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The doors are open when I reach the school building. I take a quick look over my shoulder before heading inside. During daytime the hallways would be full of kids carrying textbooks; on evenings and weekends, the school auditorium and basement would transform into a creative space for local kids to express themselves through the arts. There was even a studio and recording equipment.
When I was still in the band, I would spend most of my time right here.
I pass empty classrooms and rows of lockers. The locker that was mine still looks the same. It stands out. I'd left it covered in random stickers and scribbles of bands I liked in permanent marker. M+T was carved into the inside forever, even though my first relationship had only lasted three weeks or so. On a Thursday afternoon, I had made the decision to drop out of school. I still remember it as if it was yesterday. I got a whiff of stale cigarette smoke when I close the blue locker door once last time. It was still lingering from when I'd smoked my first one just a couple a days before. I twisted the lock. My cheeks were bright red and burning when I threw the key to Luke so he and his teacher's pet personality could hand it in at the principals office.
There was a warm and nice feeling spreading through my body. I was free I felt completely untouchable. Like I was soaring on clouds and nothing could bring me down. The band was finally more than just an after school thing. We were going places.
Back then, my steps were light. Today I'm walking through quicksand.
My palms are sweaty. The paper I'm holding between my fingers is shaking slightly. I take a deep breath to pull myself together. The plan is simple. I only need to get to the notice board, put my ad up and then leave. It really shouldn't be this hard.
I've just reached the board when I hear a faint bassline bouncing against the walls of the hollow corridor.
Shit.
That's Calum playing. I'm sure. He's got a special sound, it's easy to recognise. Like his own strand of DNA running through the notes.
I glance over the different ads on the noticeboard. People looking to buy it sell instruments, bands looking for members. A teen dance group needing a new choreographer. Some pretty elaborate ones with glitter and big, fancy lettering. Mine is pretty simple.
Guitar Lessons
Beginner to Intermediate
Michael Clifford
I remove a free pin, pressing it into the piece of paper that has my name and number written on it. It looks a bit shit next to the creative ones, but it will have to do. I guess I could have tried a little harder on the handwriting. Or used a slogan, maybe.
Guitar teacher extraordinaire. The kid who had his vocal cords ruined. Positive attributes? I won't let your twelve-year-olds smoke or do drugs, and I can teach them guitar. Negative? I might swear too much. God, I hate kids.
