memento vivere

chapter one

It's Friday night, mid October and much like any night, I'm sat atop my parents roof plucking away at my guitar. Being a broke college student, I can't afford a headphoned amp and my dad couldn't hear the news over top of whatever 'mess' I was playing, as he put it.. Resulting in an argument, leading me to here.

So here I am.

Playing yet another solo show for the moon and the crickets. Not a very good show, I might add. I just can't get my fingers to work correctly, can't stretch them far enough between the frets. Practice makes perfect I guess and at least La Luna looks somewhat appreciative. Glowing white overheard, so bright you almost can't see the stars. She isn't the approval I want, though.

Laying back with a huff, I sat my guitar aside and grab for my bag that's full of delicious illegal substances that'd make Mother faint if she knew. Meaning junk food, of course. Not weed though I'd welcome that too. Anything less than nutritional isn't allowed in our house..

So it's a good thing I'm outside then.

She obviously means well. Only wants whats best but after so many boiled chicken dinners with nutritional yeast added.. A girl starts to crave an occasional donut and by occasional, I mean an entire dozen in one sitting. Explaining why I've gained 15 pounds in two months is a problem for another day.

For right now, I'm gonna lay back and enjoy. I hold up the half eaten donut towards the sky as a toast to the moon for keeping my secrets and only then do I realize how actually fucking cold it is out here. I guess it's something about the shape of the roof blocking the wind but there's definitely a chill in the air and I definitely don't wanna hear Mother's mouth if I catch a cold. You can't catch a cold from the cold, I know.. But you try telling her that.

I throw the rest of the forbidden fruit to the raccoons and clean up all the left over paper from the roof, any trace of evidence is gone. Can't have Dad walking outside tomorrow to find the house covered in litter. I turn and sling my bag through the open window to my room, aiming for my bed but I must've misjudged the distance because all it did was slam into the side and fall loudly to the floor. Silently cringing, I bite my fist and wait for the inevitable footsteps but they never come.

Next comes my guitar, except I'm extra careful this time. Treating it exactly like a newborn with the squishy bit of its head still there, I gently slide it inside through the window and completely down onto its stand, baby talk and all.

Now all that's left is me. One leg is inside my room and the other is on the roof as I'm straddling the windowsill and I start to duck inside until a sound catches my attention. I follow the noise and turn to see headlights.. An old beat up red pickup truck is barreling down the road. One that I've never seen before going to a house that's sat empty for as long as I can remember.

Intrigued, I scoot back out and squat down, probably looking like a vigilante of some sorts or more realistically, a raging lunatic who sits on roofs at 3 in the morning. I watch as the truck idles in the driveway for a moment before it switches off and someone steps out. It's hard to see anything really since the morning fog has started to set in but I can just barely make out what seems to be a person with long brown hair heading for the front door.

Of course.

It's another middle aged woman. Probably has 20 kids, sells Tupperware out of the basement, goes to PTA meetings, little league soccer.. The usual.