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MIA
Idon’t know how long I have been walking, but it didn’t take long for my phone to start going off with missed calls and texts from my mother.
Cynthia:Where are you?
Cynthia:How could you embarrass me like this?
Cynthia:Why aren’t you answering your phone?
Cynthia:I demand an explanation!
I let outa tired breath as I scroll through the messages, not ready to reply to any of them, when I a message from my brother Hunter pops up.
Hunter:Hey, I heard from mom. Are you okay? Do you need me to pick you up?
My heart warmsat my brother's words, a complete contrast to mother's, but I always did get more love from my brother than I did my parents. I give a small smile as I continue to walk the busy streets as crowds of people enjoy what is left of their weekend before Monday comes and smacks them in the face.
I text back:
I’m fine.I’m close to home so it shouldn’t take me long to walk. Thanks anyway.
Hunter:Was he that bad?
Me:Sooooo bad.
Hunter:He didn’t do anything, did he?
Me:Nothing but incessantly ask to rub my feet, if you catch my drift.
Hunter:Ah, I get it. At least now you are free.
Me:Not free from mommy dearest, clearly.
Hunter:She’ll get over it. Be safe and call if you need me.
I smile,tucking my phone into the back pocket of my jeans, when I hear it. Amongst the loud cheers and chatter and cars honking on the street, I hear it.
Music.
I've stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, earning glares from those around me, as I listen to the music, feeling it brush over my skin and relax my tense muscles. I can't clearly hear the words sung, but the voice is enough to entice me to follow.
I continue to listen, searching for where the music is coming from, allowing it to carry my feet forward until I am standing before a dive bar with the name ‘Danny’s’ written in swirly writing above the door in bright red neon lights. You don’t see bars like this much anymore. Most of them are trying to be smooth and sophisticated, maybe a little trendy to the high-end crowd, but this is different.
Filtering in and out of the bar are people around my age, in their early twenties, some dressed up and others not. There's no expectation here, no one to impress, but just a place to go and have a good time and enjoy some music.
This is my kind of place.
This is what I needed right now.
With excitement lighting my eyes, I enter the bar and see that it is bigger than I thought it would be. I gasp as I look at the high ceiling with chipped rafters above us. To the right stands a long bar taking up the wall with glass shelving housing a variety of alcohol, and red stools sit on the other side, with patrons already occupying the space.
On the far wall, opposite me, are rows of booths with plastic red seats, crowds of people filling them up. The remaining space is open, with tables and chairs around the outside and a cluster of people dancing and cheering with the music. But standing before the dancing crowd is a stage, and that's when my breath leaves me.
On the stage stands a group of men making the most beautiful music I've heard in a while. The way they play their instruments effortlessly, getting lost in the music themselves, along with the crowd of screaming girls before them, is rare. Most bands and musicians I see rarely focus on the music when there are girls around.
“You want a drink?” I blink, shaken out of the dream that was their music, and realise I've somehow made it through the bar. I'm now perched on one of the stools before the bar, with a middle-aged man with sandy blonde hair tucked behind his ears and light blue button-down, staring at me with blue eyes similar to mine.
I blink again. “What?”
