Rock 'N' Roll Singer

𝗘𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧

     That night as I lay in bed, I thought about what Bon said and took it to heart. Sure, I had gotten the don't-stop-chasing-your-dreams speech from my mother and sister, but they're family, and they're supposed to say that sort of thing. My classmates in high school wrote off my passion as a side effect of my non-stop doses of rock and roll. Teachers thought I was daft, even when I tried to tell them that Angus Young dropped out of school and became successful.

     "Angus Young flashes his ass. May as well be a male stripper." One quipped.

     Bon's voice repeated in my mind, lulling me to sleep with an added confidence of sorts. If I was going to keep this up, I had to do more than just sing and look pretty if nothing more than to show anyone who ever did or would doubt me. I had to take charge.

     The next morning, I spent brekky forcing my brain to step into creative mode. Lead markings polka-dotted my notebook pages as I searched for the right word. I'd idly poke at the pages with my pencil or doodles random squiggles in the hopes that it would somehow give me what I was looking for. My mind wandered back to my high school days, remembering the boy the song was about. I gritted my teeth and let my heart bleed out onto the page. I could hear his voice now and picture him rolling his eyes at the magazine clippings pasted into my school notebooks—and anything that didn't have to do with him getting ahead in his classes.

     Once I had gotten a decent portion of the song lyrics done, I rang up Jack, calling for a rehearsal thar afternoon. I tapped my bunny slipper-clad foot as I waited for his mother to pick up, realise who I was, and call for her son to get to the phone (which meant yelling into the receiver rather than towards his room). Though initially surprised, he agreed, wondering what had gotten into me to want to be so "managerial."

     I had simply replied, "Just because I feel like it today."

     Feeling as though I was on a roll, I faked calling my mother to speak to Bon. You can't be too careful in a house full of women eager to eavesdrop.

     "Hello, Mum. Lovely weather today, isn't it?"

     Radio silence.

     "The bloody hell are you on about?" Blurted Bon.

     Once no one was within the vicinty of the phone (anyone who wasn't snooping in the already echoey hall by the stairs), I lifted the receiver closeer to my lips and spoke in a just just louder than a whisper.

     "Do you know if Angus and Malcolm doing anything today?"

     "So you'll sleep with them and not me?"

      My eyes may just roll out of my skull. "No. Could you see if they'd be willing to swing by a friend's house for one of our band rehearsals? I could drive them over."

      "Sure, I'll see. Just none of that Mun crap when I call back, alright?"

     I nodded and gave him my approval.

     Around 20 minutes later, just as I had seemingly mastered the art of wrapping my hair up in a towel, the phone rang.

     "Oh my God," called Allison. Her voice raced up the stairs and into the steamy bathroom.

     I poked my head out, tying the strap around my bathrobe into a neat bow. I leaned over rail.

     "I won concert tickets!"

     "Really? To who?"

     "Don't know. Maybe it's the Ramones." She waited as the caller talked some more.

     "If a cow laughed real hard, would milk come out of her nose?" Her face scrunched up in confusion. For a moment, she paused before telling whoever was on the other line to piss off. No concert tickets, then.