Rock-And-Roll Eyes

Chapter Eight

We didn't have another show for two weeks at the very beginning of summer. That gave us all a bit of a break, and the opportunity to enjoy our summer vacation. Even the heat had let up so we could actually go outside. It seemed like the perfect opportunity for teenagers to just be teenagers. All of us could spend time with our friends without any responsibilities weighing us down. It was exactly how life should be; with the children living carefree and the adults watching on with pleasant sMilo. For a few fleeting moments, everything seemed perfect, until I saw the bright red door to my house fly open quicker than it ever should.

Molly and I were walking along the streets in rhythm with each other. Every so often, we would shoot each other goofy grins, causing the other to break down in laughter. We had just come from the public pool. The cool water was perfect for a day like today where the sun seemed to want to turn us all into shriveled up old raisins. As we walked back, we talked on and on about the school friends we met at the pool and the gossip that rang among them.

"I don't know, I'm just not the dating sort," Molly said.

I smirked, "Ah, but Albert Peterson thinks otherwise."

A boy in our class had been continuously asking her out since she started at the school. He was short, stocky, and seemed to be blowing his nose more than actually breathing. I loathed having class with him because his constant horn-like blows got on my last nerve. Molly shook her head, "No way in hell would I go out with that Galoot. He gives me the boke."

I laughed. Despite being in Bristol for a little over a year, she had yet to lose her Scottish charm. More often than not, I hear her using slang I didn't understand, sometimes even mixing it with Bristol slang.

"Besides," Molly shook her head, "He's not my type."

I glanced at her, "And what is your type?"

"I haven't quite found it yet."

The two of us gazed at each other for a moment more than what was deemed acceptable. Turning to move my towel tighter around my body, I laughed, "You better find it fast before your Mum starts begging for grandchildren."

"Christ, I don't even want to think about that," Molly covered her ears and moaned.

I cackled. Another thing the two of us had in common was our complete dislike of children. We had both sworn to ourselves early on that we wouldn't have children. I couldn't imagine another human being coming out of me, and the pressure that would put on the world around me would be unbearable. I didn't want to miss out on life, and I definitely didn't want the pains of pregnancy.

Molly and I turned on my street. It was a skinny street with houses built long before Grandda was even born. They were rickety and held the history of several families trapped within the walls. Kids on the street used to tell ghost stories of old witches that used to live on that street or people who died of mysterious causes. Just by looking at those long rows of houses, you could almost believe them.

My house was in the very middle. You would never be able to point it out directly, it looked like every other house in the row, except the bright red door. That was Grandmum's idea, she was the one who wanted her house to stand out. She painted that door red just a few months before she got sick. That was the last thing she did to the house, and Grandda didn't have the heart to change it. Now, we could always spot our house in a crowd.

Never did I imagine seeing the bright red door fling open with such force. Just as Molly and I approached the front gate, Vincent came flying out of the house. He collided with me, making both of us fall over. I shouted, "What the bloody hell, Vincent?"

"Something's wrong with Oscar," he breathed, "I got a call from his Aunt."

"His Aunt? I thought she lived in London."