The Redhead, and The Dreamer.

My mom somehow found of the report card I’ve been hiding from her for the better part of a month, and she really wasn’t happy. She caught me sneaking in Friday night three hours after curfew talking about how we really needed to talk. My stomach dropped on cue. I wasn’t completely stupid. I knew that when anyone in their right mind said the words ‘we need to talk’ some serious stuff was going to be discussed. I tried to not look daunted. That’s what I did, what I was good at. Putting up a decent front seemed to be everything my life had been about for quite awhile.

“You’re failing six of your classes,” my mom started slowly, pulling my crumbled up report card from the pocket of her hoody and giving me one of those ‘I thought I raised you better than this’ looks. The sad thing was, she really had raised me better than that. It made me wonder what exactly I was trying to do with my life for a few seconds. I hated when people made me think like that.

Let’s leave the long, drawn out argument to imagination. Long story short, my mother was incredibly disappointed in me, and she grounded me for three weeks.

I didn’t want to disobey her or anything, but I knew I was going to be sneaking out the next night as soon as the word ‘grounded’ came out of her mouth. I knew I was going to get caught. I knew she wasn’t going to ever trust me again for a really long time, but I just had to let all the consequences all go. I was doing it for the music. I needed it to stay on top of the water I was treading, and it needed me to play it to people and give it a voice.