simply Syl: Life in Prose...

Bassline

2012-01-14T21:13:00.006-05:00

Syl smiled as she entered the beach house. The rumble of the bass guitar welcomed her home, and the house keeper Rita came to greet her in the front hall. Not for the first time, she had to remind herself that this was still her brother's house, though he had been kind enough to let her and the kids stay as long as they needed.

That's what family was for after all.

But that sentiment never stopped her from feeling like she was imposing. She made a mental note to start looking for a place for her and the kids, maybe when preparations for the new tour coming up were done. Not an easy task with the city's current strict zoning laws.

Rita would miss the kids though, Syl realized as they walked together down the hallway. The house keeper joyfully recounted the children's antics for the day; how Cabot had gotten peanut butter in Jet's hair, and Aniela's excitement at the purchase of some new tack for the horses. The thump of the bass followed them like a movie soundtrack.

The scent of something savoury washed over her like an ocean wave as they entered the kitchen. With a proud smile, Rita announced that dinner would be ready soon.

Syl nodded and went to get the kids.

Jake and Valentine were easy enough to find; she followed her ears and tracked the bassline to the living room. They were sitting on the couch by the giant picture window (really just a huge piece of glass that would have been a wall in any other house) that framed the sea and sunset outside.

Valentine looked up and smiled, never missing a beat as her fingers thumped the strings. Syl caught the reggae bounce in an otherwise distinctly rock-style bass riff, and smiled back. Her father would have been proud.

Jake smiled along with them, "Val's awesome, isn't she?"

"Definitely," Syl agreed, chuckling. "And it looks like you're hogging her talent all to yourself."

"Hey, it's not my fault she won't join a band!" The boy protested in his defense. Still chuckling, Syl ruffled his hair to let him know she was just kidding.

"Nothing's come up," Val explained, shrugging nonchalantly while her fingers continued to slide along the strings, as if controlled by a subconscious part of her brain. "But then I really haven't been looking lately."

Syl knew why and gave a worried frown, but said nothing. Val would figure out what to do in her own time.

"Is Aniela out at the stables again?" It wasn't really an question.

"Yeah, Cab and Jet went with her," Jake added, grinning. "They wanted to try teach football to Pedro again."

Val chuckled and her bass music shifted slightly from a little less rock to a little more reggae. Pedro was the pony their father had reluctantly bought for them the first time they had spent Christmas at the beach house.

"Well, you're gonna have to be referee then, Jake, and tell them the game is over. Rita's almost ready with dinner."

"Okay!" He hopped off the couch, and dutifully ran off to play the authority figure to his younger brothers.

"Get your sister too! And don't forget to make sure they wash up!" Syl called after him, but wasn't sure he heard.

She glanced over at Val. The girl stopped playing and lay her bass guitar on the couch, trying not to chuckle at her aunt's worried look. "I have a bad feelling they're all going to show up at dinner smelling like horse."

Going On...

2012-01-06T21:38:00.002-05:00

The room felt strange despite its familiarity. She'd never been in this specific room before, but she recognized the layout and equipment set-up. Four solid, sturdy walls for acoustics and sound-proofing. Sparse furnishings as not to dampen the sound. A basic multi-track recorder, not as advanced as one in a recording studio, but good enough for decent quality playback. A small collection of various musical instruments for those who wanted to experiment or just couldn't bring their own. Mid-sized speakers in every corner. Mic. Music stand. Plain wooden stool.

She knew the room; she'd been in a thousand rooms just like it. But those rooms felt like they belonged to a thousand other lives.

She opened the guitar case at her feet. Light flashed off the black gloss finish of the hollow, wooden body within, as she reached in to lift the guitar out like a friend who had fallen down. She had still played over the last few years, but not in the same capacity she once did. There were the occasional family get-togethers, the requests from Jake for a song, the quiet nights on the deck of the beach house plucking an accompaniment to the rhythmn of the waves.

How long had it been? Over twenty years since she had walked out of that Toronto music shop with a brand-new shiny black acoustic guitar? Back when the world was an adventure she couldn't wait to begin, when she wanted to sing to the world and hear it sing back.

The stages, spotlights and roaring crowds felt like a dream now.

That was a different world and a different life.

Settling herself onto the stool, she flipped open the battered folder on the music stand. Years expressed in notes and staves on the page looked back at her, waiting to be sung. The song she co-wrote with Faith's father peeked out behind lyrics dedicated to the memory of her first love. Beside them, an incomplete melody for her late fiancé begged for a bridge and final verse, while the corners of a silly parody penned by her deceased band mate curled around it as if attempting an embrace. The music seemed to hold its breath, waiting for permission to exhale.

She adjusted the mic, sliding her fingers onto the familiar frets of the guitar, and took her own deep breath.

No matter what happened, no matter who lived and who died, life kept going on.

Strumming a simple chord progression, she began to sing a random melody.

Time to go on with life.

Slipping Away

2011-08-17T15:25:00.002-04:00

She held his hand tightly as he slipped into unconsciousness one last time. After watching him fight his illness for so long, the doctors had finally come to the conclusion that there was nothing left that they could do.

Sylvia was of the opinion that they never did enough, but she kept that to herself.

Pressing his fingers against her lips in a gentle kiss, she tried to shrug off the feeling that life was cheating her again. It didn't seem fair. Everything good in life always seemed to slip away.

She ran the fingertips of her other hand softly along his cheek. Feeling the prick of his beard, she remembered how it tickled when they kissed. He looked at peace lying there, and recalling the words he had said to her before finally closing his eyes, she was certain he was.

His calm acceptance of the inevitable infuriated her. How he could simply let everything go and not fight this tooth and nail until the bitter end, she couldn't understand.

But she couldn't voice that now. It didn't matter. He made the choice to embrace the coming darkness. He had made his peace.

She had no right to take that away from.

As she tightly held his hand, she felt the warmth she knew and loved slip away.

Additions to the Family

2010-11-04T22:06:00.002-04:00

Melodi was nothing short of awesome. The girl had been through so much, too much for someone her age, in one short week, and she still managed to make the proper arrangements for Malaki's two orphaned brothers.

Syl wrapped her arm around her niece's shoulder as they waited at the airport and kissed her forehead in appreciation. "Thank you for taking care of all this for me. If there's anything you need," she gently patted Mellie's swelling center, "don't be afraid to ask, okay?" She smiled at her reassuringly. "Everything is going to be alright."

The two little boys, only 3 and 4, emerged from the Arrivals gate with a scarecrow-like laywer. He looked extremely perturbed and only the older of the two boys held his hand reluctantly, as if he somehow realized the unpleasant neccesity of staying with the cold, gaunt grown-up. His brother, though only a year younger, didn't understand and tightly held the older boy's other hand, rather than the crooked fingers of the lawyer.

When they approached, Syl crouched down to greet the boys, much to the annoyance of the lawyer, who wanted to get the formalities over with and be on his way. She ignored his ugly glare.

"Hi, my name is Sylvia," she greeted the boys with a friendly smile. "I'll be taking care of you two from now on, just like your dad wanted. Will that be alright with you guys?"

The lawyer sneered at the question. The two orphaned boys had no choice and he found pretending that they did a disgusting display of compassion. He would have said as much, but a quick glare from Mellie kept him silent. Instead, he let go of the boy's hand and after rummaging through his briefcase, thrust the custody papers at Syl for her to sign so he could leave.

