This story has been written a few dozen times around these parts and I read a few of them without really liking what I saw. That is not meant to be an offensive comment as much as a "why I felt I needed to write this" excuse. I just can't help but see things my way. I guess you can't really control your inspirations.

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On Pause
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Eject

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In the grand scheme of things, six months is a singular grain of sand in a handful; minute, forgettable, and apt to slip through your fingers without the slightest notice. But to a nineteen-year-old boy (definitely not yet a man, mind you), sitting on that same plaid couch in that same off-white room day in and day out, burning in the inferno of some mid-level rehabilitation clinic in Calgary, six months was eternity after eternity, piled on top of one another and littered around the dismal common area like skyscrapers. Month in and month out, he wandered around them, unable to see the tops.

As one would expect, Craig Manning's time was chiefly spent devoted to his guitar. The chords that flowed from his strings had a tendency to be melancholy, the lyrics from his pen about pain, hope, redemption. And yet, somehow, no matter how many days came and went, Craig restrained himself from writing The Song. Sifting his thoughts through the musical sieve to end up with some refined material and maybe figuring out once and for all how he felt about the girl.

The girl was not Ashley Kerwin, his first love, and it was definitely not Manny Santos, the mistake he made over and over again. The longest six months of Craig's life were spent dwelling on just how much he screwed up the best chance he'd ever had at happiness; the best friend he could always count on, one Eleanor Nash.

Ashley had inspired several love songs, one of which was even responsible for drawing Manny into his bed. And Manny had had her share of heartfelt acoustic funk songs in her day, but there had never been a song for the red-haired drummer, standing comfortably a few feet behind him, smiling through one self-destructive choice of his to another. His days on the road and recording in Vancouver found him calling Ellie with dilemmas before even Manny, or his best guy friends, Jimmy and Marco. Whatever his problem, it seemed, Ellie had a solution to offer or, failing that, a shoulder on which to cry. And then, as is bound to happen once someone gets a little fame, Craig began to take her for granted.

It was one of those things for which he kicked himself every day; a few weeks into rehab, when the withdrawl was really setting in he'd decided it was his punishment. His punishment for stepping on his friends; for leaving the band behind, for getting Manny into drugs, for crapping all over his family, and for Ellie, Ellie, everything and Ellie.

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A fittingly blinding light accompanied the doors' swinging open and Craig's re-entrance into the world. His stepfather, Joey Jeremiah, stood on the concrete in front of the clinic, something between a smile and a grimace plastered to his face. "Craig," he said, somewhat breathlessly, as his surrogate son pressed into him for an awkward embrace, "Welcome back, soldier."

The car ride to Joey's new house seemed to take ages, and few words were spoken. Joey visited the clinic rather frequently during Craig's stay, eventually bringing Angie, Craig's half-sister, once Craig was clean enough to see her. Though their relationship was usually a close one, it went without saying that nothing could ever be the same again. During his stay with Joey, Craig had been given dozens of "second chances," but after half a year of round-the-clock medical care to rid him of an already-expensive cocaine addiction, courtesy of a man who wasn't even his blood relation, Craig understood that he could not mooch off his stepfather forever.

"I'm thinking about moving back to TO," Craig spoke up, ending a realtively awkward silence.

The relief in Joey's voice was apparent. "I was wondering if you might do that," he said, rather curtly.

In the passenger seat, Craig squirmed. "Yeah, it's just... I think I need the support system. Not that you haven't been more than great... I just... I miss people, y'know? I haven't really... okay, I didn't call anyone while I was in there. Not anyone."
"Not even Manny?" Joey broke in, concerned.

"No," Craig replied, seeming to realize this for the first time, "Not her. I was thinking about it and I probably have enough cash from my dad's life insurance money to get myself set up in Toronto. I'll get a job somewhere and maybe even start playing some shows... same old friends. No toxic influences."

Joey seemed to ponder this for a moment as he turned his SUV into the driveway of his new home. "If you think that's best, Craig, you know I won't be the one to stop you."

For the first time in what seemed like forever, a grin spread across Craig's face. His feet barely seemed to touch the garage stairs as he floated up and into this unfamiliar house, ready to pack his things and resume a life he hoped had merely been put on pause.

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I have a bad personal history of discontinuing stories, but hopefully I'll write more when I'm not so tired. Please R&R?