𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗩𝗼𝗶𝗰𝗲 (𝙵𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝙱𝚡𝙱)

Track 49 | 𝗖𝘂𝘁𝗲 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴

'Cute Thing' instantly became my favorite song of all time. I began to memorize the drum pattern and smacked my paws against the dining table rhythmically during dinner. I wasn't even doing it on purpose. Something about that song had entranced me. Possessed me. I couldn't get the melody out of my head. My dad would shout relentlessly at my persistent pitter-pattering, begging me to cut it out, while my mother, in between cigarette puffs, claimed that I was sure to be an all-star drummer when I grew up.

I guess that was what motivated her to go behind my father's back and buy me a drum set for my 10th birthday. I usually never got presents in previous years, considering how low on money we were, but my mom wanted this for me. And though my dad wanted it for me too, he was enraged by how much money Mom had spent on the drum set. They were practically broke by the next day and couldn't even afford rent.

They fought in the kitchen, thinking I was asleep. Their voices were so loud and haunting. The very foundation of the house began to shake with every scream. 

I couldn't stand it. 

I crept into my parents' room, out of sight. I took out the cassette and placed it into the Walkman. I turned the volume up to the highest setting, adorned the headphones, and pressed play. I laid there on the floor, hoping that if I blasted the music loud enough to the point where it would make my ears bleed, I could drown out the even louder screeching of my parents. Tears streamed down my face as I felt my body fade away into the music.

And then I forgot the world existed.

I stood up and began to dance. My eyes were locked shut, glued together by dried tears. I had no idea where I was, where I stood in the room, what surrounded me, what time it was... I even forgot myself. And my life. And everything bad that scared me.

I just danced. I was happy.

But then the song ended. And I could hear again.

"ARIZONA! CALL 911!"

It was Mom.

I opened my eyes and found myself standing in the hallway. At the end of the hall, far off in the kitchen, I could only catch a glimpse of what looked to be my mother.

She was on the floor with a knife stuck in her shoulder. I saw her, reaching out to me as if I were her lifeline; her last resort; a life preserver in a deep, dark ocean. I saw my father standing over her, fear and remorse in his eyes. He picked up his head and stared at me.

I saw the expression on his face.

This would be the moment our lives would change forever, for better or for worse. 

And it all happened within the duration of a two-minute song.

Dad went away. Mom was taken to the hospital. Adults in business suits accompanied by police officers sat me down in a room in a building that was nowhere near home. I had no idea where I was or why I was being asked so many questions about my parents and our living status. But, soon enough, they told me it was time to go.

I was forced to pack a backpack with clothes and personal belongings. I stuffed my mother's Walkman and the Twin Fantasy cassette into the bag. The woman who asked me questions said I could take one more thing from the house. Making it difficult for her, I chose the entire drum set.