My Faith in Love is Still Devout

Chapter 1: Beat on to the Beginning

My drumsticks tapped against my cymbal, tst tst tst, until I rammed them into the rest of my kit, each one of my limbs preforming it's own task. I switched between focusing on my beat, to waving my head to the sound--letting it take control of my body and keep it's energy alive through each aggressive movement. The beat was its own. It was alive. I was completely immersed in the atmosphere I had created. Well, so immersed that I couldn't hear my roommates, the Walsh family, yelling at me to cease the noise. It wasn't until Craig Walsh, the father, barged into my room and flicked on my lights that I finally quit.
- "What was that for?" I complained.
- " 'What was that for?' Are you mad? It's 8 a.m., first off, which makes me assume that you have not slept all night. Also! I have children! Hell man, you're such a bad influence. I love having you around," He slowed down his speaking, his harsh eyes softening as he let his anger go, "and the last thing I'd like is for me to have you kicked out, but you've got to get out of the house sometimes. Especially when the tots are around."
- I twiddled my thumbs, "Well, there's not really anything for me to do.. drumming's what I fancy anyway."
- Craig stared his stone face, were-you-shaken-as-a-lad stare straight at me. My lips curled back into an uncomfortable expression while I tried to avoid eye contact. "Nothing to do? We're at home, in MANCHESTER. There's something to do on every street! Find a club, or watch a gig, or just go on a walk! You're a likable kid, you'll find some friends soon enough."
- My cheeks flushed, then I awkwardly stumbled over to my cluttered bed and laid down. I felt a little odd that my roommate was able to parent me, even though I myself was an adult. Maybe "parent" isn't the right word, he's more like a mentor, but I usually appreciate him always having my back.
- "Okay now, you try to go to sleep, but if you're not out by 2 pm, I'll give you the boot," Craig waited for me to oblige, which I did with a nod. He flipped the lights and waltzed out the room, and I continued to lay down, waiting for sleep to come to me.

- While I lie in my bed, ideas for the days to come began to sprout from my head. My current mates are much like me, they'd rather stay in. Although.. my life was evidentially stagnant. Maybe I could use some change, new friends, new occupation, new style, anything to keep my life in motion. Manchester was infested with new, wild guitar bands full of rowdy yet charming kids. Perfect for me, I thought. Drumming is my passion, I want to take it further than playing in my room at 3 a.m. As I fell asleep, I found that a fire had grown in me, I was gonna make it. I'm gonna be someone.

When I finally arose, I had no idea what time it was. I clumsily rushed out my room and down the apples and pears straight into the kitchen. Whew, it was only 12.
- Turning around, Craig and Joan's children, Margaret and Helen, were sat at the table tinkering with an old jewelry box. They gave me a hasty, squeaky greeting and returned to fascinating over the chest. Quickly after, I heard Craig's heavy footsteps trudge down the steps.
- "Are you ready, mate?" He asked, patting his daughters on their heads.
- "For what exactly?"
- He smirked at me, a clever smirk, " Were going to this new shop in the city, Crazy Face, there's someone I'd like for you to meet. He may be able to give you an opportunity you've been looking for."
- Now of course this piqued my interest. What kind opportunity may this open for me? My wrists cracked as I rolled them, I imagine that this is probably a musical thing. Hopefully, at least.
- "Alright, I'm up for it. What time shall we be leaving?"
- "Well," he glanced at his watch, "get your clothes on, we're heading out now."
- "Sounds fine," I said, running my fingers through my greasy hair. Jeane bumped past me on my way back up the stairs, her and her glassy ice eyes, she gave me a bit of a snarky glance.

I give myself too much credit, as the woman of the house would say, I'm not the fashion idol I would say I am. The laundry hasn't been done for a while so I'm dressed in stiff clothes for the day. A jean jacket, my Joy Division tee shirt, borrowed jeans, rain boots I've had since I was about 3 heads tall should be good enough. Through the torture of many sleepless nights spent dissecting myself, I've found that I don't pay much mind to how people perceive me. A trait I have to admit is quite admirable. Though my hair could be mistaken for dripping wet I still trotted down the stairs; ready to stride into whatever the universe brought.