Lost Cause (Tyler Carter)

Chapter 40

I woke up, and even though I hadn't been drunk, I felt hungover. My head was pounding and I felt the urge to puke. I stared at the ceiling for a few moments, letting my brain wake up. I remembered my mental breakdown. I scanned around my bedroom. There was a total of three holes in my wall, my old acoustic guitar, that usually hangs on the wall, was lying on the floor. There were other things broken, but I was focused on my guitar.

I slid out of bed, onto the floor, and reached for it. I hadn't played my guitar in, maybe, two years. My uncle Jerry had taught me how to play, and had given his acoustic to me.

I didn't bother to tune it, I just played. I played one of the few songs I can, 'Wish You Were Here' by Pink Floyd. It was a favorite of my uncle's, so of course, he taught me it.

"So . . . So, you think you can tell," I sang. "heaven from hell. Blue skies from pain. Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell? . . ."

I let my fingers go as they pleased, I closed my eyes, and I sang. I lost myself in the music. Even though I hadn't played in a while, I didn't miss a single strum, and I didn't forget a single lyric.

". . . What have we found? The same old fears. Wish you were here." I strummed the remaining chords, and the song was over.

For a moment, I had felt free. The music consumed me, and the pain was gone. I opened my eyes and looked up to find my mom, standing in the door way. She had her phone's camera facing me.

"Mom!" I squealed.
"What?" She asked, crossing her arms.
"Why are you watching me?" I asked.
"Because, Tyler, that was amazing." She said. "Did you not hear yourself? Your voice was like an angel's."
"Come on, don't exaggerate." I said. "You're only saying that because you're my mom."
"Son, no I'm not. That was seriously amazing." She said. "You need to do something with that."
"With what?" I asked.
She facepalmed herself. "Your voice, kid!"
I chuckled. "You're funny, mom." I said. "You can stop recording me, now."

She clicked at it and walked towards me. She reached out to hand me her phone.

"Watch it and listen to yourself." She said.
"No, mom." I said.
"Tyler, please." She said.
I groaned. "Fine."

I grabbed her phone and played the video. She had started recording around the middle of the song.

I was surprised, I didn't sound half bad. It was actually somewhat good.

"Wow." I said.
"I told you, son." She said.
"You still exaggerated." I said.
"No, I didn't. You just don't want to admit it." She said. "I think you should stay at Decatur, you know how much rep they are for the choir and the band. We're also in Georgia, do you know how many successful record labels there are here?"
"Chill, mom. You're basing this off of one song you eavesdropped on me singing. I'm not a superstar."
"You have a gift, though." She said. "Don't let it go to waste."

She walked out of my room. "Now, come eat breakfast!"
"Okay, hold on!" I shouted after her.

I thought for a moment, and maybe she was right. I have to admit, I did sound really good. Not only that, the music had also made me feel free. It felt like an escape from the world. Then, it dawned on me: maybe this is something I could actually do. My mom was right about he record labels here. Disturbing the Peace, owned by Ludacris; Grand Hustle Records, owned by T.I. Those are two owned by major artists, that I know of.

Before thinking any longer, I called Michael. After a few rings, he answered.

Hello?

"Michael, I want to do something amazing." I said.

Do what?

"I don't want the life I have, right now. I want something more. I want to do something big, Michael."

What are you talking about, man?

"I want to start a band."