Losing My Way (A Brian May fanfiction)

Fox on the Run

The date in which Queen's second show was preformed fell heavily in my lap- and much to the dissatisfaction of my only friend, I didn't attend.

"Are you mad?" Diana had asked me. "You're really going to miss out on the chance to see them again?"

"I am," I told her for the hundredth time.

"But Nancyyyy," she whined. "It's no fun going without you! Who am I going to dance with?"

I sighed, knowing that if I went, the last thing on my mind would be dancing with her. "I'm sure you'll find someone there."

"Who, a bloody stranger?" She cried. "No, this is shit! You're coming."

I groaned into the receiver- a stack of schoolwork piled high in front of me. "Diana, I've got so much to do tonight, and it's getting late. I have to go now."

"Fine, stew in your room alone then- I'll be out having  fun!" With a click, the line went dead, and I set the phone back on my nightstand.

I spent the rest of the night with my nose stuck in a book, reviewing my least favorite subject- math. My notebook paper was littered with equations and their solutions.

If only I could find the solution to my equation, I had thought.

There was a lead weight in my stomach that night, knowing what I was missing out on. Of course I felt envious of Diana, which was a sin in and of itself- but I couldn't help it.

It was so easy for her to do the things she wanted to, without a care in the world. She gets to go to the college she wants, she gets to experiment, and have fun- and she gets to have complete free will over her life. She isn't worried about what her parents, or any one else will say, or if she's headed straight for hell. I found myself repeating the same jealous thoughts toward her. 

She doesn't make any sense to me, but she doesn't have to.

All I knew was that I wished I could be like her.

I imagined her in the crowd, dancing along to the music. Swaying her hips to the sound of the red guitar that charmed me into doing such awful things.

The sound that's burned into my memory.

                                    •  •  •

In the morning, I woke up bright and early to help my mother prepare finger sandwiches and baked goods for a party at church.

After mass today, the congregation planned to have lunch and a get together for a 78 year old woman who was retiring from the choir. Of course, Diana had neglected her final exam studies until today, so she had an excuse to skip out on the boring events. I however, hadn't planned ahead like she did.

"Ethel is such an inspiration," my mother tells us on the drive to mass. "78 years, and she still has the voice of an angel."

"She's an old rotter," my father sneers, making us both laugh.

He was right- Ethel was a terrible, awful woman. I don't think I've heard a pleasant word from her from the day I met her as a child- which made it all the worse to waste an evening celebrating her.

I was tasked with making sure the food didn't topple over in the back seat. Precariously stacked on my lap were three Pyrex Tupperware containers chock full of muffins, cookies, and cucumber sandwiches.

I look out the car window, nursing a burn I had gotten from the oven rack by sticking my injured thumb in my mouth. It's a dark and dreary day, with grey clouds looming overhead- threatening to spill their contents at any moment.