Painted Lyrics

I pull the covers farther up my head as a cool breeze blows by across my room. I guess my mother has no idea what the word 'heat' means, because this house contains none of it.

"Ryley! Get your butt out of bed!" I hear my mother shout from the bottom of the stairs. I groan in agitation, yanking the covers from my body and throwing myself out of bed. My feet land on the soft plush carpet and I yawn loudly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I didn't sleep at all last night. Our neighbor’s dog, Rufus, couldn't stop barking if his life depended on it. And it doesn't help when the walls are paper thin and my brother snores loudly from the next room over. I stand up, running a hand through my messy brown hair.

"Ryley!" She shouts again. I grown loudly, rubbing my face with the palm of my hand.

"I'm up, Mom!" I shout, walking over to my dresser, pulling out a pair of dark washed skinny jeans and a dark green hoodie. I quickly change, having showered last night, and ruffle my hair.

I look presentable.

I pick my guitar case from the ground, swinging it over my shoulder, and walk into my bathroom. I brush my teeth quickly; ready to leave this cold house. I run down the stairs, and past my mother, who is sitting at the kitchen table with my little sister, reading the paper.

"Bye!" I shout over my shoulder, walking out the front door. Cold air whips my face as it's kind way of greeting me. The walk to 'Maria’s' is only twenty minutes, so I walk slowly. My lessons start at 8:30 and it's only eight now, so I have time.

The streets are emptier than usual. But it’s beautiful out. Snow lay on the ground like a cold blanket. The sky is clear, except for the occasional small cloud. The bare trees shiver in the bitter breeze. My guitar bumps my back with each step I take, and my fingers itch to play the used strings. I wait at a crosswalk, rubbing the back of my neck as a car passes by slowly. Once it’s gone I quickly run across the street. I pass the familiar bookshop and then the old coffee shop. I turn around, seeing my friends face inside the shop. I walk into the warm, small area. The air smells of coffee and chocolate.

The best smells in the world, I think.

“Ryley! Dude, what’s up?” My one and only friend, Mark, asks in his cheery voice. I give him a smile, shrugging my shoulders.

“On my way to Guitar. You?” I ask, walking over the counter to order. He laughs, shaking his head.

“You’re still going there?” He asks. I nod, telling the girl at the counter I want a plain coffee. She starts to make it and Mark taps his fingers on the granite counter.

“I don’t see why you do. I mean, after you’re dad, I thought you would’ve stopped playing.” He muses, as I hand the girl my change. I shoot Mark a look, running a hand through my windblown hair.

“Mark.” I say stiffly, taking a long sip of the warm drink. Mark gives me an apologetic look, sighing.

“To far?” He asks. I nod, pushing the door open, walking back outside. Mark stays behind, holding the door open, wanting to say his last words, “I have to stay for my shift. Sorry, man.”

I nod, starting to walk again. After a few minutes, I toss my empty drink into a garbage bin, and my favorite, most safe place in the world comes up.

I push open the door and walk into the cozy shop. I smile at my grandmother, Maria. She gives her usual, big smile. It’s the kind of smile that lights up the darkest of rooms. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of blonde hair, but push it out of my thoughts.

Time to play.