RP belongs to Klasky-Csupo and "Back Home" belongs to Yellowcard.
BACK HOME
Twister Rodriguez is twenty years old. Yes, that's me. I attend college in San Diego, California. Wait? San Diego? Yes, I am in San Diego. Not Ocean Shores. Ocean Shores holds too many memories for me, none of which that I would wish to keep. The place that I had spent my childhood-- my paradise--became the coldest, darkest level of hell only two years ago. I was eighteen back then, which is the "legal" age. It's when you're supposed to be free, when life gets relatively easier. Well, at least when you get out of school. It's when you're supposed to leave your youth behind to go into the adult world, which has advantages and disadvantages all the same.
It was only disadvantages for me. I had lost all my friends, in one way or another. Sam had to go to Harvard, the smart thing that he was. I talked to him through e-mail and IM for a little while, then as time progressed, the e-mails reduced. He was just so busy with all the work he had to do. Don't get me wrong, I still occasionally hear from Squid, and we're just fine, it's just that his presence through the computer is only occasional. But at least I do hear from him. I can never hear from Reggie or my brother Lars (who had picked on me until he went to high school and grew up), because they were killed in a car crash on the way to a Rancid concert. And Otto, well, let's just say he found someone else.
Otto had met a new friend named Joey, who gradually replaced me. Joey was taller and thinner than I was, with jet-black hair and green eyes. Joey was pretty cool, I guess, but there was just something about him. He was just as adventurous as Otto, and probably just as cocky. They both competed with each other while skating, surfing, etc., but they had a good time. Otto always beat Joey, to Joey's dismay, but he would get back on his board and beat Otto. At first, it was a big ugly competition between them to see who was better, but eventually they learned to have fun with it. And I, I was just the third wheel. I was always having to referee who won like I was some kind of judge. But eventually, they didn't need me, because I would catch them hanging out when I wasn't invited. As much as I wanted to lash out at Otto, I just decided to bite my lip. There was no talking to him; I had known that since the day I met him, so I just kept my cool. Otto and I were still friends, but we grew further and further apart everyday, although no miles separated us.
The last straw was when I went home one day. I expected my parents to be home, but their car was gone and I walked in to an empty home, just like my empty heart. I glanced upon the kitchen table, and saw a note. I knew things probably weren't good, because my home had been broken since the past year. Well, it was only broken in my heart. My parents were still in love, but not with me. They disapproved of me. My grades weren't high, and I played my guitar a lot because I wanted to be a musician when I grew up, and I also wanted to direct my own music videos. When I wasn't jamming on my guitar, I was judging Otto and Joey. My parents gave me nonstop lectures over how much of a slacker I was and how I would never get anywhere in life. And when Lars died, the pressure of living up to the good Rodriguez name grew even harder.
Anyways, I picked up the note and read it.
Twister,
Signing you up for the government school. You need it to get your act together. Dinner's in the fridge.
--Mom
Such a little note brought so much anger into my heart. The governor's school was extremely hard and was full of rich snobs. The classes were all boring technology classes that I would never use. However, they looked good on a college application, no matter what major one would choose. They were classes that would not help me, whether I studied film or went into music. My mother supported my dream of being a director--I had directed many films throughout my childhood, and she thought it was fine for me to choose it as a profession. But playing guitar in a band, that was out of the question. Mom always said that being famous required being in the right place at the right time, and that I shouldn't seal my future there. It sounded logical, but my plan was to go to college and drop out when the band gets somewhere, so it would be fine. But what ticked me off so much was that my own mother didn't believe I could do it. She didn't believe in me. Sandi Rodriguez was a nonbeliever. And who was to say that I needed to get my act together?
That was my last day in Ocean Shores. Anger shooting up my spine, I flipped over the little note and wrote:
Now you have no sons. "It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right. I hope you have the time of your life".
--Twister
I left the note there and stormed off into my room, and began packing all my things. I was eighteen--old enough to be emancipated. Either that, or old enough to be out on my own. After packing my stuff, I rummaged through my mother's safe that was in her closet for any legal papers on me. I knew that I would have to deal with all that confusing stuff later. That was my last day in Ocean Shores.
