A/N: Thanks again to OnTheLineFeline for all of her lovely reviews and for putting up with the extremely long waits in between chapters!! This chapter is dedicated to her since she always reviews this story!! I promise Hersheygal the next chapter shall be dedicated to you in some way… since you too are awesome!! So if there's someone else reading this story, review and you might get a whole chapter dedicated to you!!! This is probably be during April time though I don't think April will be making an appearance.

Disclaimer: I do NOT own RENT which means I don't own Roger or Adam. :D

I'm Ready For My Close Up!

Ode To Bleached Hair

I admit, I have a rebellious streak. I've always had it, even in childhood, as I'm sure you have noticed. Probably the most popular argument in my home growing up was my hair. My father firmly insisted that my hair stayed the same length and the same color at all times… and that was an order. He was in the military doing something or other… he never really talked about it, so I was sure to obey his commands. Especially on the hair, for whatever reason he was the most adamant towards that issue. Must be a military thing… I hated having a crew cut as a kid.

(Flashback!!! Woooooh!!!)

"Mom, tell him I don't want this cut!" a young teenage boy cried out desperately, practically clinging to his mother. She just smiled sadly down at her son however and patted his head kindly.

"Now we both know what your father thinks about hair… there's no changing his mind now," she said in a cheery voice. Roger rolled his eyes and pulled away, obviously disgruntled. His father just beamed down at him and ruffled his hair.

"Just consider yourself lucky that I let you play your guitar," he boomed, laughing happily at having finally won an argument with his son. Roger scowled and mumbled something about not being able to become a Rock God with a crew cut. "Exactly my point boy!" Roger sent another dirty glare but still pulled himself to his feet when his name was called.

"Roger Davis?" a slightly aged woman called out, wearing an apron of some kind. Roger sighed and shuffled to the seat that the woman was ushering him to, sending back the occasional sad face towards his mother. She just pursed her lips and shook her head firmly at him.

"Now what are we getting done today Roger?" the old bird asked, practically chirping. Roger just mumbled something about a crew cut and waved his hands towards his proud hair for effect. The woman frowned however and examined Roger's hair more closely. "It's a shame to cut off this proud mane now isn't it?" she said more to herself than anyone but complied anyway. Before long she was prattling on about various family members and laughing at her own jokes. Roger just sat quietly and watched as the hair came off in large clumps.

"One day I'm going to have my own hairstyle…" Roger promised himself. If there was one thing he couldn't stand it was the thought of his father actually… (shudder)… winning.

(End flashback!!!)

I suppose it goes without saying that my father and I had a slightly strained relationship. But then again, most teenagers refuse to get along with their parents anyways. Really he was a great guy, it's not like he abused me or my mother. My parents were madly in love and we all cared very much for each other so it's not like I went all "emo" and cut myself all the time because I was happy. It was just I inherited stubbornness from my father and we always butt head with each other. I just thought I would make sure that was clear because some people always expect the worst when there comes a strict father and a rebellious teenager.

Anyways, there soon came the day when I had done what I was required (four years in high school) I was more than ready to head out of the nest. I don't think my father ever really approved of my guitar playing so he tried his hardest to get me to go for a college degree. Unfortunately for him I wasn't budging.

(Flashback!!)

"Won't you please consider NYU Roger? You know that you're smart enough to get in," the weary older man asked again. The youthful senior shook his head slowly, tired of giving the same answer every time.

"No Dad… I don't want to go off into college to become a scientist or a doctor… I just want to play," Roger pleaded again, wanting his father to understand.

"I know that's what would be more fun, but what happens when you're not young anymore?" his father countered craftily. "No one wants to listen to tunes by some old, washed up, potbellied, wannabe play rock tunes!" Roger scowled and felt his anger rising up in steady torrents.

"Then I'll become famous… so famous that people won't care if I'm old or not just that my playing is still great!" Roger hissed, feeling very spiteful. "And when my name is in all of the newspapers and all over the music channels you'll regret that you ever considered to send me off to NYU!" The two men stood facing each other and fumed silently.

