So Incredibly Close

This was it, this was the day. Everything so neat and tidy layed out in front of my eyes. Everything except for the fact that my mom hadn't even taken a glance at the pieces of paper stacked in front of me, the very first one labeled "Song Book". I'd like to call it a book, but the truth is, it looked more like I'd ripped the pieces out of an old note book I used for school and placed them all together in a somewhat neat pile. Still, even if it looked like a bunch of crap, she could acknowledge the fact that I'm staring straight at her begging for her attention.

So maybe today wasn't the best day, but either way I was going to get her to read them. My mom is the manager of some local band called "Define Lines". I don't really like them much, but they make money... a lot of money. And money to my mom is like chocolate cake to someone who hasn't eaten in days- she can't resist. I guess this is what I get for deciding that my mom's house was a better option to stay at than my dad's. I should have known, I mean, I knew that her attention span on anything other than the band was limited, but I should have known that living with her wouldn't be as amazing as I thought.

When my mom and dad announced to my brother and I that they were splitting up and that my dad was moving out, I had already made my decision on who to live with. It was easy. My mom hardly ever payed attention to us, and when she did it was only to go see the principal at school for something my brother did and then she'd say something along the lines of "now you two better smarten up", even though I had nothing to do with it, and walk away. Of course, my brother never listened because my mom didn't really care. She just made it seem like she did. And we liked it that way. Until now, of course, when I needed her to pay attention.

So here I sit, at the kitchen counter with my stack of lumpy and crumpled paper in as neat of a pile as I could muster, yearning for her attention, and she's being the typical mother I know her to be. The benefit of my dad deciding to stay in Barrie, the same city as my mom, my brother, and I, is that when I need advice, I can always stay over at his house. There wasn't really a permanent living schedule for my brother and I, we just sort of come and go as we please. We both just like the idea of doing whatever we want without the hassle of a pain in the ass parent always asking us what we we're up to.

"Yes, Lucas said he was on his way right now. Yes... no. I should be there in a half hour." I had to be over at Bailey's house in less than an hour and at the rate this was going, my mom was definitely not going to be reading my songs. It wasn't that I wanted to be this big famous singer/songwriter, always booking gigs in Toronto and touring all of the time, it was just something I thought my mom would be proud of. Like the time I was 9 and won the spelling bee. All of the parents stood clapping for their kids, who lost, but my mom was in the crowd clapping with the biggest smile on her face. When I ran over to hug her the first thing she said to me was "no one is smarter than my little girl, I'm so proud of you honey". And maybe I sound a little needy, but I can speak for a lot of people when I say that we all want our parents to be proud of us.

"Mom?" I waited for a minute even though I knew she hadn't heard me. Maybe the call she was on was really important. It didn't sound so important, but I wouldn't know. I decided that it was no use, she was not going to get off the phone. I stood up and walked out of the kitchen and over to the door where my new black Adidas sandals sat, the ones with foam to form the shape of your foot, waiting for me to wear them out for the first time.

"Need a ride?" I heard Dustin say from the staircase beside the doorway. I turned to face him and smiled, he already knew what my answer would be. The thing I love about my brother is that, he has a car. A perfectly nice and black sunfire, which okay I admit, isn't exactly at the top of the list of cars to buy, but I loved it nonetheless. I have to wait a month until I can even drive on my own. I turn seventeen in a month today exactly, and that day gets me my G2 and a new car. It would be an understatement to say that I was extremely excited.

I made sure I had my cell phone with me in my bag before following my brother out to his car. I left the pile of songs on the table hoping that my mom would read them when she finally ended her "important" phone call. Part of me expected her to think it was a pile of garbage and throw it out, but the other part of me knew that even if she didn't read them, she'd leave them right where they were in case it was my homework. It made sense for her to think that, even though there were a million sheets of paper, because it was a week before exams and for some reason, all the teachers like to cram everything in on the last week of school. Like if they had given it to us sooner, an explosion would occur in their homes while they were asleep. So even though that pile of paper was my whole life, and not homework, I still had three essays and a presentation due starting Monday.

"You should probably wait until after tonight to show mom your amazing talent," Dustin started up the car and began driving, already knowing where I was headed, "I mean, you know how she is." I let out a sigh as we passed all of the too familiar roads leading away from our big brick house and towards Bailey's smaller, more homelike, brick house. I have always been jealous of how happy her family seems.

"I just want her to notice, you know? Not just pretend to." Dustin nodded in agreement and we both didn't say anything more. He was a good brother that way. He knew when to stop talking and he knew when to start talking. Maybe it was because he has had a year more than me at trying to grasp onto this twisted thing we call our family. Whatever the reason, I appreciated having a brother like him; even though he could get on my nerves at times.

We pulled up into Bailey's driveway and I got out, shouting a quick "thanks" to Dustin before watching him drive off. I stood there for a second taking in my second home - or third, I guess. The grass was always green; not that it wasn't at my house, it just always looked nicer here for some reason. It smelt a little bit like laundry, which I already knew was coming from the side of her house. The red bricks of her house always looked more alive than the dull gray ones that made up mine.

