Rock 'N' Roll Singer

𝗧𝗪𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗬-𝗢𝗡𝗘

16 December 1978
     I lay on top of the blankets, gripping the edges as I couldn't hold onto my sanity any longer.

     Oh my God, we're going to be on television tomorrow!

     Oh God, we're going to be television tomorrow.

     My day was spent bouncing between these two thoughts, from breakfast to the dinner Mrs. Davies tried to offer me. They replayed in my ears, rising in both ears and around me, like listening to a record in stereo with headphones. It encircles you until you can't think of anything but it, or until something else steals your focus, some other symptom of nervousness I was cursed with. Maybe the band had a shot at not being, well, not poor, exactly. It was our shot to find the kind success of success that isn't lying on the dusty floor of a club. If Mum knew the places we had performed at, she probably would've landed in hospital far sooner.

That was horrible.

Great, now I brought my mother's health back into things. I had thought that rehearsing would take my mind off it as well as the fact that I hadn't built up the courage to see her yet.

     "Breathe," Allison urged when I finally caught her just "walking by" the door at least three times.

     They gathered around the bedframe like I was an ailing relative, and not having my 19th nervous breakdown. I took some calming breaths and sat up, staring at my bedhead in the reflection. Great.

     I checked the clock and noticed that Bon wouldn't be showing up for another hour. I'd tell myself every few minutes that I'd crawl out of bed and get ready.

Think calming thoughts, I muttered. A cool breeze brushed against my skin, as though Nature itself was telling me to relax.

     Maybe I could convince Bon to swing by a Macca's and get me a fast food-type dinner after we leave. Our version of what counted as romantic did resemble two awkward teenagers stumbling through what they thought of as a first date, but it was our thing. If he did take us out to an upscale restaurant

The Jackson 5 were singing "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town" over the radio hanging off a bed post, reminding me that I still had to buy Christmas gifts.

     I let my head sink deeper into the pillow, smoothing the blanket beneath me to smooth out the nerves. But then Jane burst through without knocking, snifflind and red in the face. She buried her face in my pillow, and I pulled her towards me, parting the hair that fell across her face.

     "Jane, what is it?"

     She lifted her head and pointed at her knee, blood dripping down her leg. I sucked in a breath and reached for the nearest thing to clean her up with.

     "I was just playing outside with Colleen, and I cut it, and it hurts a LOT." She managed between sobs, face buried in my shoulder.

     "I'll find you a Band-Aid," I reassured her, dabbing at the cut with the corner of my blanket. "I didn't even hear you out there. I even had the window open."

I cursed myself for not going out there. I could've used the fresh air and taken in the setting sun and the fiery tones bursting from the sky. She might not have gotten hurt if I could've saved her. As I wiped away the blood, her leg was pale with no sign of a cut or bruising underneath.

"Jane," my voice sank as I looked her into the eyes. "You didn't get hurt, did you?"

She shook het head and cracked a tiny, nischevious grin.

"What are you doing putting..." I examined the fake blood. "Ketchup on yourself?"

She covered her mouth and snickered.