"I can't believe you're already famous," my sister, Abigail, remarked over the phone. "Bogart's is such a big venue, I'm so happy for you!"

"Well, I'm only opening so it's not like they'll all be there for me, but it is a lot of great exposure and I'm really excited about it," I responded to her. After Manny sent me the rest of the details about the big showcase, the first thing I did was call my sister.

She was the oldest of the four of us kids at twenty-nine, and she was also the most supportive of me when I announced that I was moving to Cincinnati to pursue music. She'd always believed in me and she was always so excited whenever anything happened.

My parents were very traditional in their views, wanting their daughters to become stay at home moms and their son to work really hard to provide for a family. Abigail had no problem with their plan for her and was very happy staying at home while her husband worked in some finance job and she took care of their four children at home.

The middle sister, Lily, didn't quite fall in line and instead of getting married out of high school, decided to go to college and then get a job in software engineering in Indianapolis. Our parents weren't thrilled with her decisions, but felt better about it after she met her boyfriend and they got serious.

My brother, Joshua, was still in college with plans to become a doctor. He was our parents' favorite and they never even tried to hide it. Our dad reminded us on multiple occasions that not only was he the baby of the family, but they were only having so many girls because they were going to have as many kids as it took to have a boy. He was their pride and joy.

Which left me, the black sheep of my siblings who ran off to pursue a pipe dream in a big city with no plans to marry or get pregnant. At first, my parents were furious and wouldn't support or talk to me. Both Joshua and Lily thought that it was stupid, but their reaction wasn't as harsh. Abigail was the only one who fully supported my decision.

"Of course you're excited about it, this is amazing!" she continued to shriek in excitement. I finally got home from my drive after work with my greasy bags of fast food in hand. "Please tell me that you can get some tickets."

"They gave me a few," I confirmed. "Do you think that you'll be able to make it? It's a week night."

"Absolutely, I'll have Mom watch the kids," she assured me quickly. "I'll talk to Joshua too, maybe he can make the drive."

"It doesn't seem like it'd be his kind of thing," I warned her apprehensively. Once in the building, I took a detour to the mail room on the first floor to check my mailbox. There were a few envelopes in there, so I tucked them under my arm and continued on my trek up the stairs to my apartment.

"He still might want to come," Abigail told me. "You know, he's talking to a new girl now? It'd be a cute date idea."

"Well, I have four tickets and I only have you and Lina on my list, so the tickets are his if he wants them," I decided, already huffing and puffing as I marched up the steps. What was the point of doing so much cardio in the mornings if it didn't improve my ability to walk up stairs? I was starting to think that running was a complete sham.

In the background of the call, I heard a baby start to cry. At first, I thought it was Desi's baby, but when I heard Abigail saying, "Oh no, don't wake up," I knew it was her little girl.

"Give the babies hugs and kisses for me," I requested as I finally got to the right floor and wedged my phone between my ear and shoulder to get the keys out of my purse and unlock the stubborn door. I rested the mail on the entry way table and plopped my fast food on the coffee table to prepare for some Netflix and dinner by myself.

"I will. They miss you," she responded as the crying got louder. "I should go."

"I miss them too. I'll talk to you later," I said before we finished saying goodbye and the phone call ended. Eager to dig in to my burger and fries, I grabbed a water from the fridge and then positioned myself on the left couch cushion to maximize it's comfortability.

It had been a while since I've been home. I only lived about an hour and a half away from my hometown, but I got so busy working at the diner and my music that it always slipped my schedule. Especially since Abigail had the most free time during the weekends, but that was when I was the busiest.

I ended up only going home for Fourth of July, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. It didn't help that every time I went home to see my parents, they were trying to set me up with another single early-twenty-something in our town and it was awkward. I was never ready to have the 'I'm not looking for a relationship right now, I'm focusing on my music' conversation with them because it always ended in my mother crying about wanting more grand babies.

Out of all four of her children, it was pretty clear that I was the least likely to ever have children. Abigail already did her part, Lily was settling down with her boyfriend, and Joshua was going to become a doctor. Even if he didn't have kids, my parents would be proud of him just for that feat alone.

In some ways, the pessimism from my parents about my music career made me feel very self conscious and anxious about whether or not I would actually make it in the industry. It was cut throat and I had to fight tooth and nail to get even a little bit of traction. But in other ways, their nagging fueled me because I was so determined to prove them wrong.

After I scarfed down my dinner, I went back to the mail I'd brought up earlier. There was some junk mail and bills, but the last envelope caught my attention. It was a long orange envelope that was thick and heavier than most pieces of mail. There was no return address.

Curious about the small package, I opened it up and pulled out an index card and a CD case. On the index card there was a note.

Dear Maren Headly,

I know that mixed tapes are cheesy these days, but I'd always found the sentiment of a mixed tape so beautiful. I couldn't help but make one for you, because all of these songs remind me of you and I thought you'd enjoy them. Hopefully, I'll have the courage to some day meet you in person and you can tell me what you think of the list.

Sincerely,
Mrs. Lamb

This was, by far, the weirdest item that had ever been sent to me. If it had been sent to my PO box, I wouldn't have been concerned at all and would have thought it was a really nice gesture. The fact that it was sent to my home address sent a chill down my spine.

How did she get my home address? I was always so sure never to post it anywhere on any of my socials. However, I was becoming a public figure so maybe this kind of thing just came with the territory? I wasn't sure how concerned I should be, but it definitely felt like an invasion to me.

