Status: Re-posting.
Dedication Takes a Lifetime
I Think It's Time To Move On
One week had passed since the All Time Low concert, and I’d been walking around like a zombie, completely lost within myself over the words Alex had spoken to me. Karaoke. Never going to go anywhere. I was a hopeless case, wasting my time imaging a future I would never have. It wasn’t as if I’d fallen into a fit of depression; it was more like my mind was too busy replying that night to comprehend anything else.
My family noticed, of course. My mother worked the whole story out of me at dinner the night after the concert, and she’d since assigned my brother to stay at my house with me, since I refused to stay in my old bedroom. Admittedly, it helped a little to have him around. Instead of having all the time in the world to over think things, he distracted me with his mindless chatter over meals, and when I drove him to and from school. Parked outside of Camellia Ridge, I considered asking Tomas about Kal, but I decided that I couldn’t face her; I couldn’t associate with anyone that had been a part of that night.
“Don’t be so scared, we will not lead you on
Like you’ve been doing for weeks
So you’re selfish, and I’m sorry
When I’m gone, you’ll be going nowhere fast”
My brother bopped back and forth from the refrigerator to the stove, cooking dinner with the CD player on. He turned around to look at me--I was reading a book at the kitchen’s island--and whined, “C’mon, Nettie; sing with me.” I didn’t blame him for looking so sad; singing had been something Tomas and I did together for as long as either of us could remember. He had a very theatre voice, and I could just imagine him, a few years from now, projecting his melodies across an audience as he played the lead in some outrageous Broadway musical. He was good. Whereas I was just…karaoke.
I brushed off his pouty green eyes, “I’m not in the singing mood, Tom-tom.”
He turned back to the stove, shaking his head. “You can’t let this guy get to you, Nettie; he doesn’t even know you. He doesn’t know your true talent. Your dedication.” I sighed in aggravation as my brother scooped dinner onto two plates and brought them to the island. He sat down next to me and I shut my book, pulling the plate closer. He picked up his fork and fixed me in a strong stare, “Look, I’m just saying that…this is the future you chose for yourself. The music business is brutal, and there are going to be plenty of people lining up to tell you you’re going to fail. They’ll be waiting for you to fall on your face, but you have to push through it because it’s what you want.”
I took a bite of the hamburger helper and rolled my eyes, “Are you about done?”
He held up a finger to stop me, “Almost. So,” he chewed on a bite and sighed through his nose, “If you’re going to shut down and call it quits the first time some pop-punk pretty-boy tells you that you don’t have to chops… Well, I dunno,” he shrugged, “Maybe you don’t love it that much after all.” He stabbed some more food with his fork and munched on it thoughtfully, not saying another word.
I just stared at him, flabbergasted. How dare he tell me I didn’t love music? How dare he say I couldn’t handle it?
But then, I suppose I hadn’t really proved that I could handle it.
I smacked my fork down against my plate and pushed myself away from the countertop, “Dammit.” I sighed, “You’re right. I hate it when you’re right. I’m four years older than you; you’re not supposed to be right. Ever.”
He shrugged, “I’m not supposed to order porn on your pay-per-view either, but I do that.” I gaped at him and he quickly reached into his pocket, extracting a piece of paper, “Anyway, some girl at school asked me to give you her number.” I took the slip from him, making a mental note to get back to the porn subject at a later time. “She didn’t look like a lesbian, but hey, people surprise ya sometimes.”
I unfolded it and gasped quietly. There, inked carefully on the page, was Kalila Aberman, (608)555-8736. I raised my eyebrows at my brother, “Kal gave this to you?”
He nodded, head bobbing up and down as he chewed. “She just randomly showed up to play practice today and sat there, front row, staring at me for two hours straight. I was afraid she was going to jump me in the parking lot after we were done or something. But instead she gave me that and said it was for you, and that you’d remember her.”
I was silent, staring at the number. My mind was racing a mile a minute as a half-assed plan was formulated. Kal. Kal was the key. Kal could help me. Finally, a giddy (and almost maniacal) giggle passed my lips and I threw my arms around Tomas, “Ooh, I love you, little brother. You’re brilliant, and this is genius.”
“Eh?” A bit of hamburger fell from his slack jaw as I pulled away.
