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Excuse the mistakes

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The worn soles of my converse sneakers slapped against the cracking pavement as I sprinted down the alley. My guitar case bumped awkwardly against my legs, and I'm sure that if a stranger could see me right now, I'd look like I was having a walking seizure.

I shook my head in a pathetic attempt to un-stick my hair from the back of the neck, but the rain pouring down from the sky prevented any success. Finally, the service door came into view, and I reached for the handle and yanked the heavy metal door open. I jumped into the building and hurried through the back hallway until I emerged in the main room of The Garage.

"Somebody's late."

I shook my rain soaked hair out like a dog, and droplets of water went flying in all directions. "I missed the stupid bus and had to wait half an hour," I stated, my voice undoubtedly irritated. The rain had started coming when I was at the bus stop, and there was no glass hut for me to take shelter in. Needless to say, I was now grumpy.

I pulled my guitar out from under my jacket, where I'd attempted to shield it from the rain, and I placed it on the stage where Ethan and RJ were waiting. I shrugged out of my damp jacket and threw it carelessly on an empty table, and I took the steep step to the stage. I pulled my acoustic out of its case and settled down on the stool next to my microphone.

"How long have you guys been waiting?" I asked as I lifted the guitar strap over my head.

"Only about fifteen minutes," Ethan answered from behind the drum set. "RJ was already setting up when I got here."

"Thanks," I said, giving RJ an apologetic look. Usually, I got to The Garage first and set up the equipment because RJ and Ethan were either coming from school or work, and I felt bad about making them get out the instruments and amps.

"It's not a big deal, Linds," RJ replied with a dismissive wave of the hand, "the drums were already up, so all I really had to do was grab the microphones and the amps. I also grabbed your Strat." He nodded towards the familiar black case sitting on the stage next to his own, and I thanked him again.

"So," Ethan said, tapping his drumsticks against the rim of his drums, "We're playing tomorrow night, right?"

"Yes sir," I replied, instantly getting excited at the thought of performing, "Which reminds me; we need to figure out what we're going to play."

"Oh," RJ said, sitting up straighter on his stool, "I actually had an idea about that." He placed his bass gently on top of his case and reached towards my guitar. "May I?"

"Yeah, go ahead," I replied, handing it over to him. RJ grew up in a music family, so he could play pretty much any instrument, and he could also sing. At first, when we formed Hardly Human, I nominated RJ for vocals. He insisted I had the better voice, and to this day, he maintained that opinion, especially when I doubted myself.

RJ adjusted my guitar on his knee and counted to three quietly. Then, his fingertips plucked at the guitar strings, and I immediately recognized the song as "Shiver" by Coldplay.

So I look in your direction,

But you pay me no attention, do you?

I know you don't listen to me.

'Cause you say you see straight through me, don't you?

And on and on from the moment I wake,

To the moment I sleep,

I'll be there by your side,

Just you try and stop me,

I'll be waiting in line,

Just to see if you care.

As RJ's voice rang out in the empty bar, I pushed my damp bangs out of my face and started to sing along with the song. I was a huge Chris Martin fan, and this song was one of my favorites out of the many amazing Coldplay songs.

Did you want me to change?

Well I changed for good

And I want you to know.

That you'll always get your way

I wanted to say,

Don't you shiver?

Shiver

Sing it loud and clear.

I'll always be waiting for you,

So you know how much I need you,

But you never even see me, do you?

And is this my final chance of getting you?

And on and on from the moment I wake,

To the moment I sleep,

I'll be there by your side,

Just you try and stop me,

I'll be waiting in line,

Just to see if you care.

Oh, oh, oh, oh.

"You finish it up, Lindsay," RJ said, nodding at me. I hesitated, but RJ kept playing the song, and I didn't want to let it die, so I opened my mouth and sang the rest of "Shiver".

Did you want me to change?

Well I changed for good

And I want you to know.

That you'll always get your way

I wanted to say,

Don't you shiver?

Don't you shiver?

Sing it loud and clear.

I'll always be waiting for you.

Yeah I'll always be waiting for you.

Yeah I'll always be waiting for you.

Yeah I'll always be waiting for you.

For you,

I will always be waiting.

And it's you I see, but you don't see me.

And it's you I hear, so loud and so clear

I sing it loud and clear.

And I'll always be waiting for you.

So I look in your direction,

But you pay me no attention,

And you know how much I need you,

But you never even see me.

I finished that last word, and RJ let the sound of the guitar fade to silence. The corners of my mouth curved into a smile, and RJ nodded once. He handed me back my guitar, and I flipped the strap back over my head.

"Wow," Ethan said, and my head swung around to look at him. Ethan's mouth hung open and his eyes were wide, like he just saw something shocking.

