Unrequited Love

Chapter 1

Do you ever feel claustrophobic, even in the most open of spaces? Like the millions of little thoughts chasing each other teasingly around your head, will just consume you any minute into an oblivion of anxiety and never-ending confusion? "You should speak to someone, it's bad to keep everything bottled up," But when you open your mouth not one word, within the hundreds in your worried head, even comes to mind.

I guess this is why I write. Stories, songs, poems... anything to get at least some of the disoriented thoughts out of my head and onto a page. It's relieving; a type of therapy.

"Lennon! Have you seen this? They're plastered all over the school," Hallie stood stock-still in front of me, shoving the poster she had just ripped off the wall into my face, after I slam my locker door in surprise. My friend's emerald green eyes were wide with excitement, her fiery hair dancing around her face as she waited for me to skim over the poster she held up with pride.

Guys and Dolls, The Musical, Directed by Hallie Sky (16)

"Dude that's awesome! Honestly, it's gunna be amazing, you are so going to top last year's," I assured Hallie enthusiastically as I subtly pulled the poster from her hands, while she rambled about how the school production was going so far, and attempted to stick it back on the wall in the midst of my friend's dramatic excitement which echoed throughout the empty locker room.

Of course I was delighted for my friend's progress with her new project, and I'm always inspired by her big dreams and passionate mindset, but while Hallie and others around me were already taking steps towards their futures and "following their dreams", it makes me realise that I'm still yet to find mine. Even my twenty-year-old brother, Cain, has known that he's wanted to be a professional sportsman since the age of five... And then there's me who's just, as I like to call it, going with the flow.

Speaking of my brother, that evening Cain and I spoke on the phone for at least an hour, which was unusual. He normally never has time to call, or is always too busy with training, or some sort of football match. 

"How's mum treatin' ya?" He'd ask, to which I'd always reply with: "Oh, you know, fine, but still have to deal with my own terrible cooking I guess," followed by a somewhat forced laugh. I'd hear him sigh and tell me to look after myself, which wasn't really saying much. Cain and I were close when we were little, but ever since he left two years ago I've been feeling more alone and more lost. But that evening was different.

"I've been offered an after-school job at your school, teaching football," Cain told me with a hint of unsureness in his voice. I hesitated. Why all of a sudden at my school, it's so random? "I've been looking at possible jobs near home for the past month or two," he told me, "you know, so I can live at home again for a while, sounds like you need your big brother." Excitement gradually flared up inside me like fire, and my face cracked into a smile.

"You have no idea."

~

Just two days later I'd already found myself counting down the days till my brother comes home. Cain said over the phone that he'd arrive in a month when the football season is over, meaning he'd miss my seventeenth birthday which is probably for the best; knowing him he'd probably organise a massive party inviting mostly people I didn't even know. I preferred doing little to nothing on my birthday, as sad as it sounds, whereas Cain's Mr Social.

Don't get me wrong, I have quite a large group of friends and I've had my fair share of relationships for a sixteen-year-old, it's just safe to say I enjoy my own company and the company of my songbook.

"Right, let's see... Lennon, is it?" My thoughts were interrupted by my newly-employed music teacher, Mr Dallimore, who peered through his thinly-framed glasses in my direction. I slowly raised my chin from my desk and smiled apologetically at him. Thankfully, he smiled sweetly back, quietly chuckling, "what do you play?"

"Oh, uh well, I write. I mean, I can play a few chords on guitar or write a bass riff, um or-"

"You're a creator! A composer, a writer... can you sing my dear?" I awkwardly raised my hand, palm down, and rotated it back and forth as if to say, sort of. "Well, you must let me listen to your songs one day." I smiled back at Mr Dallimore once more, although inside the thought of someone hearing one of my songs made me feel slightly sick.

~