Waters Edge

Chapter Eighteen: Running away from the Place you once called Home

I awake with a splitting headache and I groan. The sun beats down on me and I feel dehydrated and disorientated. My skin feels burnt and chapped as I sit up my mouth feels as if it has been stuffed full of cotton balls. The world seems to be slowly moving and I feel nauseous, but then I notice that I am in fact not on solid land and my heart rate sky-rockets, this cannot be happening. I feel a cold sweat break out across my back and I look around and thank whatever god is out there that I am at least still tethered to the dock. I stand on shaky legs and try to rack my mind as to how I got here.

I must have had a nightmare or sleepwalked out here. Either way, I scramble off the boat and run at full throttle away from the water and back to my house. I need to get the hell out of this place. My nose crinkles when I walk into the house and it smells like month old rotten food. I try not to let it get to me as I start packing things wildly throwing clothes and books into a beaten-up suitcase I pulled out from under the bed. I dig around my kitchen, dumping my junk drawer over the covers of my bed and sorting through the things in the pile before I find it, my American passport from many years ago. I stare at the glossy paper inside with my picture on it. A fresh-faced, bright-eyed seventeen-year-old version of me stares up at me from the paper. Hair is pin straight from all the chemicals I put in it, I cringe remembering how greasy and damaged my hair had been from trying to keep it straight instead of the natural curl it has. I press a hand to my curly hair and sigh. I look and see that the passport is close to expiration, the ten years almost up. I sit on the edge of my bed and close my eyes.

Has it really been that long since I got this passport? My mother had taken me down to take this picture at a local shop, so excited for our trip to Niagara Falls in the summer. We never got to take that trip or any other trip. Has it really been almost nine years since they died? I tuck the passport into my pocket next to my wallet and stand. I zip up my suitcase and take one more look around my small house. I feel a pain in my heart when I think about leaving this place, my home for so many years. I thought it could be the place to heal me and get me better but I was wrong. I can't stay here anymore.

I grab my bags and walk out the door, locking it behind me and leaving the key under a nearby rock before walking down to the ferry docks.

THREE YEARS LATER

I tap my pen on the counter, glaring through the glass as the band behind it fiddles with their instruments. I sigh and lean back in my chair and it groans loudly in protest. I seriously need to get someone to oil this thing. I pinch the bridge of my nose and squint my eyes shut hoping it will will away the headache blooming behind my eyelids. I listen at the jumble of notes blares into the room from the group of teenagers who seem to not even know how to hold a beat let alone play an instrument. I curse whomever made me come to this recording session because why the hell do I, the owner of this record label, need to see this 'high potential band' I open my eyes just as the drummer tries to do a toss and catch of his drumstick only for it to come down and crack him right in the forehead.

His cry of pain probably will get caught in the recording. I sigh again and press the intercom button. "That is enough for today guys thank you." They give one another hopeful looks and I rub my forehead. They might have a chance here if they had a few more years experience under their belts but as it is they are just a bunch of fresh-faced wannabes that got a break from their uncle.

Some days I question if this is really what I wanted out of life. I used the majority of the money I had left from the necklace to buy my own record label, I took it from a local no-name studio to one of the highest acclaimed studios in Los Angeles and I busted my ass for the past few years to get some major names signed on.

This place wasn't my first choice by far, it is still close enough to the ocean to always put me on edge, but this city just has opportunities that other cites don't. So here I was sitting in my own recording studio, pondering how to break it to these kids easily that their sound is just not what the label is looking for. Then having to go explain it to Michael that his brother's kid's band is not ready for their own music just yet. They have not even found their own sound. As they pack up their stuff I leave the room. I don't feel like doing much else today. I stretch and feel my shoulders pop and I grunt at the kink in my neck. I need a massage from all the stress this place causes me.