Little Freak {HS}

III - Swings

In the white room with black curtains near the station

I open my eyes once the psychedelic intro is not on anymore. Although not in time of being able to notice and dodge whatever is on the road away. So my skateboard stays behind, escaped from my feet, and it seems I forget who I am as I crumble forward and slide scraping down the road with my headphones fallen from my head and dragging along with me. I curse at myself for that first, when I stop. I could have many things happening to me, but ruining my personal and private source of music would be ruining myself too.

I preserve myself laying in the middle of the road under a sun hot enough to cause so much heat in the tar that it easily penetrates through my black t-shirt and burns the skin on my back. I take my situation in slowly, releasing the breath I was holding and thanking God as I hear White Room by Cream still playing on my headphones in the distance.

With my mind at ease now, I start to feel my knees, hands and arm burning too for having touched the ground. Although not quite affected by its heat, and to that all I do is erupt in laugh. I lift my hands over my mocking face and my palms only have scratches for now. Then I sit up and look over to my knees and these really are bleeding already. I have them in a state that either they bleed or own a big scar of so many times I hurt them in the same place. Keep being smart and close your eyes while you skateboard more times.

But I couldn't help it this time. This song drives me to places. The lyrics don't even tell me anything, it's more like the way it sounds. That intro makes me feel like I'm living a past life. Or better, like I had a past life in witch this song meant a lot to me and now I'm remembering it, just not what it meant exactly.

I stand up, not even bothering in shaking the dirt off me and immediately pick up my headphones, carefully checking for nonexistent fractures and placing them at my ears again, to then go meet what was it that attempted to leave me with no dignity.

Thankfully, there's no one around in the streets - but intriguingly, though; in a good weather Saturday like this one, the only human life I saw on the three roads I passed by since my own was an elderly woman walking her chihuahua and a man entering in a ruin of an abandoned house. One would expect to at least have the streets full of teenagers enjoying their last moments of unconcerns before the exams start. It's what usually happens and what I am doing myself.

A mere wooden stick is what I find in front of the wheels, now preventing them from rolling the rest of the way down without me. I pick it up and keep it just to have something in my hands while I continue my trip.

I'll wait in this place where the sun never shines
Wait in this place where the shadows run from themselves

Right there. As if I had it all once, and it makes me feel like I know I did, but I just don't know what anymore. And I pretend so, because as long as I don't remember, it could've really happened. It's comforting to think I was once better than this.

The wind doesn't blow. It's more like I blow through the wind instead, with a much special strength than the wind could ever understand. Always as if I'm flying. Imagine you're flying and you suddenly remember you had it all in a past life. You wouldn't be surprised then if you had blood draining from your knees too. I find myself appreciating this little silly details and moments in life, and the more irrelevant they are, the more they make me see things with a different perspective.

By the time the song ends, it allows me to only hear my surroundings. I'm surprised, though, as, adding to my skateboard extravagantly rolling on the ground, cheering can also be heard. In the distance, irregular human noises and then I hear some kind of music among them. This can only mean there's a concert somewhere. And that I was incompetent enough to not having known about it.

I take my headphones to leave them around my neck, stopping the cassette meanwhile, not hesitating in following the noise to meet the event. I've reached a street where it is somewhere nearby but I just can't see it yet. Though I quickly do, on the next one, and understand the teenagers are, after all, enjoying their last unconcerned moments in the best way they can.

And if the lights are all out
I'll follow your bus downtown
See who's hanging out

A strong hoarse voice covers One Way Or Another, by Blondie. If I was just about to ask myself who's voice is this, for I had never heard a similar timbre to make my inner rockstar envy an amateur, soon I see of those long gleaming brown curls waving to its crowd. And if I was wearing a curious facial expression, it immediately changes to a disgusted one. Disappointed at myself for having, for moments, pondered joining a One Direction garage concert.

At the intersection of the street, I remain atop my skateboard, resting my hands on my hips as I calmly control my rage. That could be me. That should be me, so why aren't I? The answer is hurtfully in front of me causing me a chest grip and singing na-na-na's all happily blind from the remaining things in life aside from these guys.

What is it every one sees in them they don't even try to look for in me or anyone else. That's selfish of them; of the fans and of the band becuse they seem to like it. Who wouldn't, anyway?

At a certain point, I suddenly realise they're starting another song, and yet I haven't moved away from my place myself. I narrow my eyes. Where is Tomlinson? The swarthy quiff one looks excessively smiley behind the keyboard he doesn't even need to look at to play. The Zayn drummer does his thing, focused in maintaining the rhythm. And the blond one is happily soloing on his guitar, vibing with Styles right in front of him hitting his foot on the ground and making abrupt movements with his arms at the beat of the song. I'm left to assume Tomlinson is somewhere tangled in that recklessly shaking hair, but then again, it shakes so much that if he were, he'd surely fall.

Stop it, what are you doing?! I let my arms fall to also stop the rhythmic bouncing of my head. I got so cought up on his that my brain delusined and started wanting to do the same. Not that I am actually enjoying the song, no! He goes back on singing slightly breathless and it makes him sound kind of ho--

Alright, that's enough. I shake my head quickly turning my way around and forcing myself to put my headphones on again, determined to resume my music and journey though this irracional town.

Jojo was a man who thought he was a loner
But he knew it couldn't last

Now the road is completely straight, and at the end of it there's a little park with more sand than the grass it was supposed to have. Three or four trees don't provide the crucial shadow on the places they should, so it ends up being a bit uncomfortable to hang out in there. That's exactly why I head there like I'm so used to do; I know there won't be anyone around and no kids preventing me from riding the swings.

It doesn't even take me to get to the second verse of Get Back, by The Beatles, to take my skateboard on my hand, once it can't roll on the sand, and displace myself to them right away.

Is it possible to admit One Direction are actually good? I haven't really heard them before, but I find it a bit difficult to believe they aren't any better with their new voice.