"I just want you to be well off Roger," his father finally said, looking rather hurt. "Please… just try applying to this college and a few others of your choice…" When Roger just shook his head firmly his father sagged in defeat. "Why?"

"You might be right that going to college would be smarter… and I know that being a Rock Star only has fifteen minutes of fame," Roger finally began carefully. "But you can't stick me in a desk with a suit and tie because… it would kill me." There was an awkward silence and Roger's dad shook his head.

"I don't think that's true Roger," he said quietly and then left the room. Roger noted that he had managed to leave some college applications in plain sight for him. With a disgusted snort Roger dumped them into a nearby trashcan, went to his closet where his guitar was kept, flopped onto his bed, and began to gently pick out random chords. The dark blue comforter was soft beneath him and Roger distinctly remembered that his mother had changed his sheets that morning to his favorite blue, white, and black plaid ones. And his fingers continued to pick the strings of the guitar as he allowed his mind to wander.

(End flashback!!)

I think it's best to just get out and say that we were both major asses. My father and I just couldn't agree on hardly anything and we wouldn't allow ourselves to see the other's points. I tell you, I was so close to just going off to college like he wanted me to just to make everything okay again but I refused to let myself. I knew that I was going to be getting out of there in a short time so I allowed that thought to drive me.

When the day finally came that I was able to move out I can tell you I was out like a shot. I just couldn't wait to be on my own and start a new life, and I of course brought my best pal Mark with me. Let me tell you, there were days when we were freezing and starving on the streets but it was always Mark who called his parents. I never once did. But then came the wonderful day when we found the Loft and well… that's a different story in itself.

(Flashback!)

"Roger, do we have any beer?" Mark called from the kitchen frantically. Roger rolled his eyes and eventually hollered back when he pulled his head from the sink.

"You know we don't Mark!" he snapped and then turned to face the bathroom mirror. There came an exasperated sigh from the kitchen and then more clanging.

"Well excuse me for trying to make a decent dinner for your parents," Mark shouted indignantly. "It's not often they even call here so I figure them visiting should be a big deal." Roger staggered out of the bathroom with a towel around his head and came to face Mark.

"Don't worry about it Mark… they aren't expecting much, trust me," Roger replied soothingly. Mark could certainly stress out and he occasionally needed a soothing voice to bring him out of his psycho mode. Mark sighed and threw his hands in the air.

"Well whatever but when my parents come over we are going to make a much bigger effort," Mark snapped and strode from the kitchen to finish up the preparations. On the table there sat some hamburgers that clearly came from a drive-through window and McDonald's and a few cups of water accompanied by some tattered napkins and dirty forks.

"What's under the towel?" Mark asked randomly as he finished up unwrapping the hamburgers and setting them on whatever plates he could find. Roger grinned and pulled it off.

"A little surprise for my dad," he explained motioning to his hair. Mark's jaw dropped as he beheld the sight.

"He's going to kill you Roger," he muttered, still barely daring to believe it. His best friend had bleached his hair to an impossibly light shade of blonde and had it spiked as an act of defiance.

"I know."

(End flashback!)

Needless to say, my father flipped, we got in a shouting match, my mother and Mark ate their hamburgers in silence while we fought, yadda, yadda, yadda… we all go home unhappy. You might expect me to say "Oh I wish I had handled that differently," or "I wish I could take that back," but quite frankly that day is probably one thing I don't regret. I had the freedom to tell my own father to just bugger off and that he can't control me in my own house. You have no idea how awesome it was to see my own father at a loss of words.

I haven't seen him much after that, but then of course I was busy for a while with my druggie phase. I still get the occasional phone call though, the polite "How are you" or sometimes he'll ask me how I'm doing after withdrawals and I'll ask him how the military is going. And some how, I'm okay with that.

A/N: Yay! There it is then… please review and tell me what you thought!!