---Don't know
What I was looking for when I went home
I found me alone---
It's been two years. I am now driving to my apartment in San Diego, California. The dark Pacific sky is above me, the stars shining down on my black Pontiac Grand-Am. The cool breeze is blowing through my long, tied- back hair as the other cars pass me on the Interstate. I'm driving home from my visit back to Ocean Shores. Otto had called me and wanted me to visit, so despite the dark memories that had shattered the light ones of my childhood, I went back for one day. Luckily, Otto had moved out as well, so I didn't have to go anywhere near my parents' house.
It was good to see Otto. Joey was there as well, but now, he wasn't much more to me than a stranger. It was good to see Otto, but it was clear that the miles apart and the years were the final wedges that separated Otto and me. It seemed like there wasn't much to talk about, except for the normal, "How are you doing?" and "Where has life taken you?" and then some memories of our childhood--Mad Town, the Shore Shack, the beach. But other than that, we just looked at each other as if we had just met. He was sitting right there in front of me, but it felt like he was on the other side of the room. I was alone the whole time. Technically, I had gone back home, but it didn't feel right. I don't know what questions I had hoped would be answered on my visit, but leaving, I was just as empty as I was upon my return.
---Sometimes
I need someone to say, "You'll be alright,
What's on your mind?"---
I pull my car into the parking garage and park before turning the engine off. I head into the lobby and walk straight up to my apartment on the third floor. I open the door and enter the empty place. As I flip on the light switch, I see my small den in the living room and my kitchen nearby, then a small hallway leading to my room, the bathroom, and my studio that my guitars and cameras rest in. My apartment is empty. Empty of people. Empty of comfort. My home is fine and I have the things I need, but I don't have who I need.
I haven't made any new friends in San Diego. At least not yet. None of the people in college really pay attention to me, nor do the people at my job in a skate shop. None of them really notice me. There are people I communicate with and people that I'm friendly with, but I just don't seem to fit in. Probably because of the way I look--dressed in black, studded wristbands and belts, an eyebrow ring, a goatee--people probably think I'm a stoner or something. But really, most of the people there are not worth being friends with anyways, because all they do is gossip and betray each other. I learned that the hard way. But I'll get to that later. It's a lonely road I travel; a long, sad road. My dreams of being a musician seem shattered for the time being since I have no one to be in a band with. College is really hard, and like I said, it's lonely. I feel like I wanna scream a lot of times because of the problems bottling up inside my heart. I need someone to talk to, I need someone who believes in me.
---But the water's shallow here
And I am full of fear
And empty-handed after two long years---
Feeling weary, I head straight into my room and collapse on my bed. Before drifting off into a deep sleep, I think about a subject that floods my heart, the thing that had ruined something very dear to me. I think about betrayal. Yes, I have been betrayed here. Betrayed right when I thought I had something. I was in a band about two months after moving here to San Diego. I met four other guys who had a punk band called Black Dragon. They needed another guitar player, and they had heard me playing on the balcony of my apartment when they were driving around. They told me how well I played and said that I was the perfect element to their band. They showed me their songs, which were quite a few, but nonetheless, I learned them all in no time. They were very nice and talented guys, and I felt at home when I was around them. I had felt that way for about four months.
Black Dragon had gotten a lot of gigs over four months, and we were really good. The crowds enjoyed us, with their shrieks of excitement and the severity of their moshing. Being on stage with the mosh pit below me, it sent chills of elation up my spine. My heart felt as light as a feather as I looked down at the crowd, and the darkness of my past seemed to be massacred underneath all the crowd surfers and moshers.
Well, that only lasted about four months. I remember one sunny day in July, when Black Dragon was entered in a national band contest in San Diego. Whoever won got a record deal with D.C. Flag Records and would get to open up for Good Charlotte on a tour. This was it for me, because I knew in my heart that we would win; just this intuition filled throughout my body. I was so excited, since my dream was only a hair away, and not to mention, Good Charlotte was (and still is) my favorite band as well as my inspiration.
