the broken promises that you were meant to tell

I'm sitting here eating cold macaroni and cheese hearing the dance teachers of my past scold me in my head. Never eat cheese. Never eat carbs more than once a day. Never eat. Go, jump again.

What are you willing to sacrifice to do what you love to do? Where will you draw the line on what you give up?

I had an interview to teach dance today that was...more typical than I had hoped it would be. Basically I'm perfect for the job if I change everything about myself now. If I go back to being the obedient, and might I add restricted, little star I used to be. But I'll never go back.

What are you willing to become to do what you love to do? Who will you draw a line across in order to surpass them?

I saw a show last night that was...too close to home for me. It started off very awkwardly, like no one knew what to do or how to act around the declared hometown heroes Stereo Skyline. I looked around at the lowered faces of my local band boys who'd come out to see the show and wondered whose heroes Stereo are, exactly. These are band boys I know each week to be brazen and cocky, to be full of life and scandal. Yet they were still last night, sitting tentatively on amps that would've been theirs and standing silently on the side of a stage this still is. It made me uneasy that they were relinquishing rights to this stage for even one night. It made me uneasy to see them uneasy. I linked eyes with the lead In Color constantly all evening. I like him knowing what I'm saying when I'm 20 feet away and not saying anything at all. We were in that place at the end of Front Street together once, we don't need words. "Talk later?" he laughs. "Always." I smirk. There's no reason not to enjoy this set, what's done is done and no one can change any of it. Then it's time.

The rest of the bands on the show you can read about in my review and at TheSceneLife.com. That's the honest, constructively critical version. This blog is the unplugged ep.

Girls are clutching posters of my former best friends. They're holding them to their chests like babies in a fire. I start to feel like I don't understand where I am or what's going on so my eyes search for something I know. Something I think I'll know.

I settle on watching 3 Stereos in the heavenly-lit hallway of Vibe Lounge. They move intangibly in time, time that my mind is slowing down on purpose with faulty admiration for the drummer, the bassist, and yes, that singer. But something's wrong here. They're just standing there. Why do they have time to act dreamy right now? Because they don't do a damn thing for themselves. Would they even know how to set up if they had to? Cal has been busting his ass since Mercy Mercedes said thank you and goodnight. Meanwhile, someone brings Brian his bass and Kevin his guitar. The straps are labeled "Bri" and "Kev" since someone else handles them. Rob only has 2 drumsticks to hold and yet, his shirt needs to be adjusted so he shoves the apparently cumbersome items at Andre, who has just walked in to watch the show as a friend. Perhaps the accessory-free box really is the ideal instrument for this glam guy. I walk away shaking my head and again tossing glances with Mr. In Color.

We stand in the dark and wait for somebody else to get our friends ready to play. There is too much pre-show. Too much hype. It makes me start to feel uncomfortable. We never get boys ready on the other side of a barrier and then rush them through to the stage while girls scream their heads off. We never do that. I realize I'm okay with moving on, with time progressing as long as it does it a million miles away from here. All of a sudden I want Stereo Skyline back on tour and gone from this place. I don't care when I'll see them next as long as they're happy and they're gone. There's too many cameras flashing right now. Too much hype.

The set begins and the screaming continues. Kevin's voice sounds...well, like he didn't get it out before it swallowed him. He throws his pick into the crowd and there's a very small brawl over it. My jaw drops and I just start laughing as a last resort, turning back to my band boys who are laughing as well. I calm down for the new song because its cute, it's a Kevin song, and I don't know the words or the context. I am grateful not to know cuz another old song and now it's me who's clutching my book. Holding it to my chest like a teddy bear during a nightmare. How can this be a nightmare? It is though. My face is contorted and there is hurt in my eyes as they fight to hold back the works. No longer is time slow in my mind, but rather it speeds around and around visions of every laugh and every smile and every night there ever was with this song before this. I pull my feet in underneath me and fade into the group of black and gray band boys, faces still and egos lowered.

There were moments of the set that soared. Goofs we laughed at, giggles we shared, glances I used to kill for. Choruses that no one could ever contract away from me. A song lives. It lives through heartbreaks and homecomings. It can survive record deals and management contracts. It can even see through bright lights and camera flashes. You can dress it up and fill it out but in the end, a year later, it's still a song. I can't say the same for the people who play it.

Afterwards, after all the pictures and autographs, after Andre stole a million things and stored them in my purse, I catch a glimpse of Kevin sitting on a roadcase outside. I try to slow time with my mind again. I concentrate. The air starts to haze but then- I can't. These stars are restricted. There was a time when they weren't, but now they have gone. A million miles away.



So is this what you really want? Because if it is, then I am happy for you. I am proud to call you my friend and even prouder to understand why you did what you did. Or what you're about to do. But if it isn't, if that pit in your stomach is not from cold macaroni and cheese, then what then hell are you doing? Go, jump again.






...Ricky.
"Better Beginnings Lead To Short-Handed Disasters" by: Stereo Skyline