"What?" I asked, tipping my head to the side, "Why are you looking at us like that?"

"I-I just," Ethan shook his head to regain his composure, and he continued, "I just think you guess should sing together more often. Your voices mesh well."

"Hmm," I replied, glancing over at RJ. Our gazes met, and I shrug. "How about it?" I asked, "Do you want to duet tomorrow night? We could do 'Shiver'."

"I don't think we should do that," RJ said hesitantly.

"The duet?" I asked, and I'm not going to lie, I was a little offended.

"Oh, no," RJ replied hurriedly, "No, I like the idea of a duet, but I don't want to do 'Shiver'."

"Alright," I said, feeling better now that I knew it wasn't me, but rather the song choice. I didn't understand why he didn't want to sing it, but I wasn't going to pry. "What would like you to sing with me?"

"We could do 'Another Heart Calls'?" RJ suggested, and I nodded vigorously.

"We'll do that," I said, and I grabbed a discarded flyer that was sitting on the stage. "Do you have a pen?" I asked, glancing at Ethan and RJ in turn.

"Yep," RJ quipped, and he pulled a pen out of his back pocket and handed it to me. I turned the flyer over to the blank back and scrawled the All American Rejects song down.

"Alright," I breathed, pushing the hair out of my face, "Let's get this set list down so that we can start rehearsing."

With our game faces on, Ethan, RJ and I started spouting ideas. Song after song was shot down, however, there were those ones that we knew we could kick ass on. Finally, after over half an hour of brainstorming, our set list was finalized.

I folded the set list and stuck it in the back pocket of my jeans, and then I stood up off the stool and placed my acoustic in its case. I grabbed my Strat as RJ and Ethan got ready, and with a nod, we dove into the first song.

*

"Mom?"

I locked the front door behind me and dropped my house keys back into my purse. "Mom, where are you?" I called as I kicked off my shoes and nudged them onto the shoe mat.

There was no answer, but before assuming that she was out, I started searching the downstairs rooms for my mom. Sometimes, she'd just drink herself to unconsciousness, and then I would have to wake her up and help her into bed.

After sweeping the downstairs, I hopped up the stairs and opened the door to my mom's bedroom. She wasn't there, and when I looked in the bathroom that was connected to hers, where she sometimes fell asleep, my mom wasn't there either.

Once again, my mom was nowhere to be seen. I let out a sound of frustration and walked down the hall to my bedroom. I dropped my guitar case lightly on my unmade bed and stripped out of my still slightly damp clothing. I pulled on a pair of flannel pants and an old long-sleeved shirt, and I raked my snarled hair up into a loose bun on the top of my head.

I settled down at my desk and started to go through the mail. In normal families, it was a parent's job to weed out the bills so that they could be paid, but my mom spent her time boozed out of her mind. So, the duty fell to me. It was a good thing, too, since our house probably would've been repossessed if she had the responsibility.

"Water... heating..." My voice trailed off as I placed the bills on my desk and disregarded the spam mail by just dropping it on my carpet. Suddenly, I came across a white envelope with my mother's name and our address scrawled across the front in familiar handwriting.

With no hesitation, I focused on the envelope and tore open the top. I pulled out a folded piece of paper, and when I opened it, a check floated onto my lap. I breathed out a sigh of relief and quickly shut the check and letter into the bottom drawer of my desk, making sure to hide it under a bunch of notebooks.

By now, you're all probably wondering how my mom and I manage to stay afloat when she doesn't work, and I'm a full time student. Well, when my dad left and my mom started drinking, her parents, my grandparents, took pity on us. They were loaded, so they send us monthly checks.

The first few went straight to my mom's clubbing money, and I'd had to take longer shifts at the Garage to meet ends meet. That's when I started intercepting the checks and depositing them into my bank account. I told my mom that the checks kept getting lost in the mail, and she believed me.

I know; it's not right to lie, but honestly? In this situation, I don't think I'll be going to hell for it.

Anyways, because the money stopped coming in to aid my mom in her alcoholic endeavors, she started dating rich guys for their money. Well, dating isn't really the right word, but you get the picture.

So, with the combination of my grandparents' checks and my pay from The Garage, we were paying all our checks, and I even had a little cushion saved up. It was for the day when I would finally be able to leave home.

I threw out the spam mail and then grabbed my backpack. I pulled out the physics pre-lab that was due tomorrow, but before I could start into the world of standing wave patterns, I heard my phone vibrating in my purse.

I sighed and stood up, and I crossed my room to where my purse sat on top of my guitar case. I wasn't really in the mood to talk on the phone with anyone. I was tired, and I still had homework to do. Plus, I was starting to get antsy about the gig tomorrow, like I usually did the night before.