Once the scarecrow of a lawyer had left with the paperwork, Syl turned back to the boys and held out her hand. "Com'on, boys. Let's go home."

Under The Watch Of An Angel

2010-09-19T00:16:00.002-04:00

Syl insisted they walk back to the hotel after his show, and typical of his easy-going, laid-back manner, he humoured her with a smile and complied. She couldn't help smiling herself at this, knowing he'd prefer a limo or at least a cab. But he put up with her every little quirk and laughed off every minor (and not so minor) discomfort she put him through; he wasn't about to make a fuss about something as simple as a walk now.

She led their leisurely late-night stroll through downtown Mexico City. She knew the streets, though not as well as her extended family did. Her mother grew up here before moving to Canada to make a new life for herself.

That was a concept Syl couldn't understand for the longest time: To leave your family and friends and everything you had ever known to start all over in some strange, distant place so far removed from where you began. She had often wondered what would lead someone to make such a drastic change in their life.

It wasn't until she had to do it herself, that she finally understood. It was about freedom, even if the oppression you were escaping from was just in your head.

When her friends started following her to Rio though, she began to wonder if it really had been just in her head the entire time.

Holding Jon's hand, she laughed as she ran across a street at a roundabout, dodging a car as she tugged her boyfriend along behind her. When they reached the safety of the sidewalk, she grinned up at him mischievously while they took a moment to catch their breath.

Then she looked up, and pointed to indicate to Jon to do the same.

An 'angel', with her gilded skin glowing from the spotlights positioned on the ground, was watching them from the top of a monumental column in the center of the roundabout. "El Ángel de la Independencia," she explained, as she turned to see the awe on Jon's face. "Pretty cool, eh?"

He turned to her, but before he could reply, she leaned up and kissed him, long and passionately.

"So, I was thinking, ya know, on what you asked me about a while ago," she said as she playfully tugged on a dread. "I love you, but..." She paused and looked away as she slipped a hand into her pocket, "...I don't know if I want to be your wife." Turning back, she bit her lip at the look of disappointment in Jon's face.

"I do know one thing though," she said as she leaned into him again. Her lips met his again in another passionate kiss, as she pulled something out of her pocket and slipped it into his hand.

She smiled as he looked down at the golden ring in his palm.

"I do know I want you to be my husband," she grinned, teasingly.

Esperenza Design

2010-09-01T22:19:00.001-04:00

Sylvia led Beth down a pedestrian-only stretch of Via della Spigga in the fashion district of Milan, watching her friend stare in awe at all the designer clothes displayed in the windows as they passed. Her friend's expression was priceless, like that of one of the kids on Christmas morning.

When they arrived at a little haut couture boutique called "Esperenza Design", Sylvia grinned proudly and opened the door for Beth, then laughed when she heard her friend gasp and followed her inside.

At first glance, it appeared as if the shop had very little stock. Most of the dresses in the boutique were on mannequins, only a few hung on hangers along the wall. But it only took an observer with a discerning eye to realize each dress was a one-of-a-kind original. No two were alike, and none were like anything found in any other shop anywhere in the world, like the works of a master painter hanging in an exclusive art gallery.

Syl approached a sales girl dressing a new mannequin for a window display and exchanged a few words, before the girl nodded and waved them towards a door at the back of the shop. Smiling, Syl thanked her and led Beth to her mother's work room.

Esperenza sputtered some Spanish, dropping some of the pins she held in her mouth at the sight of her daughter coming through the door. Turning away from her current project, a white wedding dress loosely draped over a dress-form mannequin, she welcomed them with a smile so bright it was almost blinding.

"Sylvia! Where have you been? You don't visit enough, niña!" Quickly taking the remaining pins out of her mouth and stabbing them into a pin cushion on a nearby work bench, she came over and hugged her girl long and hard, before turning to Beth. "And you must be la niña who's stolen Neil's heart that I've heard so much about. Ah, muy guapa!" She hugged Beth as warmly as she had hugged her own daughter. "But then I wouldn't expect anything less from that heartbreaker."

"Moooom," Sylvia hissed under her breath, "You're being embarrassing."

Esperenza waved her hand with a hearty laugh, "Nonsense, chica! I don't embarrass you enough! If you visited more often, then the embarrassment would be stretched out much thinner and it wouldn't be so painful. Now, ven, ven!" She grinned, as she ushered them back into the front of the store. "I bet there are many dresses you want to see before you have to go!"

Smoke and Fire

2010-06-11T01:20:00.002-04:00

She heard the frantic screaming through the smoke. "Ma! Ma! Where are you?"

Choking on the black air, she coughed before answering back. "Right here, love," she calmly called through haze and confusion.

Someone somewhere opened a door or window as a cool breeze swept into the club and lifted some of the smokey curtain. As visibility in the room slowly improved, she looked through the crowd to find her daughter. "Faith?"

"Right here, Ma," the girl called behind her, sounding out of breath. Turning around, Syl was surprised to find Faith lugging in an old, dented fire extinguisher with her. "I got it from the bus," she explained, then looked around confused. "Where's the fire?"

Syl pointed to a group of people relaxing by the bar. A brand, new extinguisher sat on the bartop beside them. "One of the bands who played before us stuck around, and they already put it out. They seemed pretty prepared, so I guess they're used to having things like this happen."

Faith nodded, then looked over her mother, worry creeping into her expression. "Are you okay, Ma? How do you feel? You didn't breath in too much smoke, did you?"

Grinning, the woman shook her head. "I'm fine, love. Geez, you sound like me when I'm about to have a panic attack."

"Ma! You were right next to the fire!"

Syl laughed, "Actually, your Uncle Gareth was right next to the fire." She pointed to her bandmate who stood to one side, trying to wipe the soot from his clothes. A scorched violin lay at his feet. "I was lucky enough to be on the other side of the stage when he dropped his instrument."

Putting down the old fire extinguisher, Faith sighed in relief then looked over again at the band that had saved the club. One in particular she stared at for a long time. "Hey, Ma. Do we know them? Or at least one of them, anyway."

Syl glanced over and shook her head. "No, love, we don't. Why do you ask?" she said as she turned her attention to Gareth to see if he was all right.

"Nothing." She threw one last look at the other band, before picking up the fire extinguisher and following her mother. "I thought one of them looked familiar. I guess I was wrong."

Diagnosis...

2010-05-24T02:38:00.001-04:00

She sat on the examination bench in silent shock. As the doctor left the room, Beth entered, eager to hear the diagnosis.

Her voice cracked when she spoke.

"I... I'm pregnant."

Beth's sudden squeal of joy caught her by surprise, and Syl looked up just in time to find herself smothered in a hug.

She held her friend tight, as she started shaking. "This... this can't be happening. I'm not ready for this." She bit her lip to hold back a sob, but failed. As tears began to fill her eyes, she buried her face in Beth's shoulder. "I can't believe I was stupid enough to let this happen again," she whispered in a broken voice.

Symptoms...

2010-05-20T23:03:00.002-04:00

The dawn was already bleeding through the window when she woke up and rolled out of bed. It was her brother's house, so she knew what to expect when 6am rolled around. By the time, she heard his footsteps in the hallway heading for her door, she was already dressed and ready for a morning run with him and Beth.

She just wished the queasy feeling in her stomach would go away.

