Band X

Chapter 2: Psycho Chicken Meat

Sure, some days are better than others and things like the weather, what I eat, and stress make major impacts on how I feel on any day. But it is a constant in my life. When I think about it, it's the only constant besides my parents. And my brother, I guess. That's kind of pathetic.

I don't like to take any kind of medication unless I absolutely have to but the stress from meeting with my new "band" really got to me. I pop two Aleve and wash them down with a huge gulp of water. They stick on the way down, causing me to sputter and choke, spewing water into the kitchen sink. The pills eventually pass through my constricted throat and settle in my stomach. Later, they'll irritate my stomach lining and make me want to puke but for now, the pain is my biggest problem.

I make my way to my room, toss my backpack on the floor, and collapse in my bed. The backpack is truly for show as my books are already housed in my room. I have two sets, one at school and one at home so carrying them around doesn't further hurt my back. My mom made those arrangements with the school under my 504 plan. For those with normal lives and don't have to deal with this crap, a 504 plan helps students like me get special accommodations so that we can eventually graduate on time and not become 5th year seniors.

Although, now that I think about it, does anyone really have a normal life? I mean, couldn't anyone use some sort of 504 plan to help them through the difficult times? Maybe I'll do that for a living when I'm older. Create 504 plans for all students. Hate Mondays? Don't like your lab partner? Are you a night owl and need to start school later in the day? Have I got a 504 plan for you! Maybe I can do the work from my bed. It's a thought.

My mother could be considered my personal 504 plan. She makes sure I'm treated fairly, that I have additional time to do my homework, and that they allow me to take extra days off when I'm in too much pain to function.

Let's face it-my mom takes care of everything. I once heard my dad call her a force to be reckoned with and when I think about it, I realized that was a perfect way to describe her. She never takes no for an answer from anyone. She talks louder than anyone I know and never backs down when she thinks she's right. You'd think this would embarrass me, but it doesn't. She makes me nervous sometimes, but she never embarrasses me.

My brother, on the other hand, is in a constant state of humiliation when it comes to our mom. He stopped letting her walk him to the bus when he was six. I'd still let her stand at the bus stop with me if I could ride the bus. The bumps and sharp turns you feel when on the bus kill my back, but I wouldn't want to ride it even if my back were OK. It's loud and usually way too hot, even in the winter, and awful smells waft around. Like, BO combined with old tuna fish sandwiches. It's the loudness that gets to me, though. Everyone is either yelling or fighting or screaming over something.

My face flushes and my anxiety kicks up a notch just thinking about it. I forgot to mention. I also get those special accommodations because I'm an anxiety-filled mess most of the time. Just ask my therapist. She'd tell you if she could.

I rest my head on my unreasonably large stack of pillows and close my eyes. I start to drift off when I hear a very loud ding come from my phone. A text message. My mom must be checking in on me.

With my eyes still closed, my hand moves around my thick white comforter until I feel the smooth finish of my iPhone case. Grabbing it, I bring it up to my face and open one eye to deliver my typical responses.

'K. Yes Mom. I'm OK. I don't want to talk about it.

Stuff like that.

Only the text isn't from my mom. It's from a number I don't recognize.

'Carter!! remember to meet us at 3:00 at my place tomorrow!!'

The excited message is followed by an address.

I know exactly who this is. The overuse of exclamation marks gives it away, but I ask anyway.

'Isabelle?'

'YES!! i can't wait to get everyone together! see you tomorrow!'

For a second I'm a little irritated. She just assumed I'll be there. Then I remember I told her I would come. I'm nervous...and something else. I might be a little excited about it. The feeling both surprises and terrifies me.

I hold my phone in my hand for a few minutes before another text pops up.

'Carter??'

I want to type 'k and leave it at that but somehow I know this won't be enough for Isabelle.

'I'll be there.'

I get a thumb's up in return. I close my eyes and start to fall asleep when I hear another ding from my phone.

Why didn't I put it on do not disturb?

I tap on the message. No surprise, it's Isabelle again.

'We need a band name tho what abt Psycho Chicken Meat??'

I'm not sure what to say. That might be the worst band name I've ever heard. I could tell her this but it might piss her off. Then she might not want me to be in the band. At this point, I'm not sure if this is a good or bad thing.

'idk abt that one haha'

'why not? its punk-ish'

'sounds more...underground german metal to me...are we a punk band?'

'maybe?'

'can we decide when we meet or something?'

'heck yeah I can't wait'

Exhausted by the conversation, I type 'gtg', put my phone on do not disturb, and immediately fall into a deep sleep.