My Confessional

15. Fifteen and Clean

"Happy birthday", words wrapped in ribbon the moment you receive them, a fake surprise, I like to call it. The same words as sweet as the cake you eat the same day, the velvet of the buttercream frosting completing you and all you want to do is scream with joy. This time just wasn't the same.

Fourteen going on fifteen, the age and being responsible just starting to sit in and giving me a sour taste in the process. My birthday would be way better if I didn't age, staying the same and never to have the grown up responsibilities of the real world. Living forever with my friends and never have to think about what's next. I would never have to think of the unknown because I would literally have all the time in the world.

"Thanks for taking me to dinner." I say with a smile, anything to avoid the confrontation I would soon have to face.

"We have a surprise for you." My sweet grandma Dolly said; her face contorting with excitement as I sit across from her.

Doolittle's was the restaurant we were eating at, to me, the fanciest I've been too and yet, barely anyone has heard of it. Since it's only hosted in five locations and three states, it's a little known gem. When you walk in, pure heaven. As soon as you walk in, the aroma of wood burning, similar to the cozy and familiar smell when you go camping and roast marshmallows over the fire.

The waiters and waitresses that work there, nothing less than the finest. They may not serve you on a gold platter and call you "mister" or "madame" but they have that North Dakota, northern hospitality that it easy to get drunk upon.

"Close your eyes." Mom tells me, the faint and atmospheric lighting of the chandeliers giving off a warm glow, I do as she says.

By this time I already know what grandpa and grandma are going to give me, with mom not being the best as secret keeping, I found out a week before tonight. What was being concealed by wise hands were three tickets to Taylor Swift, I was pretty much forced to smile. Right now she was four months away, it was only May, and September was the month I would be on my way.

It wasn't that concert tickets was a bad gift to give me, don't get me wrong, it's the artist. Sweet Taylor, the celebrity that has had hundreds of boyfriends and that has been passed around more than a bro's beer during a college football game, or so it has been clearly stated by the media. The country/pop princess that has been in love and has fallen victim to the disease we call love since the beginning of her career. Singles like "Love Story" being played everywhere, even where I first heard it, my mom's car.

Songs of heartache and true love at first sight and nothing else, I started to not like her just because of it. Neutral emotions toward her, not good or bad, just eh. So I could care less. If the tickets happened to be destroyed, I wouldn't care, it just wasn't my thing. I would have loved to see Ariana Grande or even Melanie Martinez so much more but alas, since Fargo isn't a big priority, it's not on their tour lists and if so, I already missed the performances.

October 12th at 7:30, the night of the concert and in contrast, the worst day I've had in months. Waking up at the exactly one minute before the bus was planned to leave the drowsy, overcasted bus stop.

"HUNTER!!! Wake up! It's seven twenty five!" I hear my mom's voice from the room adjacent to mine, with the walls being paper thin, I would be able to hear her from anywhere.

"Shit!" I mumble, jumping to life and throwing on my black jeans and T-shirt in hopes of making it in time to be picked up. A subtle one of my fantasies and was always just a dream.

"Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!" I yell more moderately as I rush down the stairs, my tone shaky from the constant jumping.

A marathon is what it felt like, speeding around the house in search of homework, my laptop and my signature necklace. A wild goose chase for random objects scattered around the house, by the time I was actually ready, there was nothing I could do, it was already too late.