Remember me, Forget me, Miss me

chapter two

not as long, but it gives you just a little taste. Please comment!

Chapter two

Once Ace left there was nothing to do. I was driving myself mad with boredom. Heaving a sigh I picked myself up and started walking upstairs to my room.

I look at my small room that over the years I've made my own; posters of hot male movie stars, my favorite bands and singers, I look around and I see myself. Really, in a literal sense I do: about a third of my walls are covered in mirrors. I see myself with flowing blond golden hair and big brown doe eyes. Red stained lips and a large forehead. I look at myself and see nothing special about me. I'm normal, except for my hair.

My hair goes down to my waist and then some. When I had no hair, well, I just missed it so much that every time I went in for a hair cut, I only got a trim. I couldn't loose my hair again. Once when I was thirteen I asked the lady to cut it short, that resulted in me screaming at her to stop and having a panic attack.

After that, I started therapy. I was already in therapy, but my mom doubled the sessions. My therapist was nice, but I felt like I saw her much more than was necessary. After enough complaining, when I was fifteen, I stopped therapy.

Now that my cancers back and I'm not doing anything about it, I stared therapy again. This I saw no point to. Why do my parents send me to someone who helps people with their problems when, soon, that person and there problems will no longer be.

Parents logic = stupid.

Of course I would never tell them that. They would go strait to their little - big quite actually - parenting book collection and find a reason why I was acting which ever way I do.

That's how my parents work. I swear, they have more parenting books than a barns and noble. No joke. To them, everything has a logical answer. I tell them I want to stop playing the piano - F.Y.I, I HATE the piano, I like the sound, do not like how many rules there are and how you have to do certain things, perfect. - they say I quit because I'm insecure with my playing because my younger sister is better than me.

I say I quit because I don't like the way my fingers move on the keys and I much prefer the acoustic guitar. I heart the guitar. I do not heart the piano. But nope, my parents would not go with my way of thinking. They had to go with the book. The stupid, dumb, teenage life destroying book.

So then with every time I would be practicing my mom or dad would say, "nice job!" or, "Your getting better!" or my personal favorite, "my goodness I can see you going to Julliard with those skills." Yep, I had mad skills alright. My playing sounded like a five year old just slamming down on the keys, it was beautiful. (note: sarcasm) Granted, I didn't practice that much, or at all. But you can't expect someone to do something that they hate. Well, except school, but that's inquired in the law. Not optional or negotiable.

So one day when I was reading my mom's and dad's books (I do this with each one just to see if, and what 'method of understanding you teenager', or 'why your teenager do what they do' book they use on me. I found the answer. All I had to do was act interested in the piano, but act more interested in the guitar. So when I started playing the guitar more and more, I asked my mom if I could take guitar lessons. She said that I was already taking piano lesson. (oh, I didn't tell you, my therapist is also my piano teacher.) Then I told her that I had already learned the piano basics and I should expand my knowledge of all instruments.(see, I read in one of the books that your child - me - should be exposed to many cultures and ways of living to become a well rounded person in later life.) She finally said yes.

For years I've been doing this, my parents think that I am the perfect child. But there was no book for them on 'why your child no longer wants to fight cancer' and if there is I haven't found it.

I walk to my closet and take out my acoustic guitar. Its way outta tune but I don't really care, until I do. After playing two songs on a untuned guitar, it drives you insane, or it drives me insane. But I really like to look at my guitar, its a Epiphone hummingbird cheery sunburst. It's no Gibson but its still really beautiful. It reminds me of the sun coming up in the morning promising that a colorful days ahead. Once I told this to someone, they laughed. Which is how I got my nick name 'sunrise'.

For a hours I get lost into the melody to the music, not really playing songs, but cords. This was some how soothing to me. More than it should be by any rate but focusing on the music made me forget. Music was my great escape from all things horrible . Music has always been what makes me, well, in all simplicity, me.