Rebel Rebel

Chapter 7

Well, you've seen most of my life, all except work. Not that my work was that exciting. I only worked weekends, like most kids my age. I did marching band for 2 years, then got my driver's license. My parents were pretty awesome and bought me a car: a black 1981 Buick Regal, free and clear! They said I had to help pay for gas and insurance, and I felt that was fair, so weekend job it was!

I worked in a local coffee shop, Higher Grounds, all weekend. It wasn't a glamorous job, but I enjoyed it as much as I could. It paid minimum wage, but I made tips so it evened out. Coming home with cash each night was nice. Also, I refused to work opening. I didn't work before 10 AM.

So, come 8:30 AM Saturday morning, I rolled out of bed and got in the shower. The perk was, I could wear pretty much anything I wanted. No smelly polos and ugly baseball caps for me, thankfully. After I was dressed and made up, I rushed out the door and got to my car.

The coffee shop was across town from where I lived. My parents tried to get me to work on my end of town. Not that I didn't want to work by home, this place was just the first to take me, and honestly, I kind of liked it. I figured I could afford to be a bit picky about my job right now. I have the rest of my life to work in a dead-end job.

On that note...

I know how I talked about my friends, and out band. I know...a lot of teenagers are in bands. It's part of their teenaged rebellion or whatever the fuck. I'm good with giving the system the finger, it needs it.

What I'm not good with, is people not taking me seriously, just because I was young. That's the other reason I quit marching band (and tolerated concert band). No one takes the girl drummer seriously. I was just everyone's punching bag. I got tired of it. And when I told people my goal for my life, was to be a drummer in a band? Lord...the looks. The comments. It was insane. I mean, I may as well say I'm carrying the spawn of Satan.

My dad plays a wicked guitar and has a beautiful singing voice. He used to sing me and Sean to sleep when we were kids. He was talented. Extremely talented. And he missed his chance. He listened to his parents and got a "reasonable" job, and did what he was "supposed" to do.

I can't help but think, if he had pursued what he really wanted, that he still could've provided a decent life for me and Sean, and not ended up with a life full of missed chances, regrets, and a not-so-great marriage.

Instead, here we are in Poh-Dunk, Indiana, USA, in the 'burbs, withering away.

I swore up and down that I would never be that. Never. Never. Never.

My drum kit was my answer out of here.

But, in the meantime, I pulled up to work at 9:45. On time, for once. I got out and fought my still damp hair into a ponytail. Work's one requirement (ok one of a very few) was that hair had to be up. I guess I could handle that.

I rather liked my job. All the free coffee I wanted, and I spent all day meeting interesting people. It wasn't too hard, and I had fun with my coworkers. Some of the people I worked with were students at one of the several local colleges. Some worked this as a second job. Then there were people like me, who got this as their first job. I was the only one from my school, so I had relative anonymity. It was a nice break for when other things in life got too serious.

There was one guy I worked with, Kevin, that I had a thing for. I didn't dare admit it though, for a few reasons. First, being the obvious: He's 22, finishing up his college degree this year. I'm 17, that speaks for itself. But reason number 2?

Have you SEEN his girlfriend?

Dude, not kiddin, she was gorgeous. Model kind of pretty. I guess she was actually pursuing that route, taking classes and doing shoots. What was her name...Amy? No, Ashleigh!