As I checked the caller ID, all annoyance melted away as I saw Connor's name light up the screen. Quickly, I flipped the phone open and pressed it to my ear. "Hey big bro," I said in greeting, and a grin spread across my face.

"Hi Linds," Connor replied, and I plopped down on my bed. "Sorry I haven't called lately. Midterms are next week, and my anthropology exam is going to own my ass."

Connor was a senior at Clarkston & Young University, which was just outside Cleveland, five hours away. He was majoring in psychology because he wanted to be the person to talk to when someone was in a situation like ours with my mom. Connor said he never had someone like that other than me, and he wished he had.

"It's no big deal," I said reassuringly, "I'm just happy you called. I've missed you."

"I miss you, too, Lindsay," Connor stated warmly, "Now, tell me about your gig last Saturday? Did you kick ass? What did you sing? I want to know everything."

That was something I absolutely loved about my older brother. Even with the stress he went through at school, especially since he was there on a full academic scholarship that would be torn away if his grades ever fell below perfect, Connor cared about my music. I mean, the guy was tone deaf himself, but he never failed to ask about my gigs.

"Well, we need a couple Green Day songs," I stated, recalling the short set list I'd written on a napkin that night. "Also, I threw some Halestorm in there, as well as a Jet song."

"Are You Gonna Be My Girl?" Connor asked.

"No," I replied, "Skin and Bones, actually."

"Good choice," Connor said genuinely, "Green Day and Halestorm as well. I'm sure you did them justice."

"Well," my voice dropped off as I remembered "Love Bites". "I messed up on the guitar part after the bridge," I stated. Connor scoffed, and I could just picture him rolling his eyes at me.

"Linds, I swear to god, if you don't see how talented you are, I'm going to..." Connor voice trailed off for a second as he thought, and then he came back with, "I'm going to cut off your strumming fingers."

"You wouldn't dare!" I cried, trying to keep the laughter from my voice. There was silence for a moment, and then Connor said;

"I know." I chuckled, and I could hear the crackle on the other end of the phone line as Connor laughed as well. "So," he continued, "Did any other memorable things happen since we last talked?"

Carter came back.

I told the voice in my mind to shut the hell up, and I replied with a simple, "Nope." If RJ and Ethan hated Carter, then Connor absolutely loathed him. After the things that went down between Carter and me, Connor had actually driven home from school and threatened to kill him. At the time, though, I still loved Carter, and I'd begged Connor not to do anything.

Looking back, I should've agreed wholeheartedly and even joined in.

Just as I started to say something about school, I heard the sound of the front door opening and slamming shut, and then my mom's giggles. "Shit," I muttered as I heard the male laughter join in, "Connor, I have to go."

"Is it Mom?" he asked, suddenly serious.

"Isn't it always?" I replied, and I sighed, "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Of course," Connor said firmly, "Bye Lindsay."

"Bye Connor." I snapped my phone shut and pushed myself reluctantly off of my bed. I really didn't want to deal with this tonight.

"Mom?" I called, and I padded down the hallway and hopped down the stairs. I walked into the living room only to find my mom full on sucking face with her "boyfriend", Butch.

No, I'm not kidding, that is actually his name.

"Hey Lindsay!" My mom slurred, tearing her lips from Butch's to turn and look at me. "How are you?"

"You're plastered and it's not even past ten," I stated, ignoring her question.

"No I'm not," My mom shot back, and her last word was interrupted by a short burp. She blushed and giggled, and I rolled my eyes. "Why do you have to be such a stick in the mud, Lindsay?"

"Mom, you need to go to bed," I said, fully embodying her label for me.

"No!" she wailed, and Butch stroked her hair while looking at me.

"No," He said, standing up. I noticed how wobbly he was on his feet, which led me to realize that he was probably drunk as well. "What she needs is another drink." Butch leered at my mom and said, "I'll be right back, Babe."

"I'll be waiting," my mom replied seductively, and I tried not to vomit. Butch winked at her and then made his way to the kitchen to pour my already wasted mom another drink.

"You have got to be kidding me," I muttered under my breath, and I hurried quickly past my mom, who was lying across the couch, humming. I walked into the kitchen to see Butch grabbing two large wine glasses from the cabinet. It was only when he started pouring a mixture of liquor and juice, not wine, into the glasses that he noticed me.

"Hey there, Lindsay," Butch said, his smile looking abnormally white and bright. "How has your day been?" he asked in an overly interested voice I knew to be an act.

"Just peachy," I deadpanned, and before Butch could react, I grabbed the wine glasses and poured the contents in the sink.

"What the hell was that for?" Butch demanded, and his friendly demeanor vanished.

