow Pat up the stairs.
"Way to go, guys." I mumbled on my way out. I knew Pat would be in his room, more than likely sitting on his bed with his laptop and giant headphones. As I reached his bedroom, I knocked on the door. "Hey, it's Sophia...ummm. Can I come in?" I didn't wait for an answer and pushed the door open instead. Indeed, he was like I'd thought, the only light in the room coming from the illuminated laptop. It was only on the desktop but Pat had his headphones on already, ready to listen to some tunes. He looked at me, before looking back at the screen and opening iTunes. I took a seat on the end of his bed, waiting for him to talk. It became obvious he wouldn't, so I did instead. "They were joking, Pat. You're a really good drummer."

He scoffed, removing his eyes from the screen and looking at me. "No, my brother is a good drummer. I'm just his kid brother that is filling in until Tim steps up to the plate." I giggled a little, the headphones made him look like an alien in the dark. "See, you're laughing!"
"No, Pat...take the headphones off. I can't tak you seriously when you're wearing them," I laughed. He promptly pulled the set from his head and stared at me, more maliciously than I'd ever seen him ever do so.
"Why are you even up here? You hate me," he said, and I realised that what everyone had been saying was true. He did think I hated him. I suddenly felt unnecessarily cruel. While I thought he was annoying at times, and sometimes downright immature, I didn't hate Pat Kirch. He was just one of those people I found hard to handle.
I frowned, "I don't hate you...I've never hated[/] you." His expression told me that he didn't believe me. Perhaps I had been the one acting horribly in all of this. Perhaps Pat had attempted to make an effort, and I had been the dejected and nasty one. I thought back to brunch the week before, and suddenly felt a pang of guilt. Evidently, he had also though of the brunch incident.
"Yeah, cause the brunch we had last week was so delightful. Please just leave me alone Sophia, and tell everyone that I'll talk to them later." Pat was obviously incredibly hurt by everyone's comments and laughter, and I knew I wasn't the person to change that. He wouldn't talk to me, even if I had made an effort to go after him.

I wondered what it would be like to live in a sibling's shadow. I would never really know, seeing as I was a good 18 years older than my baby sister and had been an only child for a majority of my life. I hoped that I would never put her in a position like this, the same one Pat Kirch had been in since he was old enough to realise his parents played favourites to Tim. I decided then and there that I wouldn't leave until Pat talked to me about the whole problem. "Pat, c'mon. You can talk to me." He made that vile scoffing noise at me, like he didn't take what I was saying with a grain of salt.
"No, I really can't. It's nice of you to come up here and try and make me feel better, whatever. You won't understand what it's like." I then had the brilliant plan that if maybe we were both miserable, we'd both be able to open up about our own problems to each other. I told him to tell me something he'd think I found depressing. Pat didn't waste his time in blurting out something I wasn't sure I was ready to hear. "I know you kinda have a crush on Kennedy, but you gotta know he has a girlfriend. Has for a few months now."

And surprisingly, while it was a shock to me, it didn't hurt as much as I thought it would. I always knew that putting your hand in the fire was never as bad as the burn that followed, but it never came. There was none of that horrible crushing chest pain you felt when you realised something like this. There were no rushing thoughts about how stupid I'd been to think I'd actually stood a chance. I'd never had feelings for Kennedy Brock after all. And for some reason, I was actually relieved.