We Can Make This Last

A week ago, I was told by doctors that I only had four more years to live. I’ve never felt more scared and awaiting. I dropped out of college just yesterday and was forced back to my mom and dad’s house. Secretly and quietly, I’ve been packing up. Who knows where I was going, but I was going somewhere. Anywhere is better than here. I can barely stand being in the same room as my birth mother and father. I despise them and they despise me. I wouldn’t be surprised if they wanted me dead. They weren’t like this for the first fifteen years of my life. It started after… I never understood it.

It was a lovely “Hello” from them when I came from college.

I had arrived at the small house and knocked on the door, holding my stuff and looking as scared and shy as ever. My mother opened the door.

“Oh, it’s you.” She said, snarling and staring me down as if I were some grotesque insect. I felt self conscious and inferior to her. She was beautiful, I had to be honest. I looked up and nodded. “What?”

“I dropped out,”

“Not surprising. You weren’t the brightest or the prettiest. Are you staying? I hope not.”

“Are you asking me to go away?” I asked in a soft, innocent voice, which was mixed with my natural sarcastic voice.

“Do you want to?” She asked. I could already tell mom was getting annoyed with me.

“Do you not want me here?” I asked in that same innocent voice.

“Do you always answer questions with questions?”

I put on a sarcastic face, tilting my head and a sarcastic smile threatening to break out. “Do you?” I questioned.

“Oh my God, bitch, get the fuck in and shut your smart mouth.” She pulled me in and shoved me away from her. She had had the tightest grip on my arm by just grabbing me. I hissed and sighed, running up to my room before dad could catch me. He was already wallowing up to me and swearing and bitching at me being ugly and a failure and who knows what else. I locked the door in my room and hid in the corner.

Now it’s been a month, and I’ve been burnt, hit, smashed, thrown and bruised and scarred quite a bit. It wasn’t a good feeling at all. I ended up cutting myself when I was alone and listening to music to try to escape the pain. It couldn’t do much, though.

You’ve got me shaking from the way you’re talking
My heart is breaking, but there’s no use crying
What a cyanide surprise you have left for my eyes
If I had common sense, I’d cut myself or curl up and die.

I could relate that song so much to my life now and how it started specifically at fifteen. I was seeing them, today, the band Get Scared. I didn’t care for band members. Just the music, so I would go up to them and ask for their autograph not because I know them by name, but because they were the people that cured and saved me by playing their music. I can’t thank them enough.

A few days ago, I had asked Diane if she wanted to come with me.

I walked outside of Berklee and searched the campus for Diane. I found her and ran up to her, smiling and then frowning when I saw some popular college kids she had become friends with. I sighed and walked up to her, anyways.

“Hey,” I had said.

“Hey, Taylor. Sup?”

“Well, I-I,” I was stuttering. I hated how these barbies looked at me. “I got tickets for Escape the Fate, Black Veil Brides, Get Scared, Alesana and Motionless In White on the twelfth… wanna come..?” I asked. She’ll say yes. She loves those bands! But I grew hurt when she furrowed her eyebrows at me and tilted her head.

“You’re joking, right?”

“What a freak…” I heard one of them whisper. “I’ve never even heard any of those bands. They don’t play them on KISS 108, do they?”

“No…” Diane told her. “No thanks, Taylor.”

I sighed, and turned from her, finding an outcast I grew rather fond of, by the name of Iridessa, and I handed her the ticket without a word or stopping. She looked up from her acoustic guitar and I kept walking.

I’ll go alone. Whatever. Fuck Diane and her fakeness.

I showered, did my hair, makeup, and put my lavender plaid long shirt on and a skirt, and a long dark sweater over. I put some Vans slip ons on and got my wallet, sharpie and small book bag, then went downstairs. I heard my mom and dad at it in the kitchen, so they obviously wouldn’t notice me at all. This is too easy sometimes.

I walked off to the driveway and got into my 2003 Audi Quatro. It was so nice. I drove off to a few cities away from mine, popping in my mix CD I made of some good rock songs I liked. I ended up singing along to them and grew even more excited.

When I got to the venue, I parked, making sure I had everything in my bag and got out of the car. The line was huge! I bit my lip as I got to the line and waited. A guy was coming over to each person in line, collecting their tickets. I took mine out from my pocket and when he came, I handed it to him and he gave me a green paper bracelet with numbers on it. I wore it and heard my name being called.

“Taylor!”

