?you tell me?

the one and only part

(im neither drunk or high, just stressed and therefore delerious)

Imagine:

You're exactly where you want to be in life. You just moved out of your parents place, and you moved away to New York for university, studying your DREAM major at your DREAM school. Everything about it is surreal.

But once you move there, you slowly start to realize that it's not for you. It's to loud. Too noisy. Too unforgiving. So you decide to get on a train and get away for the weekend. New Jersey is a couple hours away, and there aren't as many people there.  Sure, smells like a pack of spearmint flavored cigarettes pissed out into the street after drinking too much, but it's still better.

You get off the train and find that you don't actually know what the fuck you have gotten yourself into, and it's still midday. So plenty of time to worry over sleeping arrangements anyway. Your phone can do that job. And what your phone can also do is lookup the nearest record store.

You weren't planning on buying anything, but how could you have resisted? It's MUSIC. Your catharsis. Your xanax. Your anti-depressants.

You walk longer than you wanted to, backpack weighing you down with every step. But you finally make it. You enter and there are a few other silent rock'n'rollers perusing in the aisles and someone behind the cash register, feet kicked up with a copy of The Shining covering their face.

You walk through the aisles silently with the others until your feet carry to to the punk-rock, or whatever sub-genre they put this music under, and you bend down to the level of the CDs and vinyls to examine each and every piece of album art. You freeze when you find an album you haven't seen in a long time.

It's Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge. By My Chemical Romance.

Memories of your high-school days flood your memories and almost make you shed a tear in the middle of the store. Such lonely, dark times. But this album got you through all of it.

Sometimes it felt like these guys were the only ones who knew what it was like too. But you started to smile at other memories. Sure, you felt alone at school. But you weren't. Not online. An entire community of people who felt just like you were there, at home, waiting for you to talk about things you wouldn't tell anyone else. And they helped, and they were kind and they understood completely what it was like to feel as alienated as you did. It wasn't as bad after you found them. It got a little better. You never met any of them, but you didn't have to. You're in contact with only a handful of them, and they're all doing well.

You picked out the album with the couple with blood splattered across their faces and your turn it over. You smile at the ridiculous names and the nostalgia it caused. That's it. You need it. You owe it to the band to physically buy a copy. It might not mean much to them now, but who cares?

You walk up to the cashier and find that they are still engrossed in a Stephen King classic. You clear your throat and they lowered their book, obviously annoyed for being interrupted. You didn't want them to hate you as much as they ready did in this moment, so you flashed a smiled and pushed the CD closer to them, "How much?" you asked, pulling your wallet out from your back pocket.

You caught a glimpse of them as they smirked, almost scoffing at your choice of music.

They looked vaguely familiar... The years had been a little rough on them. You can see their Grey hairs peaking through their stubble and grey peppered on their head. The ink on their skin had faded, but surely the memories were colorful. You look at them, up and down, and you feel like you know them. You really do.

At least you think so.

"Big fan?" They asked, folding the corner of their page and setting it aside, giving you their full attention.

Your cheeks felt hot and you grew sheepish, "Yes. Well, actually no. I mean, I USED to, and I guess I saw it and it, um, brought back memories. So, um, you know..."

They raised their eyebrow and you took in a deep breath. It's alright. You got this.

"... I wasn't allowed to listen to their music and they didn't sell it where I lived and I guess... I guess I'm buying it for 15-year-old me, ya know?"

Pride swelled up in the cashiers face, their smiling lighting up their entire face as they bent their head down to bag your CD. Held between their fore and middle finger, they held it out to you like a cigarette. "Here," they said simply. You slowly took the bag from their grasp. "You got great taste in music, kid. On the house."

"For real?" You exclaimed.

"Yeah..." They grinned at your reaction as you handled the package like it was gold as you put it in your backpack. "For real."

"Th-thanks..." You squinted your eyes to look for some kind of name tag, and you found it, right at top the right side of their chest. But the slot was empty. No name. Knowing that it's always polite to use gender-neutral pronouns for someone when you don't know their gender identity, you felt uncomfortable saying 'sir' or 'ma'am' even if they are much older than you are. "...Uh, friend."

"No problem. " They chuckled, retrieving their book from across the counter and started to read from where they last left off.

You took this as a cue to leave, and as you walked to the exit, someone had come in from the staff room behind you. "Frank!" Whined the other employee. "Stop reading on duty! You look unwelcoming to patrons."

You stopped dead in your tracks. You wanted to turn back around and go to them and ask if what you thought was true.

Something deep inside of you told you not to do it.

So you walked out of that store like nothing ever happened...