No ones wins until someone gives up.

"Heyy, what's up?"

Never before has there seemed to be such a brooding philosophical question. What IS up with me? Anger, a lot of anger. And bitterness. There's a lot of unforgiving going on, a lot of inability to let go. There's a picture of Johnny Rotten on my desktop and a Book unwritten on the table to the left of me. Its last pages are coming up and I won't have them filled with inconclusiveness. Another unreturned text, another explosion of punk rage. I lie to myself to keep my memory safe. But I had this dream:

Andre is staring at me. He's sitting on the Love Cruiser, also known as Valet Parking's trailer. Lefty Campbell is parked at the end of the block. Everyone is texting. Everyone is wearing sunglasses even though the thunder set in ten minutes ago. We are in the shade of the trees in Westerleigh Park, but somehow I don't feel anchored to this time and place.

Andre is cutting Joey's hair. Jerry thinks he can do it better but instead of taking over he goes quiet for a good fifteen minutes making plans to open his own Scene Cut/Music Venue business. I think it could really work. "Get your hair cut, see a show? Fuck, of course!"

In this dream I have come to find out the realities of these boys mid-tour, but all I see is tough love. They have half a bag of stale pretzels and can't find the water bottles, though some skate a few blocks to splurge on KFC. Chris is sick in the backseat of the van. His bandmates are courteous and let him sleep, however the van serves not only as bedroom, but living room, dining room, and veranda so noise levels and traffic can't be making the drummer feel much better.

A downpour commences and I am locked away in the driver's seat in front of the Love Cruiser. I try to remember what rain means in dreams. When it's time to load in, the vans pull around to a gazebo and procrastinate. Sometimes Jamie and I watch the memorial service for Michael Jackson in the van. I punch Valet Nick when he makes ignorant comments about previous King of Pop allegations. Sorry about your collarbone, kid.

I like the way Valet Parking plays in flip flops or no shoes at all. I like that I don't really care what they are wearing, though if I could convince Nick to wear a black t-shirt every show, I would. Chris has been unanimously diagnosed with a fever, but I guess c'est la tour. I want to take many of their lyrics back to reality with me, maybe stick them to my head like magnets as a constant reminder, a pick-me-up. "After the letdown and the lies, I'm just happy to be alive."

Suddenly the scene kids start to ooze out of the woodworking, coming around corners on bikes and scooters in full Hot Topic gear and stern 'impress me' faces. I can tell these merchandised rockers have never been off this un-scened island and I want Score 24 to break through all their piercings and tough attitudes.

Score's harmonies are off and I wonder if "technical difficulties" can really be an excuse at this point. Yet their antics and pants make it easier to get over their musical mistakes than it should be. I look over and see the girl with 3 lip rings and a Monroe start to bounce. Joey stands at the side of the stage despite our constant All Time Low 'Weightless' video reference jabs and I appreciate him doing his time. He's towards the end of a self-sentenced parole, and when they let him come onstage to sing a part or two, I can tell his hair is always done and lips are always wet, ready on command to make his comeback. Joey with an acoustic in his hands closely resembles a certain one of his idols, which I think he wouldn't mind knowing since these bands are constantly sound checking with "I'm No Hero" or "The Timing." They don't make me want to Party, but they do force me to remember what it was to be a Good Girl.

The scene after the sets could not be painted more perfect. "It's like...everyone's normal again." Jamie points out. Ryan is skating. Rob is dancing like an idiot but doing it well. Joey is air-guitaring. Jerry is air-jerking off. Everything makes sense in my dream. The only lingering sadness is that of my pesty grip on reality. With the songs already played I can feel my time here is counted. I took a walk with Jay thinking, I don't know, we could find some plateau or shoreline to give up on. Instead we came to a corner shrubbery and he told me he thinks I bring this misery upon myself. I knew then that the war was not ending today. When I fight I'm like a mason and brick walls have to come down before the grudges are let go of. I need to be taught how to let go. A part of me illy wonders if the other part of me will ever release. Jay says he needs at least the rest of the time they're gone to be away from me, I am not yet forgiven. But how can I expect to be if I have not yet forgave? I am still in search for the ability to forgive. I'm like a bandaid that won't stick, but I want to stay in my place. That's what's been so difficult. I have defined my place and worth by what these scene boys need of me. The sum of absence, misjudgment, scars, and fears has left me with no definition of my self. I gaze across this after-set scene and think this might be the last dream of it's kind. I start to cry and Jay says, "no tears." He explains to me that the real lesson I need to learn is that they're there even if I can't see them. He said I would always have him and Andre. I look across the lawn and sidewalk, over at the merch table where Andre sits awkward and hunched over, offering Jerry one of his S'mores Pop Tarts. Jerry declines, pointing to his own box of Chips Ahoy, the second one I've seen him dig out of the van today. The band onstage is playing a cover of Journey. Everyone is texting. I'm in the shade of the trees in Westerleigh Park and somehow when I'm gone, I hope I can get back to this time and place.

I wake up from a dream. At first I don't know where I am but I can feel the absence, the confusion. My head is heavy and I reach up to feel something is stuck to it. "So just let it go after an all time low. If this is what she wants then this is what she'll get." Maybe forgiveness is.....moving on.





...Ricky.
"Small White Lie" by: Valet Parking