Downstairs in the front hall, Faith spun on her roller blades while trying hard to balance a bright orange hockey ball on the curved end of her stick. When she heard the others come down the stairs, she grinned as she looked up, letting the ball fall to the floor.

"Hey, can we take the road instead of the beach?" she asked as she leaned down to pick up her ball. "The sand really sucks for roller blades." She looked up at her uncle for a moment with big, pleading eyes, like a puppy's.

Her expression dropped when she looked at Syl. "Are you okay, Ma? You don't look so good."

Her mother waved off her concern, putting on her best smile. "I'll be okay, love. If I start feeling sick again, I'll just slow down and take it easy. I'll be fine," she told Faith, reassuringly.

A Home-Cooked Meal

2010-04-18T19:47:00.004-04:00

"Beth?" Syl called as she opened the door with her old key.

The maid greeted her when she heard her enter, informing her that Neil, Beth and Faith had been out all day. Syl nodded and smiled, "That's all right. I'm here as a surprise anyway. Actually, do you think you can help me?" She opened the door wider to reveal several bags of groceries and a box with a triple-chocolate birthday cake. "How are you with Mexican cuisine, Miss Rita?"

Once the groceries were in the kitchen and they were ready to cook, Syl pulled out her cel phone and quickly sent a text message to Beth. She needed her friend to buy her some time.

Two hours later, Syl let out a long drawn-out sigh.

"Okay, that was harder than I thought. How mom and mi tia were always able to pull that off I have no clue," she said, then thanked Rita for her help. She really couldn't have cooked all this in time without her.

Putting the last dish on the dining room table, she looked over the array of Mexican food with a bit of pride. Enchiladas, chalupas, carne asada and the family specialty, chile con carne, for dinner with coyotas, churros and her daughter's birthday cake for desert. Four place settings were arranged around the table.

After a moment, it dawned on her exactly how much food she had actually just made. They would have leftovers for probably a week at least.

Shit, she thought. I just channeled my mother again, didn't I.

She chuckled as she shook her head and went into the kitchen to clean up while she waited for the others to arrive.

Apologies Not Required.

2010-04-17T22:26:00.004-04:00

Syl smiled despite herself, as she listened to Beth's voice mail. Her friend had no reason to apologize; it wasn't her fault things had fallen through with the tour. Luck had just decided to take a bad turn when the few friends Syl was travelling with dropped off at the same time.

Neil. Beth. Jon... They had personal matters they had to deal with. She didn't blame them for it. Actually, she would have been more worried if they didn't take the time off to deal with what life had thrown at them.

Syl just didn't have a reason to be on this tour herself anymore, now that everyone that mattered to her had to leave.

She chuckled as she muttered half-heartedly "I need to meet other people", though she knew very well that she wasn't motivated enough to do that just yet. She'd been burned too many times before. For now, she'd rather work on the few friendships she still had than risk putting her trust in people who could end up just using and abusing her again for their own self-serving, ego-boosting games and sick mental delusions.

Sighing, she sat back in her seat and thought a moment. Then, she began punching the keys of her cel phone. Going through her tour schedule in her head, a grin formed on her lips.

Yeah, this could work, she thought.

Worthwhile Writings

2010-04-08T22:23:00.002-04:00

She arrived back at the condo late, having stayed at the beach house as long as she could. As much as she wanted to stay, she really had to rejoin her bandmate and get back on tour. Besides, her brother had everything he needed to get back on his feet. More than anything, she'd probably just get in the way.

Now she needed to pack two suitcases: one for her flight back to Europe and one to send to her daughter at the beach house. Faith had decided to stay with her uncle and his family, instead of by herself in the condo. The girl would need some extra clothes besides the ones she had on her back.

"Not just uncle's family, Ma. 'Our' family, actually," Faith had corrected her mother before she left. "Or at least that's what Cousin Ryan says." From the girl's tone, Syl could tell Faith didn't quite believe it yet herself, and she didn't blame her. The two of them had been on their own for a long time; sometimes it was hard to believe they weren't all alone after all.

She drifted down the hall towards the bedrooms to get to work, when her gaze got caught on some frames on the wall. Most held photographs of Faith as she was growing up. Others were of distant family from Canada and Mexico. She didn't see them as much anymore. A quick visit while passing through while on tour was all she could afford as of late.

The last few were magazine clippings, articles she had written a long time ago. She managed to get enough published to earn the Blue Pen Award, but only her best hung on the wall. Which actually wasn't very many. One of the reasons why she had given up writing altogether.

Frowning, she paused in thought. Then reaching up, she took one of the framed articles from the wall and headed to the living room.

She sat down on the edge of the couch and lay the frame glass-down on the coffee table. Calm and calculated, emotionless, as if she were a heart surgeon who had performed the same operation a thousand times, she opened the back of the frame and gently peeled the clipping from the backing.

She read over the article, a tribute to two people who she thought at the time were a pair of very extraordinary individuals. She doubted they had read it, but she never begrudged them for it. They had been on their honeymoon in Europe when it went to print in North America, and she never brought it up later on. It felt too rude and presumptuous to point it out to them afterwards, so she had let it go unread and unnoticed.

As she finished reading, she nodded to herself; it was still good writing, still one of her best. But some people, as well as opinions and circumstances, change over time; though others, thankfully, stayed the same.

Gripping the top of the clipping firmly in both hands, she tore it down the middle, then roughly tossed the two halves onto the coffee table. She stared at the scraps for a moment, contemplating, then rose from her seat to go back to packing for herself and her daughter.

It had been a good article, in both writing and subject matter. It deserved a follow-up, some sort of update, but she couldn't make herself care enough to write one.

The time, the effort and the trouble she would get into made the topic simply not worth writing about.

The Scarecrow in a Three-Piece Suit

2010-04-07T19:49:00.009-04:00

Faith stood in the hallway by the washroom door, watching the people bustle throughout the house with relief and excitement. Her uncle had survived his accident and had made it to shore. Everyone was now busy making phone calls, passing on the news, and making sure Uncle Neil had everything he needed. Faith didn't know what to do to help.

And her mother for some reason was now feeling sick. Faith cringed as she listened to Syl throw up for a good while, followed by a flush and the sound of running water. When Syl emerged from the bathroom, she asked her daugther for a stick of gum, a request Faith could easily accomodate.

"Hey, Ma," Faith began as she slipped the pack of gum back into her pocket, "do you think it'll be okay if I stayed here instead of the condo?" She had been nervous about staying before because she didn't know anyone in the house. Now that her uncle was back with them, she didn't want to leave.

Her mother laughed and ruffled Faith's hair. "I'm okay with it, but you'll have to ask your uncle." The statement was just a formality though; she couldn't imagine Neil refusing his niece anything.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door and they looked up as Aaron went to answer it.

A gaunt, serious scarecrow of a man in business attire stared fiercely down at the boy when he opened the door. Aaron surprised Syl when she saw him stare back up just as fiercely at the human vulture as if daring him to bite. Coldly, the ugly, empty shell in the three-piece suit grumbled something to the boy before rudely shoving a thick manila envelope into his hands and leaving as abruptly and unannounced as he had arrived.

Frowning, Syl followed Aaron to the front room and watched as the boy handed the package to his father. Worried, she came up behind Neil and gently put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

"You going to be alright, bro?" She knew how much his wife meant to him.

