Out of Touch

We attend the Cult-Family-Church

Andy: I'd like you to come to church with me on Sunday. Please dress nice.

Andy: You'll have to call me Michael too. Sorry

I woke up earlier than I normally would on a Sunday. Typically I don't have to be awake until eight for my church but I was going to Andy's church and I had to pick up Alina, who lived on the opposite side of town from me.

I get up, trying to be quiet. Honestly, fuck my brother but the house was quiet, I felt I had to be as well. 

I go into my closet first, grabbing out my grey dress shirt. I was told to dress nice, so I'd better. I pull my black dress pants out. I get dressed quickly, going out into the kitchen. Still no signs of life in the house. 

I head outside, getting in my car. The twenty minutes it takes me to get to Alina's house are filled with the sounds of country music. I pull into her driveway, shooting her a text so she knew I was there. 

Alina walked out. She was wearing a black dress, black leggings, black shoes and a light blue cardigan to pair with her hair. I grin. She sits in my front seat.

"Are we going to a church service or a funeral?" I laugh.

"Aren't they the same place?" She sets her purse in her lap, closing the door.

"True," I nod. 

I pull out of her driveway, following the instructions Google Maps is giving me.

"Ugh, I haven't been in a church service in awhile. Well, I have, just not a formal church. I hate dresses," she fumbled with the skirt of her dress. 

"I'm actually skipping out on my church for this so you're welcome." I smirked at her.

"This dress is so long too. I had a cellist once ask me where I bought it since she said it was the perfect length for cello playing. Ugh...I should have played cello," she sighed.

I didn't know anything about her musical abilities. I knew that was Andy's thing. I always left calls with him when he started composing. I couldn't stand listening to him compose.

"You dress up nice," Alina looked outside.

"Isn't that the point?" I glance over at her.

"I guess. I just mean, damn boy you look fiiiiine."

I laughed. That was the greatest nonsensical response she could have given me.

"Play me some not country music white boy." She poked my arm.

"Why does everyone hate my country music?" I rolled my eyes, looking down at the radio, and hitting a few buttons. "There, this should be Set It Off." 

"This is rock music." She set her hand on my shoulder. "I'm so proud of you."

"I'm not a one genre person," I laughed. "I like everything from country to nightcore to rock to early 2000s pop music."

"Damn. I was kinda imagining it as one of those memes where they have different categories and pictures and show personalities that way. Like, I can just see one with us as different music genres. You'd be country; slightly redneck, likes knives, premeditates a lot of murders. I'd be rock; different, acceptable, sometimes emo. Andy...what would Andy be?" She tapped on the window.

"Either French or classical," I shrugged.

"Andy, classical; everyone loves, no escape, is everywhere."

"It works I suppose."

We both got quiet, letting music fill the space. This is what I loved. Music was my escape from the shit that was around me. I couldn't live a day without it.