Wallflower [H.S.]

prologue

The closest I have ever been to pure euphoria was three years ago when I attended my first live performance. It was a band that little to no one had ever heard of, and I stood in the front row singing along to every single word at the top of my lungs. Growing up, I never really had a place to call home, yet I find home in every concert venue I have been to. It is classic escapism. The haze of fog through the neon lights, the bass guitarist going absolutely mad, and the sweaty bodies all moving for the same reasons. Home doesn't need to be so subjective, especially when music is a home for everyone.

Music is my communication device. When I have a hard time trying to say what I really want to say, I always find exactly how I feel within the lyrics of a song. My life has felt like a series of unfortunate events, but I don't think I would go back to change a thing.

I got kicked out of school at the age of sixteen for a fight that I didn't start, but I finished it and never looked back. I had always been the troubled kid that no parent wanted their child around. I ended up skipping town and moving to the middle of nowhere here in Lincoln, Arizona, with nothing but my car and fifty dollars in my pocket. The first person I met in this town was Lenny Fitzgerald, an eighteen-year-old kid who had it all, but felt like he had nothing. We bonded over our love for music and I was in awe of his guitar skills. He later introduced me to another boy from Lincoln, Ace Sawyer. Ace has always been up to no good, but his bad-boy front wasn't good enough for me. I saw right through him and the black eyeliner he wore.

One night after attending a party that ended in cops knocking on the door and everyone fleeing, we sat in the garage at Lenny's house, where he had been gracious enough to let me stay in. It was insulated and made into an add-on room by his parents in the '70s and now its only occupant was me and occasionally the band. One lone couch, a blow-up mattress, band posters, and colored Christmas lights covered every inch of the interior. As we sat in the garage that night, still buzzing off all the alcohol we had consumed, we started playing a mixtape I had made. Lenny brought out his guitar and Ace always carried his in the back of his Volkswagen and I sang along to a song I had sung a million times. It wasn't that night that we knew we could make something out of ourselves, it was the night we met Drew Russell.

There was no one like Drew Russell in this town. He had a thick Australian accent and hair longer than mine, which was hard to come by. The most important thing about Drew was that he is a drummer. One of the best drummers I have ever seen, and that is saying a lot. To this day, I can't remember how the conversation came about, but he ended up in the garage with us one night. He drove to Lenny's in a yellow pick-up truck with a drumset in the bed. We all thought he was ridiculous, but he was the most determined out of all of us.

We didn't get too serious about it until the annual Battle of the Bands contest was announced. I had never heard of such a thing, but Lenny knew just about everything about it. After going through five rounds, the winners will be going on tour with the Ramones, one of the most popular rock bands of the decade. Now we practice almost every night, which has made Lenny's parents' lives a living hell, but we don't really care.

No one around here liked the idea of rock music, especially when it is heavily affiliated with drugs and partying. We had become every parents worst nightmare, and fucking loved it.

        "It says band name," Drew said with the pen in his hand, reading off of the paper. "We don't even have a fucking name."

On his way over, Drew stopped by the Lincoln Town Hall for the paper we needed to fill out to be put in the Battle of the Bands contest. So, now we all sit around the coffee table that had one broken leg, trying to fill it out.

        "I never even thought about that." Lenny laughs.

        I rolled my eyes, "How the hell have we been practicing for a month now and don't have a name?"

        "What about 'The Joint Rollers'?" Ace suggests as he leans over the table, rolling a joint on the plastic rolling tray.

        Drew shakes his head, "That's the stupidest shit I've ever heard, Ace."

I zone off into thought, ignoring whatever they said next. Throughout my entire life, I have never been heard or seen by anyone, I was always just a problem for everyone. Though I never really had a problem being alone, I envied those who weren't. I never had someone to talk to or even count on. I was a dying wallflower within a world of beautiful sunflowers. Wallflower.

        "Hey, what about wallflower?" I suggest, interrupting whatever they were going on about.

And that was it, that was the beginning.

____

hello and welcome to Wallflower!!

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my twitter is @tpwlelaine and my DMs are always open if any of you ever need anything.

peace 'n love,
e l a i n e.