Kiss of Life

2010-04-07T00:19:00.004-04:00

[Posted in 4 parts on Sylvia's character blog]

Neil had always told her running helped him think.

So Syl ran.

She needed to think.

Or not think.

She wasn't quite sure.

She had been swinging from auto-pilot to emotional wreck and back again since her brother disappeared underneath the waves almost a week ago. It was like her head and heart weren't anchored anymore and drifted off on a whim. And it was driving her crazy.

Flying all the way back to Rio just for a run was proof enough to herself that she was losing it. It would have made more sense to run in South Africa or Turkey or any of the other places she was about to play a show in, but it had to be here. Maybe this was her way to subconsciously say good-bye.

Another storm had blown in, leaving the beach all to Syl. The wind wasn't so fierce or the rain too harsh, but it was still unpleasant for the average sun-worshipper. Or the average person, period.

At least with the tropical temperature, it was a warm kind of rain; it lacked the cruel, icy bite of the rain that she was so used to growing up with in the chill Canadian climate. She found it strangely refreshing to know rain wasn't always bone-numbingly cold and to have the validation of that knowledge trickling down her skin.

Still, it was horrid weather to be running in.

The whisper of the sand under her shoes seemed muted and lonely amid the pattering of the rain on the sea and shore. On a day like this, she would have slept in. It would have taken Cowboy to drag her out of bed to run in this weather. Now running beside the ocean that had taken him was probably the closest she'd ever get to spending time with him again. In a sense, he had still managed to get her ass out on a run, even beyond what was likely his watery grave.

She shook her head, reminding herself there was no proof he was really dead, though she knew the longer it took to find him, the less likely he would be found alive.

Brushing aside a stray lock of wet hair, she watched the ocean waves rise and fall in monstrous motions on the horizon. She wondered what her brother had been thinking when he had seen the waves like that a week ago.

As she continued to run, she saw something ahead of her, beached and unmoving in the distance. She strained to make it out through the rain as she approached. It was actually two things, she realized as she got closer. A lost surf board that had washed up on shore, and...

Her heart stopped, and she sprinted the rest of the distance to the motionless human body lying in the sand.

She wondered if it was cruel to hope this was some other poor soul the ocean had regurgitated back onto land, and not the friend she considered her brother. As faint a hope as it was, if his body was never recovered, everyone could still grasp at the slim chance that he was alive somewhere out there like a lifeline to prevent the rest of them from drowning in despair. But that was probably unhealthy and delusional. Some final and definite closure would be better for all.

She skidded to a stop and knelt beside the body, holding her breath. He was bloodied and battered, face-down in the sand. Gently, she turned him over.

Tears welled up in her eyes at the sight of the familiar face.

"Oh, my, god," The words escaped her lips in a slow breath. "Neil."

She cupped his face gently in her hands, his skin pale and cold to the touch. She bit her lip to hold back a sob. Hoping he wasn't dead, she leaned her face closer to his to try to feel his breath.

The only air she felt was the wind. He wasn't breathing.

Faced with what everyone had been dreading, she began to weep uncontrollably as rain washed over both of them, and buried her face in his chest. Apparently, she had found that final closure and it hurt like hell.

As she cried, she suddenly felt something. Or heard something. Or maybe in her distress, she was just imagining things. She wasn't sure.

Straightening, she wiped away her tears and bit back another sob. Then she leaned forward again. Placing her ear on his bare chest, she tried to find what she thought she had heard the first time: the beat of his heart.

After a moment, she thought she found it. She barely recognized it. It was slow, weak. Nothing like the strong, solid drum she remembered hearing all those times he held her when she cried.

"Neil. Please hang in there. Please don't die."

She had never actually done this before. She'd only read about it in a First Aid textbook once and even then she hadn't been really paying attention to the details. Besides, the person performing this procedure was supposed to be calm. She was hardly calm; she was ready to break down and start crying again.

But with the storm, the beach was deserted. No one else was around. She had to try.

With shaking hands, she tilted his head back. As she pinched his nose, she sealed her mouth around his parted lips and tried to breath into him.

Her first breaths were too short, stunted from her sobbing. She doubted they were strong enough to have any effect. Pausing, she took a deep breath, as much to steady herself as to take in as much air as possible, and tried again.

Tears and rainwater ran down her face, as she fed her breath into his lungs. From the corner of her eye, she could see his chest rise and fall with each breath she gave him. It was only reassuring until she stopped to rest.

When she paused, he was as lifeless as when she first found him, like a broken puppet that only moved if someone was there to give it life. Or pretend to give it life. She shuttered and told herself he wasn't gone yet. He was close, too close, but not gone yet.

"God, Neil. I've already lost Cabot. I can't lose you too." She held back another sob before meeting his lips with hers again.

She lost track of how many times she repeated this cycle. Breathing into him. Crying. Telling him to come back, to wake up, to not leave her. Then breathing again.

"Please, Neil. Don't die. Please." Her voice became hoarse from the effort, her lungs hurt from the strain.

She shivered at the thought of losing her brother, the last person she knew truly cared about her, and pressed her lips against his again.

Needing A Friend

2010-04-06T12:15:00.000-04:00

Arriving earlier to catch their show would have been the polite thing to do, and they really were an outstanding punk band, one of the best in the world. Unfortunately, she had had to perform herself in another club, so it wasn't even possible to catch the tail-end of their gig, despite jumping on her Kawosaki to cross town the moment her own show ended. Besides, it was just as well since she couldn't bring herself to mill around with a crowd of strangers who were boozing it up and partying the night away.

Especially the booze part. She would have drowned herself in the drink by now, if it hadn't reminded her of Cowboy. The expression of worry and disappointment on his face when he had pried a half-chugged bottle out of her hand was etched in her mind now, since every memory she had of him had been on constant replay in her head since she heard the news.

He had told her once the best way to honour the dead was to live your life.

Ironically, he had to die to get that point across.

She shuttered and swore and told herself he wasn't dead yet.

Actually, he could very well be dead by now and it was just unconfirmed because the body was missing.

She swore again and hated herself for how coldly she was arguing the semantics of death --with herself, of all people-- while waiting at the rear exit of the club.

She should have picked up some cigarettes. That would have killed the time (and her lungs) more pleasantly than the self-argument she was having at the moment.

The rear door creaked open, flooding the back alley with some pre-recorded music, the kind used to fill the intermission between bands.

When Sylvia saw who had stepped out, she was on her in a second.

"Beth!" They both nearly fell over from the force of her hug. "God, Beth, I... god..."

With the other woman still in her arms, he began shaking and forced back her tears. Only four people had ever seen her cry like this before. She wasn't sure she was ready to add a fifth person to that list, but at this point, she wasn't sure it could be prevented either.

The News...

2010-04-03T16:18:00.002-04:00

[See Cowboy's Last Ride.]

They entered the condo, drenched and laughing, having gotten caught in a storm on the way back from grocery shopping. The rain obviously hadn't soddened their spirits.

"Seriously, Ma, you need to get a car," Faith laughed as she placed her bags on the kitchen counter. Puddles pooled on the surface as the girl began pulling groceries from the bag.

Her mother came up beside her, putting her own bags down on the counter. "You just want an excuse for me to buy a Lamborghnini like your Uncle Neil's."

Faith grinned, "Weeellll, now that you mention it, Ma..."

"Wait 'til you're 16, love," Syl chuckled, "You know I'm quite happy with my Kawosaki."

