21 Guns

Chapter 7

I wasn't really sure where I was going as I pulled on my jacket. I just needed to be away from my dad for a little bit and figure some things out. He was being completely unfair as usual. He was overprotective of me, and barely let me do anything. It can become too much, and sometimes I just need to get away from it all. Whether it be going for a walk, getting lost in music, or both. I put my headphones in and let my feet take me wherever they wanted.

I ended up by the river. I smiled and walked over to a large rock that I hadn't visited in nearly a year. My grandmother used to take me there when I was a little girl. I brushed the dusting of snow off the rock and sat down. It had been a little over seven years since my grandparents on my mom's side had been killed in a tragic car accident, and it never got easier. It was them who convinced me to get into music. My grandmother taught me the basics of piano, and my grandfather taught me the basics of the guitar. When they died, it took all I had to keep playing. But I did, and it was probably the best decision I ever made.

I inherited my grandmother's piano, and my grandfather's guitar. I still played them, especially the piano. I had my own guitar, which I played more than my grandfather's, but I played his anytime I was feeling down. It felt like he was still there with me whenever I would strum the chords or pluck the strings. I wondered if that was why Billie Joe Armstrong still played the guitar his father had given him before he died. Did he feel like his dad was there beside him? Or was it more because he was just attached to the guitar? I decided that I would ask him that at the meet and greet- if I remembered, of course... And if I could convince my dad to let me go.

I let my mind wander for a while before I looked up. It was starting to snow again. I rolled my eyes.

"OF COURSE! It just HAS to snow when it should be warming up!" I said to myself, letting sarcasm seep into my voice. Typical Canada. Next thing I knew, I was talking to my dead grandparents. I knew that they wouldn't respond, of course, but it still felt good to let it out. I guess it was nice to talk to someone who would just listen... Or at least that's how I imagined it. I wasn't sure if dead people could exactly listen, but it was the best way to describe it.

"Well, it's been a while since I've done this, and I hope that you can forgive me for my absence... It has been pretty cold..." I giggled to myself.
"Nah, that's no excuse, and I know it, but I've just been busy. A lot has happened since I've talked to you guys... The best thing has been by far finding out that my friends got me tickets to see my two favourite bands live, and even better is that we actually get to meet them. That seems to be about all that's been good, though. Let's see... I almost died a while ago because of a school shooter... I ended up with three bullet holes from it because I volunteered to give my life instead of everyone dying. Well, I didn't exactly die, which was nice, but now I have the healing process ahead of me. As if that wasn't enough, my father is refusing to let me go to the concert. I get that he almost lost me, but he can't just take over my life because of it. His reasoning is that the friends I'm going with are "mentally unstable", which is a lie. They seem to be getting better each and every day. Besides, I need to get out of here for a while. I've never been anywhere outside of Ottawa before without my parents and I'm turning 16. It's not like I'm leaving the country, or even the province. I'm literally only going to be a few hours away. It's time that I spread my wings. Oh, and I'm only going for a few days. We get on a plane late Thursday night and land back in Ottawa early Monday morning. The concert was supposed to be a chance for us to heal after everything that has happened, and now my dad is just taking that away. He doesn't understand, and he never will. God, I wish you two were still here. You might have been able to talk him into letting me go." I wiped away the tears that were starting to fall onto my cheeks before they froze.

I soon realized how cold it was getting and knew that I would have to go home sooner rather than later. I said my goodbyes and started to walk home. I turned my music back on and let the voice of Gerard Way guide me home.

I got home sooner than I expected. I opened the door as quietly as possible and listened.  I could hear my parents fighting upstairs, but couldn't make out what they were saying. I sighed quietly and went downstairs. I walked over to my grandmother's piano and put my hands over the keys. I couldn't read notes very well, but I had an ear for music. I began fiddling around with it, eventually realizing that I had figured out how to play 21 Guns. I also realized that I had a few tears streaming down my face. I wiped them away hurriedly and moved on.

I decided that I would write a song. I needed something to help me express my feelings without having to go to anyone else about it. I tend to turn to music when times get tough. It's the one thing that no one can take from me. After all, you can try to take the girl from the music, but you can never take the music from the girl. I live and breathe music, and that will never change until the day I die. So, that's when I just let the music flow out of me.

It was the first time that everything just seemed to come to me. The lyrics came first, then the piano. I grabbed the notebook I kept for times like these and turned to a new page.  With every line I wrote, I could feel the bad emotions leaving and the good ones coming. I finished with a smile and played it for the first time. By then, my parents had stopped fighting, but I stayed where I was. I was in a bit of pain, and I knew that playing any instruments that required much arm movement would only make it worse. To be completely honest, I didn't care about that. There was no way that I was going to allow the man who terrorized my school to control me from his grave.

I set up everything that I would need to record the song. I decided to start with the piano, so I played what I had written. I managed to get a version that I was happy with in 30 minutes. I moved on to the cello and violin, finishing with that in around an hour. I looked over at the drum kit that I had and wondered if I would be able to handle the pain for long enough to record the drums I wanted. I took a deep breath to prepare myself and went over to my stool. I grabbed a pair of drumsticks and started to play. The pain was nearly overwhelming, but I pushed through it. I was lucky enough to get it first try. I made a mental note to wait until I was fully healed to play them again. All that was left to do was record was the vocals. I looked at the time and it was already 6:00 in the evening. My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten for quite a while. I went back upstairs and went straight to the kitchen.

I found that my mom had left a plate of food for me in the fridge, so I warmed it up and took it to the table with me. Either she hollered to me that it was time to eat and I didn't hear her, or she heard me playing and didn't bother trying. I didn't exactly care; I was more than happy to be left alone when I was playing. When I had an instrument in my hands, I went into my own little bubble and left the real world behind. I just didn't like being brought out of that bubble when I wasn't ready.

I realized how quiet it was in the house, which meant I was most likely home alone. I finished eating and went up to my room. Sure enough, there was a note there saying where they had gone and that they would be back soon. At least they wouldn't have heard the drums... I took advantage of being home alone and went back to my music room.

After warming up my voice, I began recording the vocals for my song. I recorded the lead vocals, then the harmonies. Even though music is my passion, I was glad that the recording process was over. Don't get me wrong- I loved being able to record covers of my favourite songs (or write my own, in this case), but it was a long process. It was also a bit difficult since I did everything on my own. I managed though, and it was pretty satisfying to hear the finished product when I was done.

I heard the door open, then close again and I knew that my parents were back. I knew that I would have to face them eventually... Well, it was more my dad that I would have to face... My mom had no problem with me going to the concert. As much as I hated to admit it, it wasn't likely that I was going to see Green Day after all. I knew that it was too good to be true...