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c.1

It started with my family moving from Baltimore to San Francisco, and by family, I mean my mother and I. My father ditched us when I was four. You know... at the age where you start to become aware that there's a bigger world out there. That there's more to the home you grew up in. Losing my dad was something I didn't understand. Hell, I was four, and him leaving us behind was like having a carpet pulled out from under me. By the second week without him, mom began gnashing her teeth on vodka bottles. I mean, she kicked the addiction after a year, but I didn't know how to handle my dad being MIA and carry my mom at the same time.

It wasn't fun.

But that was the foundation for the pessimism I had by the time we got our asses out of Baltimore. It's hard to believe, isn't it. 'Seth Caverly, the lead singer of Pilot, a cynical, pessimistic, sarcastic guy? No way.' Well, in a sense, you're right. I'm not incredibly cynical or negative anymore (still extremely sarcastic though), but I was. Sixteen- turning- seventeen- year- old me was on a whole different scale.

Dreams were a waste of time, time was a drag, and we were all dragging ourselves to our graves. So it made sense not to care about anything.

In this point of time, mom was dating a man named Marshall Moncler (don't be deceived by the fancy name). He was this open minded, empathetic, 'one for all and all for one' type of person. Meaning that he was the first of her boyfriends that I ever approved of. He gave more than two shits about us, and even though I was a bit skeptical, I never had anything against him. Actually, he's the reason we moved. His brother had a job offer for my mom in San Fran, and she jumped it. I'll say this though: it was horribly awkward due to the fact I knew her and Marshall were getting down with each other whenever I wasn't home. Spending all those years without a dad did not at all prepare me for the cheesy 'darling's and 'honey's. Not to mention the IHPDA (In House Public Display of Affection). The public being me.

"Seth let's go!" Marshall called from the kitchen.

"Yeah, give me a sec," I yelled back, pulling on a white shirt. My feet stumbled over a couple of boxes that still needed to be unpacked as I snatched up my red polo and slid it on. Vinny, my black cat with white paws (it looked like he wore socks 24/7 it was the best thing ever), stared at me as I nearly fell over.

"We're gonna be late!" He cried out while I gave myself a once over in front of the mirror, taking in my mess of pitch black hair and groggy blue eyes. Good enough. I sped out of my room and down the stairs, heading straight for the front door.

"Not having breakfast?" My mom walked over to me, holding a plate with a cookie butter sandwich. If you haven't had Cookie Butter by Trader Joe's, you're missing out on a piece of sweet, sweet heaven. Without another word, I took the warm masterpiece and set it between my teeth.

"Hank hou," I muttered, slipping on the first pair of shoes I could find by the door.

"Are you sure you don't want me to drop you off with Marshall?" Glancing up at her, I shook my head and gave her a thumbs up: my way of saying 'nah it's cool' without having to actually say it. The moment my shoes were on, I took the sandwich out of my mouth and pecked her on the cheek.

"Don't worry, I'll be fine." A smile crept onto her lips and she softly said, "I know. Have fun, 'kay?"

"Yeah, you know me. I'm allllll about fun," I sarcastically joked on my way out the front door, grabbing my skateboard as I left. Marshall was already sitting in the driver's seat of his car, a half eaten breakfast hanging out of his mouth as he put the car in drive. Believe it or not, with his messy dark hair, nose, and tendency to always be late, people couldn't believe he wasn't my real father.