Backlogged Dreams [h.s]

one

Majorie Truman

June 25, 1964

"All I'm saying is that I don't think it's fair that you won't be here for the holidays." My brother, Anthony, repeats with a sigh while assisting me with the remaining items in my room that need to be packed.

He's not completely wrong. It's not fair. Leaving my family for who knows how long for a dream that may come true or absolutely punch me in the face, is definitely not fair.

Regardless, he's being a bit dramatic for speaking of the Fourth of July.

"I was here for Father's Day." Shooting him a mocking smile, I sit down on my bed to take a break.

"Ha-ha, you're very funny, Marj," He states in a dead-panned voice while he makes his way over to sit next to me. "You're leaving us. Let me mourn you."

A small laugh escapes my mouth at his dramatics as he lays his head on my shoulder, a habit all of us kids have picked up from being comforted by our mother over the years. I turn my head to look at him for a moment and then take in the remainder of my childhood room.

The room stays decorated as it was and has been for most of my life: knick-knacks, posters, playthings, and other things I've accumulated over the 21 years of my life. Luckily for this business venture, if you will, I only need my clothes and my instruments.

The plan that has been shared with me: Assist in writing and recording an album for an aspiring artist named Harry Styles in Jamaica, New York, and Los Angeles. I hadn't heard of Harry before getting the job proposal, but his team is very confident that with the 'British Invasion' of The Beatles, he'll be a sensation.

He apparently already has a number of fans across the pond from doing gigs and covers.

"You say 'us' like you still live here, bub." My little sister, June, comes bounding in with nothing but facts, per usual. She's the youngest of us, turning 13 in a couple of months. She also happens to be the most book-smart.

Anthony is 29; married and with a kid, and being the oldest of us, I'm assuming he's gonna stick with just the one. He moved out years ago after he and his newly-wedded wife, Willa, found out they were expecting my nephew.

They only moved next door, but he still did move out.

I hide a laugh by clearing my throat while Anthony reaches out to pull one of June's fiery-red pigtails, which she avoids by smacking his hand away a couple of times.

"Are we fighting in Marj's room?" Tommy questions excitedly as he and Willie pass by my door, deciding to enter.

"Is this a family reunion or something?" I groan at the twins. I was now feeling the stress of having to head to the airport soon. My palms went to try and rub the stress out of my eyes.

"No fun," Willie pouts, "Mom and Dad want us all downstairs, by the way."

The five of us look at each other for a moment before Anthony hops up and gathers all of us into a mini-circle in the middle of my room, a hug. I share a sneaky smile with June right before Anthony lightly smacks the back of my head.

"Ow!"

"Shut up," He scoffs, but smiles, "we don't know when we're all going to be together again. Let me have this group hug."

We remain like this until it's also uncomfortable. June is the first to pull away, claiming that her legs hurt when she stands in the same position for too long, to which we all mumbled agreements and headed down to our parents.

They're standing close together in front of the dining room table when we all get to the bottom of the stairs, whispering. Every time I see them together like this, they remind me of a mismatched couple, looking as if they don't actually belong together, despite their thirty years of marriage.

Our father was short, he and June being the shortest in our little clan. He was the oddball out with the normal brown hair and eyes, compared to the rest of our red hair and blue eyes. I rarely see him without a suit of some sort on, this being one of those occurrences where he's just wearing a casual button-up tucked into some jeans.

Our mother was a good five inches taller than him, but had a tendency of sitting down to make him feel a bit better about it. She, quite obviously, shared the red hair gene with her five kids, but over time the color has faded and is slowly making its way to an elegant gray. She's wearing one of her usual dresses all the moms seem to be sporting.

"Did you guys get everything packed?" She questioned after turning her attention from dad towards the five of us.

"Mostly everything," I state with a look towards Anthony, who's already nodding.

"Did you pack your instruments? Carefully?"

"They're in their cases if that's what you're asking. You act like I wouldn't take care of my own children." I fake being offended with a hand on my chest, earning a smirk and elbow shove from Tommy.

"We know we're leaving to drop you off soon," My dad starts, leaning his backside against the table which I can now tell has a box on it, "but your mother and I wanted to give you a send-off and good-luck present, if you will."

The two of them gesture for me to step in between them at the table, bringing the box, wrapped in yellow paper, closer to the edge of the table.

"You guys really didn't have to get me anything. You've done enough for all of us." Looking between my parents, I take a few short steps to join them. My mom puts an arm around my waist as my hands hesitantly go to touch the box.

"Open it, lovely." She grins and pokes my side.

So I do. I tear the yellow wrapping paper off the box and open it to be welcomed to a brand new Fender MusicMaker guitar.

"No way you guys got this for me," I gasp, taking in the beauty of the white instrument as my hand travels to hover over it, "Thank you, so so much."

"It's the one that came out in 1959. We remembered it was one you would gawk at in the stores." My dad laughed as I brought both of them in for a hug.

"Now," My mom interrupts while my dad ruffles my hair, "Let's get you to Jamaica, yes?"