This is Jadey.

That's The Way The World Goes Round.

-Tom.

Who is she?

What’s her name?

Where did she come from?

Why can I not stop thinking about her?

-Jadey.

Running in the front door, up the stairs and straight to my room to grab my guitar, I cannot contain my excitement. The smile that beams on my face appears to have stretched to twice its normal size and the hunger inside of me to pick up my guitar surges an overwhelming power and makes me have to stop for breath.

Before I get the pleasure of holding my new guitar that was delivered this morning, I slide out of my black pinafore dress, sling off my tie, unbutton my shirt and peel out of my tights and replace them with light blue skinny jeans and my dad’s old American Football t-shirt. As I’m tying up my converse I remember mum should be back today.

“Mum!” I shout with nothing but the buzz of the heating as a reply. I walk into her room, a place I’ve known all my life but a place I’ve rarely seen. It smells of whiskey and perfume. Heels are flung around the floor and make up is dotted around the room in very peculiar places. Her bed covers are screwed up onto the opposite side of the bed next to the window. I pick it up rip off the sheets and the covers and shove them in the washing machine. I pair her shoes up and hang up all the clothes that have fallen down in her wardrobe. After putting her make up back on her dressing table and putting the empty bottles of alcohol in the bin, I open the curtains and let in the warm afternoon sun. The room glows like never before, escaped of the light for years. Gazing out the window I see kids from my school beginning to make their way up my street. Surprisingly, I’m on time.

Nearly every day for three years I’ve gone to the same place, at the same time and done the same thing. I’ve been me. At school and at home I feel pressured into being this fake person, just to please other people. People all over the world are constantly being bullied and picked on just for being themselves, for looking a certain way or for dressing in a certain style. But why?  Why should someone have to go through so much sadness and so much pain for being themselves? Why should they change just because other people say so?

The world is not a safe place.

-Tom.

“Hey, Country boy!” Some jerks across the road taunt. Back in New York, I would’ve replied. Back in New York I would’ve hit him so hard he’s never dare speak to me again. Before I saw her I would’ve hit him. What am I thinking? I don’t even know her.

-Jadey.

When the last few girls slowly make their way up the street, I grab the big box with my guitar inside, lock the door and leave. This is what time I leave every day when I venture up to the field.

Walking down my road I hear a car engine stir in a house nearby and a man and woman arguing. I ignore them and cross the road.

Sliding through the rocks and tumbling down onto the wood floor, once again I smile so hard it hurts. I pull myself up and carry on walking, already humming the notes to one of my favourite songs of them all.

-Tom.

I wonder if she’ll be there again. I think to myself.

 Maybe I should go back to that place, sit in the tree? I start tapping my legs, drumming a steady beat as I walk up the path to my front door.

Did she get home ok?

Who is she?

-Jadey.

Please. Please. Please. Please. PLEASE be what I asked for, come on, come on. I chant as I rapidly rip open the cardboard with all my might. Beneath my fingertips I feel the box rip open and my eyes snap shut so I feel my face wrinkle up. Sliding the guitar from its container, eyes still shut, I hope and pray and wish Dad got the right one.

About a year ago, my Dad found me. I was searching through facebook, newspapers, calling up old colleagues and friends of his for months. I just wanted to see him. I wanted to know why he left me with her. I wanted to know if he left me because of her.

It was Pancake Day. I remember this because I had two thrown at me in the cafeteria at school; another one of ‘The Populars’ funny plans to make every school day of my life a living hell. I had gotten home from school and I was just getting golden syrup out of my hair in the lake up the woods when I heard my phone vibrate against the mills wooden ledges.

I hoped out, thinking mum would need picking up from somewhere, but to my surprise it was a man’s voice, shy and broken.  “Jadyn?” he whispered. I could tell by his emotion tears were welling in his eyes. Jadyn. A name I hadn’t heard since I was four years old. “Daddy?” I whispered back, tears dropping from my cheeks.  I heard a sigh of relief on the other line and a mixture of laughs and tears. “Boy I’ve missed you so much, Princess.” He says to me. I heard his smile and I felt his happiness, because I was feeling it too.

That whole afternoon we talked for hours about everything and anything.  He explained why he left, because of mum and her affairs. He didn’t want to tell me but I forced it out of him. He lives in Sydney, Australia and has another little baby on the way, another little girl him and his new partner will call Addison. I guess it did bother me when he said this, he’s moved on, fallen in love again, started another family. But then I also didn’t care, forgive and forget. What happened, happened. I just want to move on from it.

I never did tell mum.

Since then, we’ve had weekly phone calls. Sometimes we speak to each other through Skype and we are constantly writing. He’s yet to come and visit me, but I don’t mind. I’m still building up our trust.

A few weeks ago, I was talking to him about my music. He made me play for him over the phone, so I sat it on top of the table, picked up my old guitar and played him ‘Pinball Wizard by The Who’, his favourite song, and now mine. I heard him applause me from the phone and when I picked it up to my ear he was telling me he was going to buy me another, I just had to name it.

My eyes open and I let out a scream.

Finally.

-Tom.

When I begin to hear the loud strums from a guitar, I know I’m too late. I curse myself under my breath. I try and make out the song, but it’s too muffled. I edge closer and closer to the open in the tree vines, hoping she doesn’t see me. Peering out I see her sitting on the swing, shiny guitar in hand. She’s tuning it, her long hair falling over the fret board and tangling in the strings as she turns the twists at the top of the guitar.

 But the first thing I notice is the Shirt; my favourite football team, back home. A smile creeps onto my face. She’s wearing pale blue skinny jeans, ripped at the knees and fraying at the ends. I look down to her feet and I’m impressed to see she’s wearing a pair of grey, beat-up converse. Then, when she starts to play, my favourite band, my favourite song, I fall in love with her. It’s a slow version of ‘Bullet with Butterfly Wings’ by The Smashing Pumpkins. I sit on the floor and watch her dance around with her beautiful blue Taylor Guitar and listen to her voice, a voice I could hear for days and days and not get tired, a stunning, angelic tone filling my ears and making me smile more than I ever have before.

She’s Perfect.

I make a few note-to-selves.

#1- Get here earlier next time to sit in the tree.

#2- Find out who she is.

I see her pack away her guitar and turn towards me, towards the exit where I’m sitting.

#3- Run.