Baby I've Got My Eye On You
Twenty Six
The headlines weren’t very pretty the next morning. I felt the veins in my eyes pulsate in fury as they scanned the ridiculously formed sentences of a local tabloid. “It was down to a sheer case of rock-star syndrome.” Rock-star syndrome, I wondered what genius thought that one up. It was almost as laughable as the overly dramatised tone and the gallons of senseless alliteration the journalist had thrown into his fucking…soup of lies. Yes, soup – not the good kind, something slushy and pathetic like…cabbage soup. Now I understood why Brian always said he hated the press. This wasn’t even half the truth.
Reckless Rocker Causes Chaos.
Yesterday at 8.30pm, fans of the heavy metal band, Avenged Sevenfold, were left disappointed after finding out the scheduled concert would be postponed. Why? Well, it was down to a sheer case of rock-star syndrome, another hot-headed musician taking things a little too far. Guitarist Synyster Gates was arrested before he was able to get his fix in the spot light for assaulting an innocent man whose name is unknown. The attack was reportedly provoked by an argument between Gates’ victim and a groupie named Rachel who is reportedly sleeping with the band.
After punching the man repeatedly in the face and stomach, Gates went on to kick and yell at his victim who struggled to defend himself against the overly muscular monster. A reliable witness said “There was blood everywhere and all the fans thought Synyster was going to kill him!.” Bit much don’t you think Gates? It looks as if Avenged Sevenfold are just another band who put getting laid before their fans.
I tore the paper up in a rage. “Over muscular monster”? What kind of phrase is that? They could have at least got my name right, whether they thought I was a groupie or not. I thought back to the previous night, knowing how unjust and dishonest the papers were, knowing exactly who was to blame. Knowing exactly why. I remembered looking up from Brian’s exposed torso to see …her. She’d tried to change and it made me laugh inwardly; I could recognise her without her two-decades-too-late haircut that used to frame her square face. She’d dyed it blonde. Who was she kidding? She could cover that grey all she liked but a pixy-style haircut wasn’t going to iron out those wrinkles. She stood a few feet away wearing a typical mid-life-crisis shade of red.
My initial instinct was to swing for her, smack her square between her eyes. Let her glasses bend back on to her pointy nose as my fist hit her head; let it break like she broke our family, like she broke my dad’s heart. I wish I had, then maybe the headlines would read ‘Typically boring 18 year old puts mother in ER’ rather than the bollocks they’d wrote about Brian. Instead, I remembered what Matt had said to Beth about trying to control her anger. The same old same old that gets blabbed out to people with anger issues: ‘Take deep breaths, in and out, in and out’, ‘Count back from ten…nine…eight…’ ‘imagine the person your mad at is dressed ridiculously…’
Well I was breathing deeply, counting backwards, imagining my mother dressed as a teenage mutant ninja turtle, but my blood was still boiling inside. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and I had been fucking scorned.
“Rosie, what the hell are you doing here?” she said again, a little louder, a little more like she was scolding me.
“I’m fucking on tour with Avenged Sevenfold, what are you doing here?” I said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Her face was a picture.
“What the hell do you mean? Where’s Elizabeth?”
“Beth is here with me actually. Now, what the hell are you here for? I thought you were in Paris, loving it up with your ancient man whore.”
“Don’t you dare speak about Richard that way” she yelled as I saw two other figures come up behind her. One was just a boy, no older than fourteen. The other looked like a 1970s geography teacher, wearing a beige suit and a small weasel between his nose and mouth. “You haven’t the slightest idea what happened”.
“Oh I have a pretty good idea” I said bitterly “Why are you here!? What do you want?!”
“We left Paris two days ago” she said, trying to be calm, “Simian here was desperate to see his favourite band play.” Simian was the kid. He was a sickly looking child, one who looked like he’d spent his whole life in a cage of cotton wool; spoilt rotten. I guess the fact that his dad and his… ‘Step-mother’ were willing to fly back from Paris so he could see a band proves my point.
“Simian eh? Funny how you fly across continents for a kid who isn’t even yours when you leg-it away from the ones who are.” Brian gently took hold of my hand, feeling my frustration; I knew I wouldn’t be able to say a word of this if he hadn’t made me stronger. ‘Richard’ decided it was time to speak up.
“From what I’ve heard, you, your sister and your father drove this wonderful woman into madness young lady. You should be more respectful to the woman who gave birth to you.”
“Pfft, sure she’s crazy but we drove her no where. And the fact I was ever inside her makes me sick, actually.”
“Well I know the saying is ‘the apple never falls far from the tree’, but I can see you landed a good few orchards away from this gorgeous lady”
“Thank god for that”
“If you say so. Maybe if you were more like her you’d be less of a loner, maybe you’d have more friends.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your mother has told me a lot about you. Speaking from a psychiatrist’s point of view you seem quite deranged, socially retarded for lack of a better phrase.”
