Let Me Call You Sweetheart

Juke Box Hero

"Oh my god, and when the pyros went off as the solo kicked in", you air guitar and hum the solo at your drummer, Terry, aggressively.

Terry responds with his own epic air drum fill, "Are you kidding me? It was all about that 5-minute drum solo, man. Fucking Epic!!"

Your bassist, Jenna, and rhythm guitarist/lead singer Harley roll their eyes at one another, "It's about the whole ensemble, not just one individual!" Harley complains

"Exactly!" Jenna says, "You are always so right, my songstress angel," she says beaming at Harley

You run a little ahead of them and jump on top of a trash can, with your arms outstretched, "One day, that's gonna be us, you know. People surged forward just to breathe the same air as us. Singing our songs back at an unimaginable volume. My god, I need a cold shower just thinking about it." You say fanning yourself and jumping down in front of a headbanging Terry, and join in.

Jenna and Harley laugh, run in, barging into your sides, making your own tiny mosh pit, to nothing.

Terry raises his hands in the air in the form of two sets of devil horns.

"And that, my friends, is why we will annihilate the competition at the battle of the bands! Complete decimation. Absolute devastation." he roars. You absolutely radiate happiness around this band of misfits.

As you near your house, the joy steadily begins to leave you.

Jenna says, "Why don't you come and stay at ours tonight? We can all carry on the party at mine. No one is home". Her words say, let's party, her expression says, please don't go in there.

"I'd love to, but you know rules are rules. I have to get to the battle of the bands without being grounded," you say with a sheepish shrug.

You wave them goodbye as you put your keys in the door, taking a deep breath as you enter, trying to be as quiet as possible.

As the door creaks open, you roll your eyes, having forgotten to oil it earlier, rookie error!

The TV is blaring, so you offer up at an average volume "Hi", hoping to just slip past to the sanctuary of your room. But, unfortunately, it's an ad break, so they engage.

"Oh, the waster returns. How much money did you piss up the wall tonight for your precious band merch?" He slurs from his armchair without turning to look at you.

You close your eyes and remember to just be civil. It wasn't long until the battle of the bands. You could do this.

"I remembered what you said about it being a big waste of money, so I didn't buy anything tonight. Other than a bottle of water," you say in a neutral as possible tone.

Your Mom rears her head around at you and looks you over, "Must you dress like the great unwashed when you go out? Did any of the neighbours see you?"

You look down at your jeans and t-shirt combination and feel bad feelings start to descend. You know it's coming.

"Um, I don't think they did. I'll be sure to pick a better outfit next time," you say, smiling, in what you hope translates as apologetic.

It does not, apparently...

"You know what, we slave at work every day, so you never want for anything. We fill your wardrobe with wonderful clothing that most kids would kill to own. In return, you stroll around the streets, making a god damn mockery of our family" Your mother seethes at you.

The venom dripping from her words as she gets up from her seat and makes her way toward you.

"Look at your cousins, top of their classes, always look immaculate, perfect kids. But here we are, stuck with you. No matter what we try or give you, all you give us in return is disappointment. We didn't have anything like you have when we were growing up. So you'd do well to appreciate us a bit more around here and stop treating this place like a hotel!"

This was a tricky situation. You didn't know if they wanted a response or not, so you just looked down at the floor in shame and uttered simply, "I'm sorry".

"Speak up, you waste of space! At least have the decency to apologise sincerely. Bloody Ingrate." Your father yells from his armchair, sloppily topping up his whiskey.

"I'm sorry." You say a little louder, being careful of your tone, "I'll do better", you say, returning your gaze to the floor again.

"Get out of my sight." Your Mom says in disgust.

You nod and walk to your room. You flop down onto your bed.

They were right. You were very fortunate, you had everything anyone could wish for on paper, but all you really wanted was to be accepted for yourself. You'd tried being what your parents wanted, and it nearly drove you to breaking.

Perfection was a tough job for anyone. You sometimes wondered if that is why they were so unhappy, pretending to be people they weren't until they came home.

You kick off your shoes and open your closest, "There you are, my angel", you whisper to the guitar hanging in front of you, "I missed you. You would have loved it tonight."

You pick up your guitar from its stand. By musician standards, it wasn't the most incredible guitar in the world, but you had paid for it with the money you earned. So to you, it was everything.

A violin or grand piano you could have been given in a heartbeat, but not this.

In a way, your path to this beat-up, cherry-red, squire Stratocaster had been a welcome struggle.

If it wasn't for seeing this beauty in the 2nd hand store, you would never have applied for a job at Harrington's. If it wasn't for getting that job, you would never have met the rest of Unholy Angel. At that point, only Terry and Harley had any musical skills. Jenna and yourself had to learn on the fly.

For a few months, you used Harley's spare Epiphone to learn the basics from videos online, but then the pay packet finally came that meant you could go to the second-hand store and buy your angel.

They had hung in the window directly opposite your workplace, so your objective was never out of mind.

You remember running home with the guitar and amp in tow, plugging it in straight away, thrashing through some of the covers you'd been practising as a band.

Though there were a few teething issues, it wasn't long until it felt like the guitar was an extension of you, but more than that. It also was potentially a way out of this town if you could make it big.

You drape the strap around you, and it feels like home. You sit down in the closet and shut the doors that you padded with old towels, turn on the small lamp and play your angel into the night.