"You are not giving my mom more alcohol," I stated firmly, and I tried to take the bottles from his hands. "Let go of these! She's already drunk enough!"

"Calm down!" Butch growled, pulling his arms out of my reach, "Maybe you need a drink to chill the fuck out!"

Before I could stop him, Butch tipped the open bottle of vodka over my head, and the liquid started to pour onto my hair and face, and it soaked through my clothes almost immediately. I let out a cry of shock and anger, and I shoved Butch away from me. The bottles of liquor dropped from his hands and shattered against the kitchen floor.

"Get the hell out of my house!" I howled, grabbing Butch by the front of his shirt. He was undoubtedly stronger than me, but I was furious. Anger seemed to give you superhuman strength.

I dragged Butch out of the kitchen and through the living room. My mom was passed out on the couch, and she didn't so much as make a sound when Butch started yelling her name. "Beth! Beth, tell your bitch of a daughter to let go of me!"

When I reached the front door, I yanked it open and pushed Butch forcefully out onto the front porch. "Stay the hell away from my mom and me!" I yelled, and I then I slammed the door shut in Butch's face.

I took a deep breath and almost gagged. Because of Butch's drunken "mishap", I now stunk of alcohol. This wasn't the first time someone had done this to me. I groaned in frustration, and after a moment of regaining my composure, I walked back into the living room and shook my mom's shoulder gently.

"Mom, I need you to wake up so that I can help you to bed," I whispered as she began to stir.

"Where's my drink?" my mom replied, her eyes opening slightly, "Where'd Butch go?"

"He had to leave," I stated. Hey, I wasn't lying. "And there's no drink, so I need you to get up."

Without warning, my mom rolled to the edge of the couch and vomit spewed from her mouth and splattered across the wooden floor. Instinctively, I reached forward and grabbed my mother's hair to hold it back.

Finally, after a couple minutes, my mom finished throwing up and dry heaving and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. With a few quiet words mumbled under her breath, my mom pushed herself up so that she was sitting, and then I pulled her arm over my shoulder.

I counted to three, and then I helped my mom stand up. She leaned almost all her weight on me, and I struggled to bring her up that stairs. When we got to my mom's bedroom, I sat her down on the bed and pulled off her stilettos. Next, I removed the chunky jewelry on her neck and wrists, so that she didn't give herself a black eye while sleeping.

"C'mon," I grunted as I tried to pull my mom up the bed so that I could get her under the covers. "Mom, you have to help me out, here." Finally, I managed to tuck her in, and I grabbed a tissue from her bedside table and wiped off the excess blue eye shadow she had slathered across her eyelids.

"'Night, Mom," I said tiredly, and I stood up to leave. However, my mom's hand shot out with amazing speed, and she held me where I stood.

"Sing to me, Lindsay," she whispered, burrowing deep under the blanket.

No. Oh, no, no, no.

This was the mom I hated the most.

You see, because of the alcohol, my mom could be a completely different person at times. There was the drunken mom, who was present a lot. Then, there was the bitchy, mean mom who seemed to blame me for all her problems. Very rarely, there was a normal mom. The last time she was present was last month, and she'd actually made me lunch.

However, this was the worst mom. She would get needy and vulnerable, and the roles would be reversed. I'd be playing the grown up, and she'd be playing the young child who just needed to be loved.

The childlike mom usually came out when she was drunk and I was putting her to bed. She'd ask me to sing her to sleep, and I could never find it in me to say no.

"Fine," I said quietly, and without sitting down, I started humming the start of the child's lullaby I sang to my mom, which was the only song I'd ever sung for her.

Golden slumber kiss your eyes,
Smiles await you when you rise.
Sleep,
pretty baby,
Do not cry,
And I'll sing you a lullaby.

Care you know not,
Therefore sleep,
While I o'er you watch do keep.
Sleep,
pretty darling,
Do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby.

I finished the song to the quiet snores of my mom, and I wiped a stray tear from the corner of my eye before it made it to the curve of my chin. Quickly, I hurried from the room and closed the door quietly behind myself.

I looked longingly at my bedroom door, but I could smell the stench of vomit wafting from downstairs. I was the only one who'd clean it up, so I trudged down the stairs. The smell didn't even cause me to gag because I was used to it by now.

I padded into the kitchen only to be confronted with clear liquid all over the floor, along with the broken bottles the liquor had been contained in. I'd completely forgotten about the mess Butch had made, and I had to clean that up as well.

Suddenly, overcome with a sea of emotions, I sunk to my knees. I didn't want to cry, but the tears didn't give a shit about what I wanted, and they started to roll down my cheeks faster and faster. I pulled my knees to my chest and let my forehead lean against the side of the refrigerator.

This was going to be a long night. 

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