"Well, we should have taken your bike then, so we wouldn't have spent so much time in the rain."

"Then we would've only been able to buy half as much groceries. I want to make sure you've got everything you need before I leave." She pulled out a carton of eggs, inspected it, then drained into the sink the rainwater that had leaked into the packaging.

Faith stacked some canned goods into the cupboard, as she shook her head with a smile. "Ma, I'm 14 now. I'm not a kid anymore. I can take care of myself." And I could always order pizza if I had to, she thought to herself.

Her mother seemed to read her mind. "I'm not going to have you living off of take-out pizza while I'm gone, love." Opening the fridge, she placed the still slightly waterlogged egg carton on a shelf.

As she returned to the counter to get more groceries, Syl playfully bumped her daughter out of the way. "Now, go dry yourself off. I can finish up here. You don't wanna spend your first time on your own sick with pneumonia or something, do ya?"

Laughing, Faith ran off to her bedroom to dry off and get changed.

Suddenly, Syl heard her cel phone ringing in another room; she hadn't realized she had forgotten it while they were out. "Faith! Could you get that?"

Hurried footsteps stumbled around the other end of the condo, before the ringing stopped. A moment later, Faith returned with a towel draped over her shoulders and a silent phone in her hand. "Sorry, Ma. I didn't catch it in ti--"

The phone began ringing again.

"Never mind. Here you go, Ma." The girl laughed and tossed the phone to her mother.

Quickly putting down a head of lettuce, Syl deftly caught the cel in her hands and flipped it open with a smile.

"Hello... yes, speaking..."

There was a long pause as the person on the other end began to speak at length. Faith watched in worried silence as her mother's mood plummeted like a bird shot out of the sky.

"I... I see... Yes, tha-thank you for calling. Thank you."

With unsteady hands, Syl closed her phone and slowly put it down. Closing her eyes, she began to shake and leaned on the counter for support.

"Ma? Who was that?" The girl bit her lip in concern.

Tears fell on the counter, mixing with the puddles left by the wet grocery bags. Syl tried to speak, but all that came out was a sob.

Tenatively, Faith walked around the counter and hugged her mother. "Ma, talk to me. What's wrong? What happened?"

Syl cried a long time before she finally spoke. That had been Neil's PA on the phone. When she finally managed to tell Faith why he had called, they were both crying.

Busted

2010-03-15T22:38:00.005-04:00

[Follow-up to Failure to Deliver on Faith Laurent's blog.]

Syl knocked on the door of her daughter's hotel room. She could have easily opened the door with the spare key-card she always got from the reception desk everytime they checked in, but that was only for emergencies. This encounter might get serious, but it was hardly an emergency.

"Hey, Faith? Can I come in, love?"

The door clicked as Faith opened it wide enough for her mother to step inside. "Sure, Ma. What's up?" She couldn't help noticing her mother held one hand behind her back.

Syl entered with a nod and a smile. "Nothing much. I was just wondering why you weren't at the show today. You usually catch our concert after practicing hockey at the local rink. Is something wrong?"

"Nope. Nothing's wrong, Ma. Just stayed late at the rink today, that's all." The girl's eyes nervously jumped to the roller blades and single shoe she had left by the door. Syl followed her glance and frowned.

"Ya know, your uncle's band played a few hours before ours did at the same club." She spoke slow and deliberate, as if to leave room for Faith to interject at any time. "I overheard some security guards complaining about a girl on roller blades causing some trouble before their show."

Faith swallowed hard and tried her best to look innocent. "Geez, Ma. You don't think it was me, do you?"

Her mother sighed and shook her head, disappointed. "Faith, I know it was you." She pulled her hidden hand from behind her back, producing the sister shoe to the one beside Faith's roller blades. "You dropped this at the club, 'Cinderella'."

"Shit."

"Faith, your language," Syl said, though her tone said her daughter's language was the least of her concerns. "What the hell were you thinking, love?" She could have asked angrily, but her voice sounded surprisingly calm.

Faith fidgetted under her mother's gaze, wishing her mother really was angry. It would have made it easier to just yell back. Right now, her mother just sounded horribly disappointed.

"They wouldn't let me see Uncle Neil, Ma."

"That doesn't make it okay, love. Why didn't you call me? I could have talked to them."

Faith was silent. She hadn't thought of that.

Sighing again, Syl bent down to place the shoe beside its sibling, then picked up her daughter's roller blades.

Faith's heart jumped. "Ma? What are you doing?"

"Sorry, love," Her mother said as she turned towards the door. "But it seems you're not responsible enough to use these whenever you want. If you want to keep roller blading with me when I go running in the morning, that's fine. But any other time, you're going to have to ask for permission and I'm going to have to be there."

"That's not fair, Ma!"

"Actually, I think it is. You were scaring people at that club, Faith."

"But I didn't hurt anybody! It was those stupid gorilla guards that were knocking people over!"

"Because you were there causing trouble." Syl shook her head, her voice still calm. "You didn't have to skate around that club, but you did. Just because you didn't get your way."

Faith bit her lip. Essentially, that was what it all boiled down to, and she couldn't refute that. She wished she could, though. The way her mother put it made Faith's actions sound so childish.

The door clicked as Syl opened it to let herself out. "Maybe it's okay to be a rebel when your uncle is around to watch out for you. But your uncle isn't going to always be around, and neither am I. You have to learn when to act out and when to let it go." She paused as she thought how much she still had to learn that herself before continuing. "Sorry, love, but until you get a better grasp of that, I'm going to have to hold on to your roller blades."

She stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her. She imagined she could hear her daughter's heart breaking on the other side of the door.

A Whole Lot of Nothing

2010-03-15T15:37:00.004-04:00

"Ma? Ma! Awww, geez, Ma. You totally missed that shot!"

Syl looked up as Faith skated ahead on her roller blades, hockey stick in hand, to collect the orange hockey ball she had hit into the net-sized space between a tree and a garbage can.

"Sorry, love. I was thinking."

"Yeah, I noticed that, Ma." The girl didn't bother hiding the bitter disappointment in her voice.

Syl sighed, disappointed in herself, as she jogged along the path through the park. She should have been paying more attention to her daugther.

Waking up Faith for their morning runs was no longer a challenge since the girl took up hockey, mostly because technically Faith no longer ran in the mornings. She strapped on the roller blades her uncle had bought her and skated alongside her mother instead.

The first week or so had been difficult for Faith. She was still unsteady on her feet and received more than a few scrapes from falling down, but by the third week, she had improved enough to skate faster than her mother could run. That was when she began bringing her stick and ball with her, so she could practice her stick handling as they ran and skated through the park.

Faith impatiently dribbled the ball with her stick, tapping it from side to side, as she waited for her mother to catch up, then effortlessly spun around and paced her skating to match the speed of her mother's running, taking the hockey ball with her as she went without a thought.

Neil was right; she did pick it up quickly. If Syl didn't know better, she would have sworn Faith had taken up hockey years ago rather than just a few weeks before.

There was a long moment of silence as they continued down the path before Faith spoke again. Her voice sounded more like a growl.

"Geez, Ma. What's wrong with you?"

"Excuse me?"

"You've been spaced out the last few days." Her annoyance was evident. "What's going on?"

Syl glanced over at Faith's frown through the loose strands of dark hair that bounced in front of her face as she ran. "It's nothing, love," she said, trying to give a reassuring smile.