“Hey shut the hell up man!” Brian stepped forward, brandishing his index finger in accusation. His support brought my spirits up a level, but Richard’s words stung me more than they should have, or maybe it was how far my own mother had betrayed me, gossiping about me to a man who didn’t know or understand me. I assumed Brian felt the same way, my left hand feeling the crush of his muscles as his arms tensed in and out of fury. I saw Simian flinch slightly as his arm shot up; everyone watching was suddenly silenced. As if you would piss off Synyster Gates: I could read the minds of all the fans present, it was a mixture of ‘how dare that loser get Syn mad’ and ‘what the fuck, does he have a death wish?’
“What is this?” my mother, or should I just say, Helen, demanded as she became knowledgeable of mine and Brian’s apparent ‘togetherness’.
“This is a gig, which your not welcome at” Brian said: Jeff the security man and the other guys who glowed fluorescently in their yellow coats automatically approached; Brian didn’t need them, his anger alone would be enough to get his own way. I gripped harder on to his hand.
“No way Rosie Ellison” Helen said, “Do you seriously think I’ll allow you to see a man twice your age?!”
“Is he fuck twice my age, and anyway, you gave up your say in anything I do the day you ran off with the moustache.”
“Listen to yourself, you’ll end up ruining your life”
“This is what I want. Exactly what I want”
“Your seventeen, you don’t know what the hell you want”
“I’m fucking eighteen. What was that you said Rich? The woman who gave birth to me? She didn’t even remember my bloody birthday!”
She was silent for a while.
“You sound too much like your sister” she muttered in sarcasm, “Great job she did keeping you out of trouble”
“Is that a joke!?” I spat, “You’re criticising Beth for not looking after me? Isn’t that your fucking job? You’re the biggest hypocrite I’ve ever known! I actually can’t believe yo-”
I was cut short.
By a slap in the face.
From Richard.
Brian went insane. Everything was a blur: I remember clasping my cheek in pain, I remember the outraged spectators watching. I remember blinking open one eye to see Syn’s tattooed arm bite through the air until his knuckles collided with Richard’s face. Once, twice, three times.
Richard fought back, despite what the papers would tell you; he was no good at hitting any one but girls. His body hit the ground with a thump. Brian stopped. He didn’t kick him when he was down, even if the queue of fans who had transformed in to a gathering crowd wasn’t there, he still wouldn’t have battered a man whilst he was on the floor. He was the better man. The fans shouted obscenities at Richard as he, rather pathetically, climbed into the ambulance. An ambulance for a bloody nose: what a pathetic joke.
I cried as the police cuffed Brian and put him in the back of the car.
“It will be fine baby” he said, “I promise”.
The sirens sounded, the press were insight, and of all the people, of all the fans there they could have chosen to interview, they picked the weedy boy with the pale skin.
“There was blood everywhere” Simian told the interviewer, “all the fans thought Synyster was going to kill him!.”
Reckless Rocker Causes Chaos.
Yesterday at 8.30pm, fans of the heavy metal band, Avenged Sevenfold, were left disappointed after finding out the scheduled concert would be postponed. Why? Well, it was down to a sheer case of rock-star syndrome, another hot-headed musician taking things a little too far. Guitarist Synyster Gates was arrested before he was able to get his fix in the spot light for assaulting an innocent man whose name is unknown. The attack was reportedly provoked by an argument between Gates’ victim and a groupie named Rachel who is reportedly sleeping with the band.
After punching the man repeatedly in the face and stomach, Gates went on to kick and yell at his victim who struggled to defend himself against the overly muscular monster. A reliable witness said “There was blood everywhere and all the fans thought Synyster was going to kill him!.” Bit much don’t you think Gates? It looks as if Avenged Sevenfold are just another band who put getting laid before their fans.
I tore the paper up in a rage. “Over muscular monster”? What kind of phrase is that? They could have at least got my name right, whether they thought I was a groupie or not. I thought back to the previous night, knowing how unjust and dishonest the papers were, knowing exactly who was to blame. Knowing exactly why. I remembered looking up from Brian’s exposed torso to see …her. She’d tried to change and it made me laugh inwardly; I could recognise her without her two-decades-too-late haircut that used to frame her square face. She’d dyed it blonde. Who was she kidding? She could cover that grey all she liked but a pixy-style haircut wasn’t going to iron out those wrinkles. She stood a few feet away wearing a typical mid-life-crisis shade of red.
My initial instinct was to swing for her, smack her square between her eyes. Let her glasses bend back on to her pointy nose as my fist hit her head; let it break like she broke our family, like she broke my dad’s heart. I wish I had, then maybe the headlines would read ‘Typically boring 18 year old puts mother in ER’ rather than the bollocks they’d wrote about Brian. Instead, I remembered what Matt had said to Beth about trying to control her anger. The same old same old that gets blabbed out to people with anger issues: ‘Take deep breaths, in and out, in and out’, ‘Count back from ten…nine…eight…’ ‘imagine the person your mad at is dressed ridiculously…’
Well I was breathing deeply, counting backwards, imagining my mother dressed as a teenage mutant ninja turtle, but my blood was still boiling inside. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and I had been fucking scorned.