A few people in front of me, I could see, senior in my college. His name is Derek. He’s nice to me. I waved at him and he waved back. It brought a smile to my lips. The line moved and eventually, we entered the venue. I stood off where the couches were because I don’t mosh. I get enough pain at home. The show started, and I got happy when Get Scared came on. I sang along and got into it when ‘Setting Yourself Up for Sarcasm’ came on. Then, Motionless In White was next, and I headbanged so hard to them. Black Veil Brides came on, and their songs made me cry a little. I related to them so much. They saved my life. Alesana came on, and I was attracted to one of the guitarists that danced like a stripper. It made me so happy. Escape the Fate was the last one, the headliner (which, now that I think of it, Alesana show have opened up for Escape the Fate) band, and it took forever for them to get on stage. They were assholes, making us wait. The crowd ended up chanting their name and lights and effects went nuts when they walked onto the stage. That was phenomenal. I screamed and sang and danced, and towards the end when they did their encore, I decided to go down to the crowd.

I’m going to mosh. I’m probably going to regret this. I got into the crowd nice and blended and they played The Guillotine II, also known as This War is Ours. I pushed, shoved, threw my arms everywhere and, well, moshed, and some guy shoved me to the ground and my leg was scraped—or cut, really, because that hurt like a fucking bitch! I got back up and continued the moshing until they had finished.

“Alright,” the singer said. I could tell that by the way he talked, he had a natural comical and friendly vibe. The bassist, drummer and guitarist bashed or strummed randomly as the singer walked around the stage and spoke to the audience. “This was such a fucking rad show. Not gunna lie, you guys are one of our favorite for sure.” He looked at his fellow band members and they nodded in agreement. “And before you go,” he held up a finger. “We have a surprise for one of you.”

It was crazy how synchronized the crowd was. They screamed, laughed and were silent all at the same time. Nice fans, these guys had. I softly smiled and the singer continued to talk.

“You were all given bracelets before coming in, correct?”

“YES!” they all shouted. I almost jumped.

“Well, they have numbers, and I’m going to read a number. If your bracelet’s number matches the number I read, you’re going backstage for the prize.” Screaming of excitement followed. The singer smiled and I almost melted. That’s a nice smile. He reached into his pockets and ended up turning both inside out, then looked at the bassist. “Max,” I cringed at the name.

“Dude, I don’t have it,” the bassist named Max said with a boyish smile. He shrugged. He seemed mischievous. The singer sighed into the microphone and looked at the guitarist. The guitarist shook his head and shrugged.

“Don’t ask me, man.”

Some people in the crowd were giggling or laughing. These guys were indeed very comical. They were able to make me smile, but not laugh. The singer then huffed and turned to the drummer.

“YOU!” He yelled. The drummer shrugged, lifting his arms up with the drumsticks in his hands along with the shrug.

“Dude, I don’t know, man, fuck, ask someone else.” He said. Laughter came from the crowd. They were funny. The singer shook his head and turned back towards the crowd and went to the middle of the stage. He shrugged and reached up to his head and rubbed the back of his head, barely messing his hair up. “Um, and so—”

A piece of paper fell from the ceiling at his feet. The singer looked up at the ceiling and put his hands together. “Thank you, God for this piece of paper with numbers.”

That did it. I even laughed. The singer smiled again and picked the paper up. “Ok, ready?” The singer asked.

“YES!”

Then, silence. They seemed to be waiting for something. The bassist, singer and guitarist turned around and the drummer went, “OH!” and did a drumroll. The singer cleared his throat and held the piece of paper up to the bridge of his nose jokingly, then presented it at normal reading level. “0642.” He said.

There were groans and someone yelled, “DAMN!” or “FUCK!” and someone yelled “THIS IS BULLSHIT!”

My mouth was gaping open at my bracelet. There were the numbers… 0642… I looked up at the stage and around me. What was I supposed to do? I grew a bit nervous and confused and chewed on my bottom lip. What do I do?

“Who has it?” The guitarist asked.

My leg hurts. I did the first thing that came to mind and raised my hand.

“THERE!” the bassist said. “Thar… she blows.” Laughter. I smiled weakly and the singer said, “Woman, backstage. Now.”

“O… okay…” I said softly. I felt a whole bunch of eyes on me and it was kind of making me uncomfortable. I gulped and made my way to the front. That’s when I heard, “YEAH TAYLOR!” and I smiled. Derek. I turned towards the direction of his voice and walked backwards with my thumbs up on both hands and went left, disappearing backstage. I showed the security guard that I was the number winner and he verified it, and I heard the band thank the crowd and promise that they’d be back soon again. I went inside and grew so shy.

I looked at my leg and hissed at the sight of it. It was a huge cut and the blood was trailing down my leg. I need to get this fixed. I looked up and saw the Alesana guys walking around, a group of dark clothed people go outside and other band members standing around. Some left and came back and I bit my lip out of nerves.

