Conniveo

Chapter 1: Focus

I danced out of the bathroom as 'Fader' by The Temper trap started blaring from the speakers. A friend had recommended their album and I had tried to accept the weird music style - it was such an unusual shift from the punk rock classics I was known for damaging my ears with. I began to sing along, knowing it was only a matter of minutes before I got someone seriously pissed off by the volume at which I was playing it. The people in the neighboring apartment had actually had a talk with my mother about the noise levels I used to generate, but I didn't care. I was young; I should be allowed to be reckless.

"Eugene, turn that thing down!"

And there it was. I did a little dance to the speakers and rotated the volume knob by barely a millimeter. Volume now 99%. I grinned to myself; it was down, wasn't it? I kept nodding my head to the heavy beat as I pulled on my clothes and soon I heard a pounding on my door. The gig was up. I went to the speakers and turned them down to 45%, what "normal human beings were supposed to listen to", as my mother had put it. I opened the door and Mum stood before me with arms folded, looking stern.

"You know you could get arrested for disturbing the peace. And no, not 'let you off with a warning' or 'a couple days in juvie' arrested. You're 21 for crying out loud."

Yes, I am twenty-one years old and still living with my mother.

Before anyone judges me, I have to say that my mother is my only parent. My bastard father ran off when I was about six years old and had never been seen since. This made my mother a little worried about me. She acted as if I was always going to run off too, always asking me to call if anything happened or tell her if I ever felt unhappy. I loved her too much. So, even when I turned eighteen and many of my friends were claiming their independence, I stayed with her. I could see that she was happy about that - I didn't think she wanted to be left alone. But I knew my actions were turning me into some sort of nuisance. Not that I could help them. I felt a sort of exuberant liberty as I turned twenty and the feelings only grew as I turned twenty one. I think it's some sort of caged-bird syndrome. I want to be free but I'm tied down, so I'm just acting out.

"Sorry Mum."

"You'll be late."

"First class is at nine. I'll be early."

"Yeah, let's not consider the time you'll use to get yourself there. Because the streets of Los Angeles are always clear and waiting for you to stroll down them."

I rolled my eyes and shut the door to get myself fully ready. My mother could be a pain sometimes, but she only had my best interests at heart. I was studying cinematography, hoping to someday make it big in the Hollywood scene. It seemed like a pipe dream, and my mother had protested it, but I somehow got her to see reason. Via emotional blackmail, of course. Once you pull the puppy face and tell your mother you'll never be happy doing anything else, she'll listen to you. And with her constantly worrying about me getting unhappy and running away like my father, she gave in. I felt like a bastard doing it though, but sometimes you need a bit of coercion to get to do what you want. I pulled on a leather jacket, not because it was cold outside - it rarely ever got that cold in L.A, I've been to Detroit so I know - but because of how much it complimented my hair. It was jet black and glossy and my friends always asked what I put in it. The gel helped it stand, but the gloss was completely natural. I was told I got it from my father. My mum's hair was dark brown and had none of the same lustre. Well, that's one thing I could thank the old man for. The girls loved it.

"I'm off," I shouted to my mother as I left the room. She had gone back to the kitchen.

"Call if anything happens!"

"Yes Mum."

I got out of the apartment and went down the elevator. We were only on the second floor, so I was thankful it was only a short ride. I get really claustrophobic. I first discovered when I was made to play 'Seven minutes in Heaven' during a teenage party and it felt like it lasted way longer than seven minutes. The girl who was in the closet with me - Ashley, was it? - was completely freaked out by how much I was freaking out. It's lame, I know. Bad boy persona and scared of small spaces. But that's what made it a phobia. Phobias were not supposed to make sense. I got outside and called a cab.