"Yeah, right," Faith grunted and skidded to a stop. "It's never just 'nothing' with you, Ma."

Syl stopped beside her, breathing heavily from the run, and silently turned to her daughter with a questioning look.

"If you're going to lie to me, Ma, you can at least say something more convincing than 'Nothing'. Fuck this. I'm going to the ice rink." Disgusted, Faith spun around on her roller blades and began skating back the way they had come, the ball bumping along beside her at the end of her stick.

"Faith! Faith, get back here!" Syl called after the girl, trying to sound stern and authoritative, but only succeeding in sounding tired and resigned. "Faith, I'm sorry!"

Her apology was obviously not accepted as her daughter ignored her and skated on.

Roadside Assistance

2010-02-19T20:56:00.003-05:00

She sat on the ground, leaning her back against the stationary bus tire, an empty shot glass in hand. As she watched a passing car on the otherwise vacant highway, a flash of headlight reflected off the mostly full bottle of tequila that sat beside her. Loud metallic banging echoed into the empty night at the rear of the bus, and kept her from hearing the footsteps in the dirt beside the road.

She looked up in surprise when a voice called her.

"Ma? What's going on?" Faith asked as she approached, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Are we there yet?"

Sylvia patted the ground beside her, inviting her daughter to sit. "Nope, the bus broke down. Bob's working on the engine now. Says it'll take a few hours."

"Oh, so that's what that noise was," the girl grumbled as she plopped down beside her mother, without an ounce of grace. "How far are we?"

The woman grinned and pointed to the not-too-distant city lights farther down the road.

"Oh, you're kidding me," Faith whined, "We're practically right there! And this piece of junk conks out now?" She knocked her fist against the steel side of the bus for emphasis.

Syl chuckled as she poured herself a second shot of tequila. "Yeah, pretty much."

"It would be faster if we just walked the rest of the way!"

"We could run it."

"What?" Faith glared at her mother, as the woman threw back her head and gulped down her drink. "Ma, how many of those have you had?"

"Just two, love," she replied as she inverted her shot glass and used it to cap the bottle. "Don't worry, I'm done." With a sigh, Syl sat back against the wheel.

They sat without speaking for a long time, watching random solitary cars zoom past and listening to the bus repairs since the banging seemed to have scared away all the crickets.

Faith interrupted the silence first.

"You still miss Uncle Cabot, don't you."

Sylvia gave a start, surprised by the question though her daughter's tone made it sound more like a statement of fact. "Excuse me?"

The girl shrugged, seemingly indifferent, and watched another car drive by. "I still hear you cry over him at night."

Her mother was silent for a long moment before she replied. "Yeah. Yeah, I do." She was surprised her voice didn't crack this time.

"Why?"

"I guess," she paused and shook her head. "It's because I still love him."

"Even though he's dead."

There was a pause in the banging at the rear. For a few minutes, the crickets returned before the bus driver started swearing and the banging resumed.

"Yeah. Even though he's dead."

Faith leaned back against the wheel, thinking before she responded. "Love is confusing. That makes no sense."

"It never does."

They sat in silence again, before Sylvia finally sighed, stood up and stretched. "So you wanna run the rest of the way to the city tonight?" She grinned, "It'll mean I won't have to wake you up for a morning jog."

"Well yeah, if you put it that way, Ma," Faith grinned back, willing to do it if it meant a chance to sleep in.

"Okay," Syl leaned down to pick up the bottle of tequila and shot glass, then nodded towards the rear of the bus. "Lemme just give this to Bob, then we'll put some mileage on our shoes."

Another car sped past, a sleek sportscar, and caught Faith's eye. "Hey, wait. Doesn't Uncle Neil drive a Lamborghnini?"

"Yeah, why?"

The girl pointed to the bright tail lights shrinking into the distance in the direction of the city. "Could that be him?"

Chuckling, Syl pulled out her cel phone and began to dial. "Well, there's only one way to find out."

The Fountain...

2010-02-17T11:42:00.003-05:00

The problem with travelling the world with someone you loved, she realized, was that when you lose them, everywhere you go had something that reminded you of them.

With a rose in her hand, she sat at the edge of the huge fountain, watching the illuminated waters of its vast pool lap in the gentle night breeze. There was a local superstition that said if you threw three coins in the fountain you would someday return to the city married to your true love.

She knew this wasn't true; his absence was living proof of that.

Looking over the water, she closed her eyes and remembered...

We were in Rome for a friend's wedding, though neither of us knew we were both on the guest list until we had run into each other at the airport. After that moment, we were inseparable the rest of our time here.

After the reception, we wandered the city, still in our formal wear and my baby girl asleep in my arms. The champagne and the excitement of the occasion probably kept us from realizing it was more practical to head back to the hotel for a good night's sleep instead.

We ended up here by the fountain that night and it looked exactly like how it does right now, with the lights illuminating the quietly lapping water and the sculpted works of the Renaissance masters. All we did was sit and talk about nothing, about everything, as we stared out over the pool of glowing water together. The world couldn't have been more perfect in that moment.

And I wanted that moment again someday.

I didn't tell him the myth about the coins, or that I had slipped three of them into the waters when he wasn't looking before we left...

She felt the tears welling up again, when she opened her eyes to stare out over the pool of glowing water alone.

She wore the same black dress she had worn that night years ago, and she could still see him in her mind, his dress shirt half tucked in and as ruffled as his perpetually ruffled hair, his tie dangling loose around his neck and his jacket slung over his shoulder. Appropriate post-party attire.

And he was smiling at her, like he always did, a lop-sided grin that mirrored a spark of mischief and a love for life in his eyes.

She hated knowing those same eyes were now six-feet under, dead in his grave.

Wiping her eyes, she slipped the rose she held into the pool.

She sat there watching the flower float away until it was swallowed by the cascading water falling from one of the sculpted statutes on the far side of the fountain.

Run Time

2010-02-04T01:29:00.006-05:00

She woke with a start. The loud banging at the door was so insistent that she thought there was some sort of emergency in the hotel. Then she heard his familiar voice boom through the thick wood.

"Let's go, you lazy ass!"

Glancing at the nearby alarm clock, she buried her face in her pillow and swore.

Neil had a cheerful smile on his face when she finally opened the door still wearing the oversized T-shirt she had slept in.

"Come on! 6am! Time for a run!"

She fought the urge to smack him upside the head. If she hadn't missed their early morning runs so much, she would have done just that and gone back to bed. But these runs had always been a chance to spend quality time with 'her big brother'.

After Cabot died, she didn't want to risk losing any more quality time with the few people she cared about still left in her life.

"Oh, and in the future," he added as she sleepily rubbed her eyes. Laughing, he stepped past her through the open door, likely to keep it from getting slammed in his face if she got upset at his next quip. "I retract permission for you to go bat-shit-neurotic-crazy in general."

Her brain stumbled at the words she heard, not used to processing anything complex so early in the morning. It took her a moment to realize he wasn't rescinding his promise to be there if she needed anything like she first thought his words implied.

He just wanted her to get off her ass and stop feeling sorry for herself.

She wanted the same thing, but it had been harder to do on her own.

"Less yelling at me and more moving! Come on!" She heard him chirp, as she changed to her running gear in an adjoining room of the hotel suite. Where did the guy get the energy to be this cheery so early in the day? He sounded like an over-enthusiastic gym coach. All he needed was a whistle. "Time for a run, 'cause, yes, you are old and you need to get your ass out there and move it rather than sitting at your laptop mendozaing people's inboxes."