To make a long story short, Black Dragon won the contest. Although it seemed like I was a winner at the time, I was not. That weekend, we were supposed to meet up at our drummer's house and head to the airport, then meet Good Charlotte in Virginia. Well, that morning I woke up at about 5:15 A.M. I was supposed to be at the drummer's house at six, so I got ready and headed over there. I knocked on the front door, but it seemed as if no one was there. After a minute, the drummer's little brother answered the door. He obviously had just woken up, because he had that tired look in his eyes. After greeting him, I asked him where the other guys were. He glanced into the driveway and saw that the car was gone, so he told me that they must have left, because the plane was supposed to leave at 5:30, even though that wasn't the time they had told me. He added that if he weren't sleeping, he would have said something; he gave me a sorrowful look. He apologized straight from his heart, then I thanked him and walked sluggishly to my car, my head pointed at my feet. I felt like a little kid restricted to the shallow end of the pool while all his friends learned to swim in the deeper end. My band had left me behind. I wasn't sure why at the time, but after thinking about it, I remembered the rule that each band had to have at least five members to be in the contest. Well now that Black Dragon had won, they didn't need me anymore.
It still hurts-- I was so close to my dream, but at the last minute, it was all maliciously shattered. Shattered like a glass plate dropped on the floor. I think about it everyday; for years I had dreamt of being a musician, since the day I had gotten my guitar, when I was fifteen. To this day I'm still wounded and empty-handed. After two years, the losses of my friends and my dream have injured my heart, and the fear of eternal pain consumes it.
---Another sunny day in California
I'm sure back home, they'd love to see it
But they don't know that what you love is ripped away
Before you get a chance to feel it---
It is now the evening after my visit with Otto. I am sitting on the beach, watching the sun slowly set before my eyes. The bright orange-yellow circle surrounded by an orange-pink sky meets my eyes as the smell of salt- water flows through my nostrils. It's a beautiful sight; I know Otto, Sam, Reggie, and Lars would love to see it, as a memory of Tito's luaus and picnics on the beach. But they are all gone. It's just as well anyways, because the sunset is the only beautiful thing I've seen in San Diego. Everything else is either malice or malice covered up by beauty. Black Dragon was just malice covered up by beauty.
---Back home
I always thought I wanted so much more
Now I'm not too sure---
I look down at my wide feet with my toenails painted black, then I look back up at the sunset. I dig my feet into the warm sand as another wave breaks on the shore. The waves remind me of Ocean Shores. I miss my youth spent there, and I always wonder why things had gone they way they had. Before I left Ocean Shores, I was lonely. Sam at Harvard, Reggie and Lars buried next to each other in the Ocean Shores Community Cemetery, and Otto distant at heart--I had no one. To top it off, my parents denied belief in me, and as Otto grew farther and farther from me, so did Raymundo and Tito. There was nothing left for me. I had no one.
Being lonely gets old after awhile, so I needed to start off new. I needed to go somewhere. After I left my house on my last day in Ocean Shores, I drove down the highway in my car. I remembered that my cousin Brian had visited San Diego a couple years before, and still he talked about it. He always went on and on about how great it was, how beautiful it was. San Diego, as I soon learned, was no better than Ocean Shores. Except that the sunset was better and it wasn't as hot outside. When I left Ocean Shores, I expected my life to turn in a new direction. It did for six months, then Black Dragon did what they did to me. San Diego is no better than Ocean Shores.
---'Cuz sometimes
I miss knowing someone's there for me
And feeling free---
Whether I am here or in Ocean Shores, I have no one. I now dig my feet deeper the sand, and it gets warmer and warmer. The warmth on my feet clashes with the coldness of my heart. I miss my childhood. I miss having friends around me. I miss having someone to go to for comfort. Now, whether I'm here or in Ocean Shores, I have to hold everything in, even when I get to the point where I think I'm gonna scream my lungs out. Holding in my feelings is like holding in a prisoner, making me a prisoner myself. I miss the freedom of my childhood.
---Free to stand beside
The ocean in moonlight
And light myself a smoke beneath the dark Atlantic sky---
I miss the freedom of my childhood up to age seventeen. I was seventeen when Lars and Reggie died. I remember the last time I saw Reggie and Lars. It was a warm summer night, and I was at the beach with them, Otto, and Sam. It was just the five of us there. We surfed a little, but when it started to get dark, we hung up our boards and looked at the sky above us. I remember the stars shining down on my black swim trunks, and the moonlight glowing up everyone's faces. Reggie's face didn't seem to glow as much, nor did Lars's, but that wasn't the least of our concerns. I remember we stood on the shore underneath the purple sky as the waves broke and splashed at our feet. The moon reflected out on the ocean, giving it a sparkle that scattered it in entirety, just like the stars that had scattered about the sky above.