“Rosie, what the hell are you doing here?” she said again, a little louder, a little more like she was scolding me.
“I’m fucking on tour with Avenged Sevenfold, what are you doing here?” I said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Her face was a picture.
“What the hell do you mean? Where’s Elizabeth?”
“Beth is here with me actually. Now, what the hell are you here for? I thought you were in Paris, loving it up with your ancient man whore.”
“Don’t you dare speak about Richard that way” she yelled as I saw two other figures come up behind her. One was just a boy, no older than fourteen. The other looked like a 1970s geography teacher, wearing a beige suit and a small weasel between his nose and mouth. “You haven’t the slightest idea what happened”.
“Oh I have a pretty good idea” I said bitterly “Why are you here!? What do you want?!”
“We left Paris two days ago” she said, trying to be calm, “Simian here was desperate to see his favourite band play.” Simian was the kid. He was a sickly looking child, one who looked like he’d spent his whole life in a cage of cotton wool; spoilt rotten. I guess the fact that his dad and his… ‘Step-mother’ were willing to fly back from Paris so he could see a band proves my point.
“Simian eh? Funny how you fly across continents for a kid who isn’t even yours when you leg-it away from the ones who are.” Brian gently took hold of my hand, feeling my frustration; I knew I wouldn’t be able to say a word of this if he hadn’t made me stronger. ‘Richard’ decided it was time to speak up.
“From what I’ve heard, you, your sister and your father drove this wonderful woman into madness young lady. You should be more respectful to the woman who gave birth to you.”
“Pfft, sure she’s crazy but we drove her no where. And the fact I was ever inside her makes me sick, actually.”
“Well I know the saying is ‘the apple never falls far from the tree’, but I can see you landed a good few orchards away from this gorgeous lady”
“Thank god for that”
“If you say so. Maybe if you were more like her you’d be less of a loner, maybe you’d have more friends.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your mother has told me a lot about you. Speaking from a psychiatrist’s point of view you seem quite deranged, socially retarded for lack of a better phrase.”
“Hey shut the hell up man!” Brian stepped forward, brandishing his index finger in accusation. His support brought my spirits up a level, but Richard’s words stung me more than they should have, or maybe it was how far my own mother had betrayed me, gossiping about me to a man who didn’t know or understand me. I assumed Brian felt the same way, my left hand feeling the crush of his muscles as his arms tensed in and out of fury. I saw Simian flinch slightly as his arm shot up; everyone watching was suddenly silenced. As if you would piss off Synyster Gates: I could read the minds of all the fans present, it was a mixture of ‘how dare that loser get Syn mad’ and ‘what the fuck, does he have a death wish?’
“What is this?” my mother, or should I just say, Helen, demanded as she became knowledgeable of mine and Brian’s apparent ‘togetherness’.
“This is a gig, which your not welcome at” Brian said: Jeff the security man and the other guys who glowed fluorescently in their yellow coats automatically approached; Brian didn’t need them, his anger alone would be enough to get his own way. I gripped harder on to his hand.
“No way Rosie Ellison” Helen said, “Do you seriously think I’ll allow you to see a man twice your age?!”
“Is he fuck twice my age, and anyway, you gave up your say in anything I do the day you ran off with the moustache.”
“Listen to yourself, you’ll end up ruining your life”
“This is what I want. Exactly what I want”
“Your seventeen, you don’t know what the hell you want”
“I’m fucking eighteen. What was that you said Rich? The woman who gave birth to me? She didn’t even remember my bloody birthday!”
She was silent for a while.
“You sound too much like your sister” she muttered in sarcasm, “Great job she did keeping you out of trouble”
“Is that a joke!?” I spat, “You’re criticising Beth for not looking after me? Isn’t that your fucking job? You’re the biggest hypocrite I’ve ever known! I actually can’t believe yo-”
I was cut short.
By a slap in the face.
From Richard.
Brian went insane. Everything was a blur: I remember clasping my cheek in pain, I remember the outraged spectators watching. I remember blinking open one eye to see Syn’s tattooed arm bite through the air until his knuckles collided with Richard’s face. Once, twice, three times.
Richard fought back, despite what the papers would tell you; he was no good at hitting any one but girls. His body hit the ground with a thump. Brian stopped. He didn’t kick him when he was down, even if the queue of fans who had transformed in to a gathering crowd wasn’t there, he still wouldn’t have battered a man whilst he was on the floor. He was the better man. The fans shouted obscenities at Richard as he, rather pathetically, climbed into the ambulance. An ambulance for a bloody nose: what a pathetic joke.
I cried as the police cuffed Brian and put him in the back of the car.
“It will be fine baby” he said, “I promise”.
The sirens sounded, the press were insight, and of all the people, of all the fans there they could have chosen to interview, they picked the weedy boy with the pale skin.
“There was blood everywhere” Simian told the interviewer, “all the fans thought Synyster was going to kill him!.”