She rolled her eyes, but had the faint traces of a grin as she slipped on her old pair of running shoes.

"I'm gonna buy Danny a beer for that one," he chuckled from the first room.

She called back, with a little more grin on her lips. "Well, you'd better get to him before I do, 'cuz I'm gonna kill him for the same reason and he'd be too dead to enjoy that beer if I see him first." She tied up her laces, then jogged in place a few times to make sure her runners still fit properly.

Neil smirked. "Now move it. 'Less you got a guy here and you are busy, that is?"

There was a pause.

When she re-entered the room where he was waiting, the grin had fallen away. "'Busy'?" The euphemism echoed hollow in her ears. "I haven't seen anyone since... forget it."

She was out the door before he could reply.

[Continued in Comments]

The Kid

2009-06-18T13:42:00.000-04:00

Syl had to jiggle the old key in the lock a moment before the front door to the old beach house finally opened. As she stepped in, she gave out a long sigh of relief, and relished the oddly foreign sensation caused by knowing rest and relaxation were at hand. No politics. No tours. No shows. No crowds. No social hierarchy. No false friends. Just her, the sand, the sea, her friend's beach house and...

Her little girl burst in through the door, laughing as a black and white beagle chased her down the hall.

“Faith! Charlie! You're trailing sand into the house!” She tried to sound stern, but her tone betrayed her good mood. She felt too good to play disciplinarian today. Smiling, she sighed another contented sigh and walked down the front hall to find a broom closet, passing by the trail of sand that led into the living room. She could hear her daughter's voice through the doorway.

“Hi! I'm Faith! Who are you?”

The smile dropped from Syl's face and she back-pedalled to the living room. “Faith? Who are you talking to, love?”

“Oh, just him,” the girl replied naively, not at all finding anything odd with the situation. She nodded towards the couch as she sat on the floor beside the coffee table, playfully hugging the family dog.

A boy about 12 or 13 years old slouched back on the couch with his shoes kicked up on the coffee table. His angry expression told Syl he was definitely not in a good mood.

Her sigh this time as she approached the couch wasn't out of relief or contentment.

“Excuse me? Hi.” When he didn't respond, she tapped him on the shoulder. When he looked up, she noticed he was wearing the earbuds to an MP3 player and motioned him to take them off. He complied reluctantly.

She also noticed he wasn't looking all the way up at her.

“Hi, I'm up here, young man. If you're gonna have the balls to ogle someone, you should at least have the decency to be discrete about it until they give you permission.”

When his attention was finally on her face, she continued calmly. “Now I don't mean to be rude, but I'm quite certain this house doesn't belong to you, so you might wanna get your feet off that table. Also this house was supposed to be empty when I got here, so I'd like to know, who are you and what are you doing here?”

Friends and "Friends"

2009-06-16T23:53:00.001-04:00

The way her daughter's face lit up actually broke Syl's heart.

“Are we gonna see Papa?” Faith asked, excitedly.

Syl sighed, “No, love, sorry. We're not gonna see Papa this time.” She wasn't even sure where the girl's father was at the moment.

“Aww... If we're not gonna see Papa, why are we goin' to Nu'york then?” Pouting with disappointment, the girl kicked her feet impatiently as she sat on the edge of the bed. She really couldn't imagine any other reason to visit the American city, much less understand the utter contempt and bitterness her mother held for the city she reluctantly called their 'home'.

Her mother packed the last of their bags and put their luggage by the door. “There's a... friend... I'd like to visit before we go on vacation in Rio.”

“Okay,” Faith chirped merrily, completely oblivious, as she hopped off the bed and grabbed her little child-sized backpack. “I hope my friends are there too. I wanna play with Ryan and Aaron again. They're so fun.”

The Solo Artist

2009-06-12T22:54:00.001-04:00

She paid for her ticket at the door and slipped into the smaller room of the club. At venues like this, larger rooms were reserved for bigger gigs, like Dangerous Faith, Mama Roach or Running with Scissors, but for up-and-coming artists and exclusive, private performances, smaller rooms were available to provide a cozier, more intimate musical experience. This particular room could barely fit 500, and looking over the crowd, she guessed it was probably just under half full.

She grinned to herself. She had heard him sing before, so she doubted that rooms like this would stay half full once he got his solo career rolling.

As the lights dimmed, signifying that the show was about to start, she hung near the back of the room in an attempt to go unnoticed. They were friends, but she didn't know him as well as she'd like, and attending his concert uninvited, she felt like she was intruding. Hopefully, she'd be able to slip out after the show as quickly as she slipped in.

He burst onto the stage full of energy, and the crowd was eating out of his hands in an instant. Smiling, she suspected most of his fans were carry-overs from his previous career as the bassist for one of the top 40 rock bands in the world. His stage presence certainly showed his roots. An audience of 200 or a throng of 10,000, he probably would have gone all out for the crowd just the same.

The show progressed with the audience fully enthralled, chanting and cheering and lost in the energy of the performance.

For herself, she tried to keep her cringing internal. Being a musician as well, her own knowledge and experience, which would normally be beneficial in most circumstances, kept her from getting completely lost in the moment and fully enjoying the show. She tried to ignore it, but something was... missing.

He had the stage presence, the talent, the charisma, the skill, but she could hear it in the songs that his performance was suffering musically. His repetoire didn't fit his solo style. Designed for a larger band, his musical selection sounded empty, hollow, almost lonely. He needed a completely new repetoire; something customized especially for him, something to emphasize his skills and strengths, not bring attention to what he had lost by deciding to go solo with his musical career.

Still, what he lacked in the music, he more than made up for in his presence and showmanship, she noticed as she watched the crowd surge towards the stage as he leaned down to shake hands with the audience. She wished she could captivate her own fans even half as well as he did his.

When the show ended, she began to make her way to the exit along with the other patrons, but stopped in her tracks when she thought she heard someone call her name. Looking around, she saw him waving as he approached. Escaping unnoticed was now out of the question.

They smiled as they greeted each other and talked a bit, laughed a little, but not for long. He had to leave for New York in less than an hour. Somewhere in that short conversation, they managed to agree to discuss 'price-gouging capitalists' over lunch.

As they parted ways, she couldn't help but wonder if that was his weird way of asking her out on a date.

How NOT To Remove An Ass From A Bar

2009-06-07T16:10:00.001-04:00

Originally, she had thought herself or Cowboy held the title, but after struggling to remove the hooved 'guest' from the rooftop patio for the better part of the day, she had to admit the 'World's Most Stubborn Ass' was actually a real-life ass.

“What the fuck were they even doing with this thing up here anyway?” she asked one of the chefs who was trying to help extract the animal from the premises. She had very little patience for people or parties lately, so had skipped the pre-wedding festivities last night.

The chef shrugged and shook his head. Having had the previous night off, he hadn't a clue either.

“Right,” she sighed, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. She was going to need painkillers for the headache this was giving her. “Any more bright ideas?”

They had tried pushing it, pulling it, luring it, leading it, chasing it, scaring it, and other various attempts that had merely led to damaged chairs, tables and other patio fixtures. Nothing seemed to be working.

At least, the cost for the property damage wasn't coming out of her wallet.