We soon got bored, so we headed towards the beach bag. Lars pulled out some fireworks and set them down on the sand. I picked one up and set it right on the shore, lighting it as fast as I could, before a wave put it out. The blue sparks shot up at the speed of lighting before exploding in the purple sky and falling over the water. We all watched as the sparks disappeared, and the sky went back to purple. Lars lit a green one, and then Otto a red one. The sky was a multitude of colors that glowed on the ocean as well as our faces. We shot fireworks until about ten o'clock, then we had to leave. I now close my eyes and a tear trickles down my cheek. It was a beautiful night, but so grim afterwards. Two deaths followed that breathless night--not just the death of Lars and Reggie, but the death of my childhood. The death of my freedom.
---Another sunny day in California
I'm sure back home they'd love to see it
But they don't know that what you love is ripped away
Before you get a chance
Before you get a chance to feel it---
The sun is down now, and I am sitting on the beach. The sky is just as beautiful as the sunset. The night sky in San Diego is more beautiful than the sky in Ocean Shores when we set off the fireworks. The stars shine down over the ocean, creating the same scattered sparkles that were in Ocean Shores. I take a deep breath as I smell the crisp sea and see the light bugs flying around the sand dunes. The beach is the only beautiful thing that I have seen in the past two years. It's very sacred for me, because I am the only one who can capture it. I'm the only one who can capture it and know the truth. San Diego has a beautiful beach and I come out here almost every night. I love it here and I wouldn't trade my beach visits for the world. But this is my own world here, and outside of it is deception and evil. Hatred and betrayal. I might as well be numb when I am somewhere besides this beach, because everything is shattered before I can feel it.
---Everybody here is livin' life in fear of falling out of line
Tearing lives apart and breakin' lots of hearts just to pass the time- --
Since I am tired and it is late, I tromp back to my car and drive back home, which really is just five minutes away. I reach a stoplight, so I stop the car, obviously. I glance at the cars around me, and I wonder what everyone is thinking. I think there is a great fear in the back of everyone's heads, a fear of failure. The man in the car next to me keeps looking at his watch. He has a fear of being late. The girl in the car behind me, as I can see from the rearview mirror, is discussing a map with her passenger. They have a fear of not getting to the right place. My mother had a fear of my failure as a musician and a person. I have a fear of failing to reach peace in my life. I think everyone in this world has a fear of failure, even if it is just tucked away in the a little corner of their mind.
This fear consumes people. This fear causes one to do things. My mother's fear caused her to turn on me. The man's fear causes him to huff and puff at the stale red light before us. The girl's fear causes her to yell at her passenger. My fear causes me to lose hope in peace, but it doesn't stop me from searching for it. However, some people do things just to do them. Black Dragon used me, because they could. Black Dragon tore my life apart, because they could. The people in college ignore me, because they can. Luckily, I still have a small shred of hope--the thread that will sew my life back together. However, there's still that pair of scissors nearby--the fear of not getting back to good. Just then, the light turns green and I continue to drive home.
---And the eyes get red in the back of your head
This place will make you blind
Put it all behind me and I'll be just fine---
Once again, I enter my empty apartment. I lock the door behind me and head straight to my room. I'm too tired to slip into some boxers and a shirt, so I just sleep in what I have on. I turn on the TV, but the volume is down low so that I can drift off to sleep. I close my eyes, but my mind continues to wander. This night was not special, tomorrow I would have to wake up and do everything all over again. Go to school, go to work, come home and do homework, play my guitar, then go to the beach. Alone. The whole day. The only time I would be around people, the people would just glare at me or half-heartedly talk to me for two minutes, then have nothing to say. I don't care what people think about me, I don't want to be Mr. Popularity, but a friend or two wouldn't hurt. It might help heal the wounds.