“No time to explain, but everything’s going to get much, much better soon!” I started to run upstairs, where my office was.
He called after me, “Does this mean I can move back in with Mom and Dad now?”
“Yes!” I called back, “Get the hell out!”
My family noticed, of course. My mother worked the whole story out of me at dinner the night after the concert, and she’d since assigned my brother to stay at my house with me, since I refused to stay in my old bedroom. Admittedly, it helped a little to have him around. Instead of having all the time in the world to over think things, he distracted me with his mindless chatter over meals, and when I drove him to and from school. Parked outside of Camellia Ridge, I considered asking Tomas about Kal, but I decided that I couldn’t face her; I couldn’t associate with anyone that had been a part of that night.
“Don’t be so scared, we will not lead you on
Like you’ve been doing for weeks
So you’re selfish, and I’m sorry
When I’m gone, you’ll be going nowhere fast”
My brother bopped back and forth from the refrigerator to the stove, cooking dinner with the CD player on. He turned around to look at me--I was reading a book at the kitchen’s island--and whined, “C’mon, Nettie; sing with me.” I didn’t blame him for looking so sad; singing had been something Tomas and I did together for as long as either of us could remember. He had a very theatre voice, and I could just imagine him, a few years from now, projecting his melodies across an audience as he played the lead in some outrageous Broadway musical. He was good. Whereas I was just…karaoke.
I brushed off his pouty green eyes, “I’m not in the singing mood, Tom-tom.”
He turned back to the stove, shaking his head. “You can’t let this guy get to you, Nettie; he doesn’t even know you. He doesn’t know your true talent. Your dedication.” I sighed in aggravation as my brother scooped dinner onto two plates and brought them to the island. He sat down next to me and I shut my book, pulling the plate closer. He picked up his fork and fixed me in a strong stare, “Look, I’m just saying that…this is the future you chose for yourself. The music business is brutal, and there are going to be plenty of people lining up to tell you you’re going to fail. They’ll be waiting for you to fall on your face, but you have to push through it because it’s what you want.”
I took a bite of the hamburger helper and rolled my eyes, “Are you about done?”
He held up a finger to stop me, “Almost. So,” he chewed on a bite and sighed through his nose, “If you’re going to shut down and call it quits the first time some pop-punk pretty-boy tells you that you don’t have to chops… Well, I dunno,” he shrugged, “Maybe you don’t love it that much after all.” He stabbed some more food with his fork and munched on it thoughtfully, not saying another word.
I just stared at him, flabbergasted. How dare he tell me I didn’t love music? How dare he say I couldn’t handle it?
But then, I suppose I hadn’t really proved that I could handle it.
I smacked my fork down against my plate and pushed myself away from the countertop, “Dammit.” I sighed, “You’re right. I hate it when you’re right. I’m four years older than you; you’re not supposed to be right. Ever.”
He shrugged, “I’m not supposed to order porn on your pay-per-view either, but I do that.” I gaped at him and he quickly reached into his pocket, extracting a piece of paper, “Anyway, some girl at school asked me to give you her number.” I took the slip from him, making a mental note to get back to the porn subject at a later time. “She didn’t look like a lesbian, but hey, people surprise ya sometimes.”
I unfolded it and gasped quietly. There, inked carefully on the page, was Kalila Aberman, (608)555-8736. I raised my eyebrows at my brother, “Kal gave this to you?”
He nodded, head bobbing up and down as he chewed. “She just randomly showed up to play practice today and sat there, front row, staring at me for two hours straight. I was afraid she was going to jump me in the parking lot after we were done or something. But instead she gave me that and said it was for you, and that you’d remember her.”
I was silent, staring at the number. My mind was racing a mile a minute as a half-assed plan was formulated. Kal. Kal was the key. Kal could help me. Finally, a giddy (and almost maniacal) giggle passed my lips and I threw my arms around Tomas, “Ooh, I love you, little brother. You’re brilliant, and this is genius.”
“Eh?” A bit of hamburger fell from his slack jaw as I pulled away.
“No time to explain, but everything’s going to get much, much better soon!” I started to run upstairs, where my office was.
He called after me, “Does this mean I can move back in with Mom and Dad now?”
“Yes!” I called back, “Get the hell out!”