Perfect Disaster

       The bell rang and I slung my backpack over one shoulder and walked out of the classroom as quickly as I could manage. Once the majority of the student body made it out of their last class of the day, the hallway traffic became slower than molasses. I just wanted to get to the auditorium as fast as possible. Pushing through the hoards of teenagers, I made it to my locker, grabbed my coat and headed toward the east end of Brighton High School.

            The doors to the auditorium were unlocked as always, and I did not hesitate to let myself in. I knew Eric, the stage manager wouldn’t mind. I came there every day, even though rehearsals for the school play had stopped over a month ago. I would stay there for hours on days that I didn’t feel like going home. It was the only place I actually felt safe and welcome.

            I dropped my things on the floor and slid my back down the wall until I was sitting flat against it with my knees bent in front of me. Pulling out my iPod, I pushed my ear buds in to my ears, but no sooner than I chose a song my cell phone chirped to alert me of a new message. It was from my mom. “I want you home by 3, some old family friends are coming over at 5 and you need time to get ready.”  With a sigh, I scooped up my things and walked out of the dark auditorium heading for the parking lot.

            Who had she invited over? Our only family friends had moved away last summer. We didn’t know anyone else. And if she expected me to dress up, she was going to be very disappointed. It simply was not happening.

I drove home in my old, beat up Ford fusion, blaring my music to drown out my thoughts. Everything about me had been changing lately, even my music taste. I used to listen to a really wide range of music, but in recent times it had been only one band. One band that no one had ever heard of in America because they were only popular in Canada. One band that I had discovered by accident, but had fallen in love with at the first note. That one band was Marianas Trench.

I turned into my gravel driveway, which was about 100 yards long and twisted through the spacious front yard up to the house. My house was an old white farm house with a wraparound porch. My family owned three acres of unkempt lawn which were surrounded by many acres of grassy fields. There were no other houses for a few miles at least. Sometimes my parents joked that it would be the perfect place for a horror movie to take place because no one would hear the screams.

When I entered the house, I was immediately hit with the strong scent of garlic and onions cooking in a frying pan. Then I noticed that my mom had actually cleaned the kitchen and dining room for the first time in months. “How was your day, sweetie?” she asked from the sink where she was peeling potatoes.

“It was alright,” I said, “who is coming over?”

“Do you remember Grandpa and Grandma’s old neighbors, the Ramsays?”

“Uh, yeah,” I said. I did remember them, but vaguely. I was very young when we last saw them. I had completely forgotten that I knew people with the same last name as the lead singer in my new favorite band. What a strange coincidence. There was no way they were related. Our Ramsays were an elderly couple who owned a real estate business together. The other Ramsays were a family of musicians from Canada. But I couldn’t help wondering.