But my wounds cannot be healed here. The people who aren't materialistic are just plain mean, and dreams can easily be shattered. My eyes have seen all they wanted to, except they can never seem to get enough of that beach. The beach is the only beautiful thing I've seen in San Diego. But I cannot go back to Ocean Shores. Ocean Shores is just like here, except that painful memories linger there. I have no home. I cannot go anywhere else because I can't afford it. I work at a skate shop after I get home from school, and it's enough to put food on the table. I make just enough to live, I can't afford to go anywhere. I wouldn't be here if Black Dragon hadn't betrayed me, though. Black Dragon was the best thing that happened to me during the four months I was with them, but for the rest of my life they will be the one of the worst things. But I can't let it ruin me. It has wounded me, yes, but I'm not ruined. I still work and I still strive to make it in this world. I still play my guitar and shoot films, in hope of making a success. I believe I can do it, I believe that I will be fine if I wait and put Black Dragon behind me. They shot me down, but I gotta crawl back up.
---Another sunny day beneath this cloudless sky
Sometimes I wish that it would rain here
And wash away the West Coast dreaming from my eyes
There's nothing real for them to see here---
This is the next evening after my beach visit. Yes, I only reflect at the end of the day. During the day I'm going to school and then working, so my mind is somewhere else. But I still feel that bitter loneliness. When I see someone wearing a Black Dragon T-shirt or I see their CD, I feel sick to my stomach. When I see a Good Charlotte shirt or a CD, something begins eating at my heart. My inspiration, my heroes--they were ripped away just like my dreams. I slowly strum a G chord on my guitar, followed by a C and then E, as I sit on the beach once more. I close my eyes as the silence sinks in. The wind blows a soft, cool breeze across my face and through my hair. I open up my eyes and gaze at the orange sky before me. It is always sunny here in San Diego. It never rains, except in my heart. Everyone else's hearts are full of rain as well, but they are covered up by a sunny sky. Their hearts are not real, they are not pure. There's nothing real.
It never rains here, but everything is washed away. My friends, my dreams. Maybe if there was a great rain, everything would be washed away. The deception, the loneliness, the pain--everything. If that was all washed away, maybe there would be room for the good things to sprout. Kindness, warmth, unshattered dreams--maybe they would find their way back into my heart and into my head. I still strive to accomplish my dreams, it's just that there's too much humidity from the sun. Humidity of lies and loneliness. I begin strumming on my guitar again, playing "Seasons" by Good Charlotte. An easy song. C chord, G chord, F chord, back to C, all in repetition. The cycle of the chords parallels my life, it's all a cycle of repetition. Except that "Seasons" is a repetition of beauty. After the song is over, I put the guitar in its case. It's starting to get dark out, which would make the frets hard to see, even with the bright moonlight and stars. Besides, I can look at guitar frets anytime I want. I can only see the moon and stars when they're there. Just like my hopes and my dreams. But I can think of them while the sun is out. After an hour, I pick up my guitar and head to my car to go home. Not only is the beach closing, but there's nothing left to see here.
---Another starry night in California
I'm sure back home they'd love to see it
But they don't know that what you love is ripped away
Before you get a chance
Before you get a chance to feel it---
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I know what a smoke is (I'm not THAT dumb, lol.), but I'm against smoking, so I didn't make anyone smoke. Just wanted to clear that up. Also, I don't know how accurate the portrayal of the beach in San Diego is since I've never been there, but just deal with it. lol.
Well, all I can say is that I hated Honors English 10, but I think it made me a better writer. I hope it did. lol. Anyways, I just wanna say that if I don't completely stop writing fanfics, then my fics will be rare. I'm lazy and also I'm just not as much into this as I used to be. But don't worry, if the mood strikes me to write, I will write. I do not know when the mood will strike me again, so I cannot tell you what will happen. But I'll still read on this site. BUT, I do have a GC and a Rancid songfic coming up, possibly a Mest one. I'm gonna fix Emotionless and TYATH to fit with the songs more, and I'm taking down Bloody Valentine because if I rewrote it, it would probably be identical to the Hey Arnold! songfic to that. And please, someone, write some Twister angst because I wanna read some.
Anyways, PULEEZE read and review, and visit my GC site (it's on my profile page). Thanks guys, I couldn't do this without you!