I walked up the stone pathway leading to her door and walked in without knocking. When you've known someone your whole life, knocking is an insult. The smell of freshly baked bread immediately filled my nostrils when I stepped in, and I knew that it was most like Lindy, Bailey's mom, baking in the kitchen. "Hello!" I shouted it more to let them know who I was than to let them know that I was there. Pierce walked out with a baseball bat in his hand pointed at me once when I didn't announce myself.

Pierce Beckett, the boy that I'm in love with but will never tell him that. His blue eyes always reflecting different shades from different kinds of lighting, and who's favourite thing to do is play guitar. He likes to pretend that he doesn't though. He usually only plays when he thinks that no one is home, but Bailey and I have caught him a few times. I love the sounds his guitar makes and the melody that shoots through my ears and fills me whenever I sit by his door and listen. Bailey usually leaves me out in the hall by myself, ditching the music to do something that she would consider a better use of her time, which usually involved taking a nap in her room. I didn't mind though, because it was like our little thing that we shared, his and mine, always connected when he played. Every strum of the guitar giving me inspiration. Every note reminding me of how much I love music.

Obviously, I never told Bailey about my feelings for her older brother. It would be weird. And besides, one time when I was sitting outside with him waiting for Bailey to come home, he told me that he "will never fall in love", he "swears". So when you think about it, there really is no point in me telling Bailey, or anyone for that matter. Pierce and I would remain friends. I've known him my whole life, so even though I won't ever tell him how I really feel, he'll always be apart of me forever.

"Upstairs!" I heard Bailey shout from her room. I slid off my sandals and ran up her swirly staircase that had to be the most beautiful staircase I had ever seen. The railings were hand carved, every line so intricate. I definitely loved this house a lot more than I loved mine. "How'd it go?"

"You know, how it always goes." I layed down on her bed with a huff and watched her paint her perfectly filed toe nails with the colour of the season - kind of an orange-pink colour. Bailey was the kind of girl who always had to be in on the latest trends. She loved fashion and she loved colour. Whereas I'm more of a nails painted black, converse, or vans wearing kind of girl.

"Maybe you should e-mail it to her. She checks her e-mail a million times a day, does she not?" I smiled at her suggestion. It was a smart idea, I had to admit, but when I pictured my mom reading my songs, I pictured her actually having the pieces of paper in her hands. Noticing the words that I scratched out or erased to write something better instead. Realizing how much thought, heart, and work I put into them. I mean, writing was my life, I didn't want her to just skim through it in an e-mail.

"She'd probably just delete it." I sat up and crossed my legs, watching the brush of the nail polish glide against each one of her toe nails with ease. She was always so neat with painting her toes. If that was me, I would have had the nail polish remover out and ready just waiting for me to screw up at least once; which I always did.

"She's just busy. She'll come around." I let out a snort and raised an eyebrow. If my mom was going to "come around", it was not going to be any time soon. If she doesn't read the songs on the table, she most likely never will. I just wanted her to read them, even if she only read one or two of them. Though, there was always the chance that I wasn't that good of a song writer and she did read them, but pretended not to because they suck.

"I highly doubt that," The smell of bread was starting to rise up the stairs and into Bailey's room, making my stomach growl with every sniff. I wished my mom stayed home every now and then to bake something, even if it was just a bad batch of cookies. Something, anything, would do. Instead she's too busy getting gigs for "Define Lines", and making money.

Lucas, the guy my mom mentioned on the phone earlier, is the lead singer of the band. Alex is the drummer, and Mike is the lead guitarist. They play songs that have basically no meaning to them and people love them. Why? I don't know. I'm the kind of person who listens to the lyrics of a song before anything else. Probably because I spend so much time writing them, but these guys, they can't write music.

"How about from now on, we don't talk about this anymore. I can tell you're frustrated. Now, I know you smell that bread downstairs, and I know you well enough to know that you want some of it. So here's what we're going to do, okay? We're going to drag our asses down those stairs and then to the kitchen, and we're going to eat that bread that my mom worked hard baking for us." We both started laughing because it was true. She read my mind about the bread completely.

"Well the last one down gets the least amount, and your nails are still wet. Adios sucker!" I said standing up and making a run for the stairs. I heard Bailey get up and start running after me once I was about half way down the stairs. You could tell by the way her feet sounded that she was trying not to ruin the paint on her toes.

"Just remember, I know where you sleep!" And then she stopped caring about her nails, probably because she was using quick dry nail polish and they were already dry, and booked it down the stairs and into the kitchen. Lindy was nowhere to be found, but there the bread sat, fresh out of the oven. I grabbed a knife and cut two slices of it for both Bailey and I and then we sat there smiling at each other like idiots and chomping down on the bread like we hadn't eaten dinner the night before.