Because one of the properties of music is to entertain and to, I don't mean this lightly, distract us from the things that pull us down. Music should be not only a source for political ideas but also a source of hope.
- Dave Mathews
Chapter Four: Safety Blanket
I woke up by the blare of my alarm clock. Mornings were never a pleasant time for me, but I tolerated them as well as I could. I drudged down the stairs, hoping that some peace would be awaiting me, but who was I trying to kid? I tried to imagine that last night was just part of the dream - or should I say nightmare? That was still fuzzy to me. I wished the call was just a horrible game my mind was playing on me - punishing me for something I did. What exactly for, though, troubled me as well. I just couldn't figure anything out. My mind wasn't in sync with me at all. Or, was it that I wasn't in sync with my mind? Either way, it left me in a constant state of frustration with myself.
I turned the corner at the bottom of the staircase and noticed that my father was huddle on the couch with a simple throw pillow and quilt. The pit of my stomach burned with fear and frustration. I tip-toed, trying my hardest not to wake him, but I had never been light on my feet.
"Cass, sweetie, is that you?" I grimaced at the fact that I failed.
"Yes, it's me. I'm just getting ready to go to school.", I clarified. I was tempted to turn around and look at him while I spoke but, I couldn't bear to see the sight again. Denial - I believe - is the word to describe my actions. If I didn't see it and I didn't think about it, then it's not real - simply a figment of my imagination. Why my mind would conjure up such chaos was beyond me.
The absence of conversation was calming. I concluded that he must have fallen back asleep. I continued to walk into the kitchen. Suddenly, I wasn't in the mood for breakfast. I grabbed a simple glass of orange juice and regressed through the living room, keeping my eyes fixated on the off-white carpeting.
I grabbed my bag and jacket as I walked out the door. The cool breeze caused a shiver to run down my spine. I sat on one of the large wicker chairs on the porch and, yet again, relied on my iPod to console me.
I started to gather -I guess you could call it - a playlist of my life. Music was never an anomaly around me; even though my talent for it ceased to exist. The familiar songs are my safety blanket.
School was just as agonizing as usual. Emily did manage to be the highlight of my day by falling the middle of the hall between fourth period and lunch. A normal person would offer her a hand, but as her best friend, I just laughed - as did she.
At home, things also seemed normal, but that soon faded. As I walked further into the house, something was different. Luggage waited at the foot of the stairs - this time more than the prevalent three bags. Five large suitcase - all looking stuffed full - were just sitting there. Nothing was confirmed yet, but I was pretty sure of what was happening. A felt a few tears run down my cheek in shock. Could he really be leaving?
Like he had sensed something, my dad cantered down the stairs, shaking his head. The tears began to pour with more celerity. He touched down and kissed my forehead.
"I'm sorry, Sweetie. I love you", were his last words before turning the doorknob. A coldness vibrated through me. My mother followed down the stairs after he was gone; the glisten of tears covering her face. I stomped quickly past her and into my room. How could she do this?
My body felt like it were torn in pieces; with every piece pulling in a different direction. My eyes burned from a lack of moisture. I wanted an explanation without having to sit down and talking about it all. It hated the long, useless parental talks filled with common sense stories about right and wrong. I just wanted to know why this had to happen. I've learned, though, that my questions often go unanswered.