Currently, the donkey stood at the far side of the patio, contently eating the leaves of the last living potted plant on the rooftop. Sighing, she pulled a small notebook out of her back pocket and scribbled on one of the pages, another note of what else had to be replaced.

As she slipped it back into her pocket, she spotted what appeared to be the last undamaged chair on the patio, toppled in a nearby corner. She went over, picked it up and set it on its legs, then used the opportunity to sit and think.

She didn't get to think for very long. The seat wobbled and creaked suddenly, before collapsing underneath her. Rubbing her sore rear, she picked up one of the wooden legs that had been loosen when it was knocked over during one of the failed attempts to get the creature off the roof.

Grumbling, she swore and, without looking, whipped the leg across the patio in frustration.

The shocked and angry hee-haw of the donkey told her what she had hit.

The shocked, scared look of the chef before he ran off confirmed what she suspected from the galloping thumps on the stone-tiled patio floor.

She looked up anyway.

“Aw... shit...”

She was on her feet in a second and sprinting for the stairs, silently thanking Neil for kicking her out of bed all those mornings to get her to go for a run.

She managed to vault down the first dozen steps, yelling “Open the back doors! OPEN THE BACK DOORS!” as she went, but lost her footing when she landed and tumbled the rest of the way down. There was a trail of heavy thuds and profuse swearing until she crashed into the PATIO CLOSED sign at the bottom of the staircase.

She lay there a moment, dazed, before the sound of hoofbeats on the wooden stairs shook her back to her senses. Then she was back on her feet in an instant. If she had sprained or broken anything in the fall, adrenaline and self-preservation wouldn't let her know until after.

“OPEN THE FUCKING BACK DOORS!” she screamed as she bolted past the kitchen. She didn't have to look behind her to know the mad donkey was gaining on her.

Two of the chefs from the kitchen were holding open the shipping doors that led into the back alley, when she arrived at the back of bar and grill. She couldn't spare the breath to thank them as she rushed past.

As she turned down the alley, she heard a loud, metallic crash behind her. She afforded herself a glance and slowed her steps. The ass tripped and stumbled over some garbage cans it had run into in the narrow alleyway. Distracted and disoriented, it lost its initial fury and began to wander aimlessly down the alley in the opposite direction.

Sighing in relief, she leaned against a nearby wall and sunk to the ground.

She really hoped everyday wasn't going to be like this at her new job.

A Moment of Freedom

2009-06-06T13:55:00.001-04:00

There was definitely something about Rio.

She could never figure it out. Maybe it was something in the air, or maybe in the water, but there was something about the sea-side city that always made playing a show here different from playing anywhere else.

Their concert was supposed to be over. The crowd was cheering. Her bandmate was already making his exit as he bowed and waved to the fans. The final notes from their last encore still hung in the air. She could still feel her guitar strings vibrating under her fingertips.

She didn't care.

She reached for her mic.

She closed her eyes.

She began to sing.

A hush slowly enveloped the sea of fans, as her unaccompanied voice drifted over the crowd like morning mist, strong and sad and solemn. After the long set, she still had perfect pitch; there wasn't a hint of a tired, wavering rasp in her spur-of-the-moment singing.

Somewhere in the back of the club, somebody started clapping to the rhythmn, which quickly caught on. Soon, the rest of the room joined in, with cheers and whistling punctuating the beat. Several voices rose from the crowd to sing along with her.

She kept her eyes shut and blocked out the noise.

She didn't care. She wasn't singing for them.

For once, she was being selfish. She was singing for herself and didn't care who was present to hear.

And for one very rare, very sweet moment...

...she was free...

Plip, plip, plip...

2009-06-01T23:37:00.000-04:00

She slowed her pace as she began to yawn. It was late, but she didn't feel like going back to the hotel.

Her personal assistant had expected her to stay at the beach house, so he hadn't booked her a room in advance. Now the hotel was already full, but he had managed to make arrangements for her to share the accomdations her bandmate had already booked. Gareth was kind enough to let her take the bed, while he took the cot room service had brought in.

But as it turned out, her violinist talked in his sleep.

And being probably the only virgin in the world, (not counting groupies, which meant she could probably make a fortune off of selling him to the Dark Cult of Kobe for use as a ritual sacrifice,) the content of his sleep-talk was... loud... to say the least.

Sighing, she slowed to a walk, as she scanned the nearly-abandoned beach. After another long day of interviews, rather than listen to the late-night play-by-play of her bandmate's subconscious fantasies, she had made a quick change to her workout gear and had gone for a run. She couldn't remember the last time she went out for a run, much less one along the beaches in Rio.

She had only seen a couple of other runners and a pair of lovers walking hand-in-hand take advantage of the full midnight moon. Otherwise, all the sane people in the city were asleep.

The tide lapped lazily in time with her steps, the shifting sands whispering underneath the soles of her shoes. Pausing, she approached the water and bent down to pick up a small, flat rock.

She hadn't done this since she was a kid.

She straightened, and deftly flicked her wrist. She watched the tiny ripple-rings erupt along the ocean's ebb-and-flow surface.

One. Two. Three. Four. She counted as she listened to the plip, plip, plip of the stone.

Inspecting the beach again, she picked up another stone of similar shape and size and flicked her wrist again. Her mother used to always take her to The Lake to skim stones, when she was upset. Usually after she was bullied by the kids of one of the other celebritites her mother used to hang out with. It was her mother who taught her how to skim stones.

She always used to say that anger was like skimming stones. Anyone can take a rock and chuck it in the water, and make a big, ugly splash. It took patience and focus, concentration and a little bit of luck, to take the same power, the same anger, the same action and accomplish something graceful and meaningful, use that same energy to make something to be proud of instead.

Plip, plip, plip, plip, plip.

She stared out over the water, watching the last tiny ripple expand before fading into the tide. Then nothing but the surging-receding ocean.

Suddenly, she growled and unceremoniously grabbed at the ground, pulling up a handful of sand and rocks. With an angry yell, she whipped it into the water so hard she lost her footing.

Falling heavily to the ground, she closed her eyes and heard rather than saw the loud, ugly splashes of stones and clumps of sand tumbling into the sea.

She didn't have to look up to know that the water had swallowed up the ugly splashes as indiscriminately as the graceful plips a moment before.

No Vacancy...

2009-05-31T16:02:00.000-04:00

She should have realized the beach house was occupied by the varying and numerous tracks that littered the sand around it, but she wasn't completely coherent at the moment. With an early morning flight arrival, followed almost immediately by a rehearsal and two interviews with the media, it had already been a busy day. She was still getting used to the fact that she didn't have to cram her time catering to the demands for everybody else except herself, and her scheduling (or lack thereof) reflected this. She felt like there was always something that needed to be done.

This would be the first time she'd actually force herself to relax in years.

Slipping the key in, she unlocked the front door, but didn't even manage to open it halfway before it got jammed on a stray shoe one of the kids had left by the entrance.

She stared at the shoe and sighed. He said she could borrow his beach house whenever she liked. She just never told him when that would be. Obviously, now wasn't a good time.

She wasn't about to intrude on the happy family life.

Thinking some of the kids would appreciate the treat, she left a package of cookies that were meant for the restaurant by the entrance and silently closed the door.

As she made her way back down the beach, she felt in her pocket the old key with the incription 'Neil J' and wondered if she should have just left it in the lock when she left.