With the CD still in my hand, I flipped it over to the back to read the list of songs.

Perfect Places - Lorde

Loving You – Seafret

I Found – Amber Run

Every Breath You Take – The Police

I'll Be Good – Jaymes Young

Riptide – Vance Joy

Lover – Taylor Swift

You've Got the Love – Florence + The Machine

Pretty When You Cry – Lana Del Rey

Reading the list made me feel even more uneasy for multiple reasons. The first reason being that most of the songs on the list were love songs. Combined with the romantic things that were said in the second letter and the flowers sent to Manny's office, I was getting more uncomfortable with the fact that this person had some obvious romantic feelings for me.

I knew that they weren't real feelings, as they had no idea who I was. However, people always think that they love the people that they are fans of. I was convinced that I'd marry John Travolta when I was seven watching Grease on repeat. But to send me these gifts as if we were actually involved at all? It was crossing a boundary.

The second reason that I hated this "gift" was because they weren't just love songs. They were tailored specifically to me. Most of the artists were ones that I looked up to and that influenced my sound as an artist. That wouldn't be too hard to figure out by going through my social media where I do talk about the artists that I really like, but they clearly spent so much time finding the right songs to put on this CD.

The last reason that I wanted to throw up at the moment was the fourth song on the list. Every Breath You Take is a notoriously creepy song about basically stalking somebody. It made me grab the entire package that the CD came in and throw it in the garbage. I didn't want it and unlike the flowers, I didn't feel bad for throwing it away.

Hopefully, this person was really young. Maybe in her early teens or something, who found somebody who really resonated with her and she's become infatuated like most teens do. Maybe the signature, Mrs. Lamb, was a fake name. If that was true, then it was possible that this wasn't even a girl I was talking to.

I didn't know what to think.

I made a mental note to call Manny the next day to ask him if this behavior was normal. I didn't expect to get fans as... well, fanatic, so soon in my career. I thought this came later down the road when I had a mansion and body guards to protect me from people who got too caught up in feelings for somebody they never actually knew.

Trying to tell myself that I was overreacting, I tried to forget about the CD after it landed in the trash and decided that instead of watching Netflix, I could distract myself by getting some songwriting done. I still felt tense, but I wanted to believe that it really wasn't a big deal. I must have let my address slip somewhere and they caught it. Maybe I added my location to an Instagram post or there was a piece of mail in the background of a picture.

If anything, this incident has just taught me that I should be more careful with my information. A harmless lesson in personal security.

After hearing about so many crazy stories about the weirdos that celebrities have to deal with, I certainly got lucky by just receiving a CD in the mail. It sure could be a lot worse.

Due to the constant thumping of rap music coming from Ron's apartment, I was struggling with keeping my concentration and eventually decided to sneak off to the roof. It wasn't something I usually did so late in the year when the weather was chilly, but it was an easy way to get some peace and quiet.

In the summers, taking a folding chair up to the roof for a couple of hours was a nice way to escape the sounds of babies crying and the vibrations of the bass dropping. With a desperate desire to get into the zone, I bundled up in a jacket and tucked my notebook under my arm.

I had to climb three more stories to get to the top floor of the building and then walked down the long hall to the utility closet. The door was supposed to be locked at all times, according to the sign on the door, but that lock was broken long before I moved in and all I had to do to get inside was shimmy the knob a couple of times before I could nudge it open.

Using the light that seeped in from the hallway, I was able to navigate my way to the rusty latter in the corner of the dingy room. With each step up, the groaning sound of metal moving with my weight and clanking under every step echoed through the small room. The metal latter was so old and feeble that it almost felt like it was going to fall apart at any second, but I still made it up to the top safely.

Outside, the air was brisk and windy but I was able to stay comfortable enough by tucking away by a wall near the door. Despite the cold, I enjoyed being outside, looking out at the dark city as I got to focus on my writing. Sitting in silence, listening to the faint sounds of the traffic below, allowed my mind to cleanse and focus on my thoughts much more than I ever could in my claustrophobic apartment.

Growing up with three siblings and then moving into this chaotic apartment building, silence was a luxury to me and as I sat by myself on the roof, I felt a tiny bit of peace.

Music had always been therapeutic for me, especially growing up. When I felt constantly overshadowed by my siblings and suffocated by my strict parents, I could always turn to my guitar and hide away somewhere in our vast back yard. It was my escape from the chaos and a creative outlet that let me get my teenage angsty emotions out of my system.

Before I turned fifteen, I had a passion for music but would only aimlessly write lyrics sometimes and create detailed playlists on YouTube and Spotify from other artists. But when my dad brought home a guitar for my fifteenth birthday, that was when my passion for music really took off.

I was surprised when my dad got me the guitar, as he hated that I spent so much time obsessed with music, but I felt like he caved in hopes that learning how to play my guitar would distract me from dating boys. It didn't. If anything, my high school relationships gave me more inspiration for song writing, and playing in the school talent show got me even more attention.

It was almost comical how badly that plan backfired on him.

But now, I felt determined to create a life for myself with music so that I could prove to my family that it wasn't just a hobby, or a pipe dream, or a phase. I wanted my dad to believe that buying that guitar for me six years ago was the best thing he could have ever done for me. Because some day, I was going to make it big and then they'd all see.