teenage wasteland

chapter six

I wake up and I'm tucked into bed. The sheets are tight, holding me down to the mattress. I start panicking -didn't I run away? Wasn't I free? When did the other Mother take me back to the house!?

I see the nightstand next to me, with the Polaroid and the pictures neatly piled up. I turn to the other wall. There's the cut photographs I sticked, with the girls' and my parents' faces and the images of London and the city. I sigh, relieved.

I kick a bit until I can crawl out of bed with a lot of wiggling involved. The sun is already up. I've slept quite a lot, I notice, as I see the clock hanging next to the closed door. I yawn, stretching my arms up high. The remains of the breakfast's smell is still hanging around. I go down the stairs, wondering if they have left something for me to eat. Or if they have left me alone in the house.

There is nobody in the sitting room, nor in the kitchen. There's a glass of milk and a plate of cold toasts with jam set aside, I guess for me. I munch a toast and swallow, and immediately shout:

"Is anybody here?"

No answer.

"Hello...?"

The sound of a door swinging open startles me and I spill some milk. Dan comes out of the hidden basement door, in a sleeveless shirt and baggy plaid trousers, wearing old slippers.

"Nice pyjamas," I say, holding back a chuckle.

"Thanks. Yours is nicer," he sneers sarcastically. "Orange looks real good with that pink hair."

"What have you been doing downstairs?" I ask, finishing the milk in one gulp. "Isn't it a bit early?"

"It is never too early to rock," he states matter-of-factly. "And besides, it's not early at all. You've been sleeping like a dormouse."

"Are you playing, then? Can I come down and listen?"

"Of course. After all -you're still in my musical program. Come on down, we're gonna start with the psychedelic and symphonic rock now."

"Is that, like, with violins and cellos and trombones? I mean, because of the symphonic part..."
"It's a bit different. But you'll see. I think you'll like it."

He's being extra nice this morning. I guess Arnie has told him to be so.

None of us bring up last night's quarrel. I don't like that the topic was so quickly put aside, but at the same time I don't want to fight. If we do, I'm afraid they'll kick me out. I'm starting to learn, it's no good asking too much. I thought that they'd feel sorry for me, they would indulge me and be as sweet as can be for having been there. I was wrong, then. People don't just give you hugs for suffering.

"You don't work, do you?"

Dan smiles a bit, but I can see he's sort of hurt by the question. By the way he's arching his eyebrows. "Nah, not currently."

"What do you know? I mean, what do you do?"

"A bit of all," he answers dryly, opening the door. "A bit of this, a bit of that..."

"D'you have a band? Or sometime of the sort?"

"No."

I stop it with the questions. He's holding his head in a hand, rubbing his temple. I can see little short prickly black hairs on his chin and sides. He looks tired.

"You should shave."

He laughs, his face still covered.

"Come on. We got music to hear."

I run downstairs, the lights turn on. First thing I do is to hang the bass on my shoulder, stroking it with my fingertips, and play a few of the Dear Prudence notes. Dan smiles at me, grabbing a very old acoustic guitar.