Colors

IV. I'm Your Super Hero

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck...

FUCK!!

Why the fuck would he do that?! He doesn't even know me! I don't even like him! God! Fuck you Michael Clifford! I hate you...I think I hate you.

He was really good at kissing though...No! Fuck! What did he do to me?!

I slammed the journal shut.

Really...fuck.

One minute we were talking, I cried...

Shit.

He's just like the rest of them!

I was crying in my pillow now. I told myself that I would never, ever let myself go in front of someone I didn't know. I didn't know Michael Clifford, yes I know him, I've talked to him, but to say that I know him enough to cry in font of him, to him, reach out for a him when I needed someone, a shoulder to cry on, no...I didn't know Michael Clifford.

When my tears stopped I sat myself up on the edge of the bed, and wiped my eyes. My black make-up camoflauged with my sleeves. I was glad it happened that way. I didn't want my make-up being a reminder that I cried over the stupid impulse of a sex crazed high school boy that I knew. That's what I thought until I started crying again

I defended him.

I saved him from the jock.

I gave him someone to console to, or call when he feels he's in danger.

I gave and gave...but he just had to be that guy.

I stood up, assured that the tears had met their end, and headed out into the living/dining area that was separated by the biggest loves of my life. Music. There was a room sized space that was between the dining room and living room, when we got to the house I was captivated by the massive picture window that illuminated the house with the bleeding sun just behind the Sydney Opera House. I remember standing there, before that window, and the lyrics to a song that had just randomly popped up in my head were let out, and mom fell in love with the words, and she dedicated that space to me. I decided, if mom didn't mind the noise, that the space would be my place of music. I was perfect, I had my great-grandmother's Steinway & Sons Grand piano given to me in her will, and over the years I saved up enough that I bought an acoustic and electric Gibson set, amps, and a cajon. I used the cajon occasionally, but I gave it to Jess on her birthday and we decided that we'd keep it here for her when we play together.

I sauntered out to my space in my black skinny jeans, mockasin slippers, and a big black crew neck sweater; as if I just woke up. My eyes were still sore from crying, sniffles echoed through the kitchen, and the bleeding sun on Sydney was in my eyes, clearing them more than blinding them.

I sat down at the grand piano, my thin pale fingers grazing over every key, and I waited for a song to come to me, either a classic, one I've written, or a piano rendition of a popular song. Music always had a way with me, and the one song that came to me was Fur Elise by Beethoven. The first piece that my grandma taught me to play on her mother's piano, the one I'm sat at now. I played the piece all the way through, and without a pause, my mind and hands drove me to play A River Flows In You by Yiruma, another beautiful piece.

"You were always so talented." I saw her shilouette in the corner of my eye as she took a seat on the bar stool, listened, and watched. I smiled knowing she would stay for the whole piece.

"God...I remember when you first played that at the Governer's Ball back in Cali. Us sitting in the front row, you great-grandmother, grandma, and I all front row as you played that. I...*sniffles* I remember great-gandma crying, how her fingers played out in front of her as if she were up there playing with you."