Then I saw him.

From Alesana.

THE GUY THAT DANCES.

He came up to me! What do I do? I blinked a few times and looked up at him. He’s cute. “H-hi,” I said softly.

“Hey,”

“You have real dancing skills,” I said. He smiled.

“Thanks! Oh jeez, your leg.”

“I fell,”

“Dear me. Let’s get that fixed?” I nodded, and he led me to one of the couches. From here, I could see the stage and the four band members of Escape the Fate came in. They looked around and their eyes settled on me.

“You! We don’t know who you are, you have a bracelet on, you MUST be the winner.” The singer said.

“Oh!” The bassist, Max said. “I saw you fall, holy fuck.” He came up first and kneeled down. “That looks terrible. Someone shoulda died. If someone didn’t, I’ll kill someone… thank God it’s not you… I won’t kill you, though.”

“That’s very generous of you,” I said in an innocent-shy voice that is, of course, mixed with my natural sarcastic one. I laughed softly and he looked up at me.

“I’m Max,” He said. I gave him a sad smile. He touched my leg gently and hissed at it. “That needs… attending to…” He looked to his right and smiled. “Hey, Shawn. You already got it, I see.”

“Yep,” He said, and handed Max the first aid kit. “I’ll get some water.”

I felt claustrophobic when other band members other than Escape the Fate surrounded me. One with bleach blond hair, one with a hand print on his face, one with a crazy haircut that is difficult to pull off, a beautiful one who I was looking at every few seconds, some other Alesana guys, and two people dressed in velvet and boots.

Max treated my leg and sighed approvingly. “There,”

“T-thanks,” I whispered, and hugged my bag to my chest.

“So,” Max stood up and turned to his band mates. “The surprise.”

“Yes. Ok, so, as you know, Warped Tour is coming up.” The singer said. I nodded. “And us and these other bands are gunna play it along with other bands.” I nodded again. “And you won. You get the chance to come with us on the road during warped. What do you say?”

My mouth gaped open a little at what he was saying. What an opportunity… it would never come again, would it? But I was never allowed to go to warped tour… I am twenty, though… I’m an adult… I can do anything I want…

“I… my mother and father would never let me…”

“How old are you, dude?” The drummer asked.

“Is there an age limit?”

“Are you over eighteen?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Do you always answer questions with questions?”

My sarcastic self came up again. “Do you?”

“I like her,” Monte said, and Craig and Max smirked.

“This will be exciting.” The beautiful band member from some band said. I smiled at him and looked down at my feet before he noticed. They weren’t bad people… I could tell…

“I’m twenty,” I said.

Suddenly, every band member smiled.

“Is that a good thing?” I asked them all. They laughed.

“We’re creeping you out on purpose.” The singer said.

“I’ll do it.” I said, sounding more sure than I have in a long time. I nodded. “Only if you all sign my arm in sharpie so I can get them tattooed.”

“This chick,” Max said, rolling his eyes, but smiling. “I’m first.” He demanded, and I handed him the marker. He lifted the sleeve up and removed the cap, signing my arm. They eventually all signed it and eventually, the rest of the band members from this tour came inside from outside. I gulped at the sight of one of them.

Ohmygod, is he real…?

He’s gorgeous.

“Andy, sign her arm. Sandra, sign her arm. Ashley, sign her arm. Huck, sign her arm!” Max said. They looked at me and ran up to me in excitement. I smiled sadly. One of them was named Andy. They came up and signed my arm. I thanked them all and the guitarist of Escape the Fate handed me a piece of paper. “Fill this out first, please oh please?” I smiled and nodded.

“Do you guys want to tell me your names first?” I asked as I filled out the paper which asked for information on myself.

“I’m Max,”

“I know,” I said, handing him the paper.

“I’m Craig Mabbitt,” the singer said.

“Hi, Craig.”

“I’m Monte,” the guitarist said.

“Hello, Monte.”

“I’m Robert,” the drummer said.

“Hello, Robert.”

“I’m Johnny!” the bleach blond guitarist of the band Get Scared said.

“Hi, Johnny!”

“I’m Nick,”

“Lloyd.”

“Shawn,”

“Dennis,”

“Patrick,”

“Jeremy,”

“Shane,”

“Jake,”

“Ricky,”

“Angelo,”

“Chris,”

“Josh,”

“T.J,”

“Ryan,”

“Andy,”

“Sandra,”

“Jake,”

“Jinxx,”

“Ashley,”

“And that’s all of us.”

I smiled, and remembered each of their names. I named them all very quickly and they seemed shocked at my memory. I giggled and shrugged.

“Hi, I’m Taylor.” I said.

They were nice, band members.