A Mess of Youthful Innocence

"This one's called Snitches and Talkers Get Stitches and Walkers," Patrick told us. Joe, Andy, and Pete started playing the intro to the song, and soon enough, Patrick started to sing.

Show me, show me, show me a starry-eyed kid,
I, I, I will break his jaw.
I won't, I won't, I won't let him get his hopes up, no oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh.
And I will save him from himself.
Here's a picture with a note, no, don't turn out like me.
It's only for your own good, no oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh.
And haven't you heard the word on the street is I lost it, called it quits?
Get into the sun, out from behind the gossip, oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh.

This story's getting old,
The home wrecker with the heart of gold.
Keep you locked up in the trunk of my mind, keep, k-keep talking, keep this alive.
This story's getting old,
The home wrecker with the heart of gold,
Keep you locked up in the trunk of my mind now-ow, ow-ow, ow-ow.

All I could think about through the beginning verses was how amazing Patrick sounded. He had the best voice I ever heard. These boys had amazing talent. How could they not get signed? Pete's screaming suddenly cut through my thoughts.

Hey, hey.
Hey, hey.
Hey, hey.

Even when there's n-n-n-n-nothing worth living for,
You're still, you're still, still worth lying for,
No, no one has to know-ow, ow-ow, ow-ow.
And haven't you heard the word on the street is I lost it, called it quits?
Get into the sun, out from behind the gossip now-ow, ow-ow, ow-ow.

This story's getting old,
The home wrecker with the heart of gold.
Keep you locked up in the trunk of my mind, keep, k-keep talking, keep this alive.
This story's getting old,
The home wrecker with the heart of gold.
Keep you locked up in the trunk of my mind now-ow, ow-ow, ow-ow.

Then came the amazing guitar skills of Joe. I started dancing a little in my seat as I continued to listen. I was smiling like an idiot.

This story's getting old,
The home wrecker with the heart of gold.
Keep you locked up in the trunk of my mind, keep, k-keep talking, keep this alive.
This story's getting old,
The home wrecker with the heart of gold.
Keep you locked up in the trunk of my mind now-ow, ow-ow, ow-ow.
N-n-now-ow, ow-ow, ow-ow,
N-n-now-ow, ow-ow, ow-ow,
N-n-now-ow, ow-ow, ow-ow.

Stop!

When the song ended, I was cheering and clapping like crazy, as were Anna, Logan, and Gabby.

"Oh, my God, you guys! That was fucking amazing!" I shouted excitedly, jumping up and down slightly. I was very excited.

"Oh, I know it was," Joe said jokingly, "We're just too amazing for you guys. I don't know why we hang out with you." He grinned at us. Patrick rolled his eyes, then looked at me hopefully.

"You really thought it was that good?" He asked, smiling.

"Of course!" I reassured him, grinning happily. "You guys are amazing! There's not a doubt in my mind that you guys will get signed." It was silent for a while. After a few moments, I remembered the camera in my bag. "Hey, I wanna get a picture of you guys. Stand together." They obeyed, huddling up to each other and putting their arms around one another's shoulders. They all smiled as I pressed the button and the flash went off, signifying the taking of the picture. I took another one of them at their instruments and then got one of Gabby, Logan, Anna, and I with the boys. When I was done, I sat on the couch and set the camera on the cushion next to me.

“Rosalyn! Get over here, let’s see if we can make a little band of our own,” Logan said, grinning mischievously at me from behind the microphone. I grinned and ran over to sit behind the drum kit. Anna started playing some notes on the guitar that sounded familiar to me, but I couldn’t quite place my finger on it. Gabby joined in on the bass, then I started pounding on the drums and Logan started singing the lyrics to the song.

I know what’s wrong with me,
I got no vision, see,
I was the target of a notion of submission, see.
Oh yeah, they needed me,
I was the target, see.
They tried to stick a dead body inside of me.

What a weird song, I couldn’t help but think as I continued to pound on the drums. I was getting really into it and I was enjoying myself a lot. Suddenly, my eyesight went black for a few seconds as an image started playing in my mind.

Patrick was on my bed, watching me. He was singing a song while strumming along on his guitar, and I was hammering out the beat of the song on my new drum kit that I had just gotten for my birthday. I had barely put my drumsticks down since I got it. I was so ecstatic when I opened my eyes that morning and saw a beautiful lime green and black drum kit in my room, to match the paint on the walls. My parents are so tacky that way, I remember thinking. After we had finished the song, Patrick looked up at me.

“You’re really amazing with those drums, you know,” He said, taking his hat off while walking over. He placed it on my head and then slung his arm around my shoulder. I smiled up at him.

“Thanks. You have a really amazing voice,” I complimented back. He smiled widely and pulled my head to his chest, wrapping his arm around my waist. I loved little moments like these.

I came back into reality and flinched slightly when I saw a hand wave really close to my face.

“Rosalyn? Are you okay?” Patrick asked me, concern etched into his features. I shook my head quickly, trying to readjust to my surroundings. I smiled.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I reassured him. “But I do need a drink.”

~Patrick’s POV~

Rosalyn started to get out from behind the drums, but her foot caught on something and she tripped, falling face-first onto the ground. “God damn it!” She said, frustrated. I chuckled lightly, walking over and holding my hand out for her to take. She took it, and I helped her up.

“Hey, Rose, remember that one time at your birthday party, where I tied bags and tissue paper and stuff to your feet and you fell face-first on the floor?” I asked.

Rosalyn had invited me to her 15th birthday party. Right now, she was opening presents from everybody. Every time she threw a bag or some tissue paper, maybe some ribbons and bows for the overly creative gift-wrappers, I would grab it, put the bags over her feet, and then decorate it with pretty tissue paper, tying it together with the ribbon, and then finally sticking bows all over it.

“Patrick, what the hell are you doing?” She asked, interrupting her reading of a card to everyone in the room. I stopped what I was doing and grinned up at her from my cross-legged spot at her feet.

“You’ll see!” I cried, still grinning. She rolled her eyes, continuing her reading, and I continued my work on her feet. When she was finally done opening all her presents, her mom asked everyone if they wanted cake. Everybody loudly agreed, getting up from the floor, while Rosalyn, still with the decorative objects on her feet, stood, took a few steps, and then promptly fell to the ground, face-first. “God damn it!” She yelled, frustrated. Then she looked over at me. “Patrick, you loser!” She quickly untied her feet and ripped everything off, while I ran into the kitchen, trying to find a safe place to hide before she could find me. Unfortunately for me, she got the bags and tissue paper off sooner than I had hoped, and saw me just as I ducked under the table. She swiftly glared at me, then ran to the table, ducked under it, and tackled me. How she did that from under the table, I’ll never know, but it happened. We started laughing, and everybody in the room laughed with us.

I smiled, shaking my head at the memory. “Remember?” I asked again.

She smiled weakly, looking away from me as she nodded and quietly muttered, “Yeah, of course I do. How could I forget?” I knew something was up, but I decided to let it go for now. I smiled wider, chuckling slightly.

“Some things never change.”