Sometimes when I look at photographs from that summer I get this bad taste in my mouth. Like that far off feeling of wonder that I remember so romantically has filtered out a shadow of loss and regret. Moments I could have left behind me or things I should have said fading in the background like a little light bokeh and all that is in focus is me standing there in the after party. Nothing covering me but a wet t-shirt and a blank stare right before the flash. Looking back now I wonder if I had not gone to that first concert would she still be around? If I had not been so low would I have been strong enough to keep myself from him? Did the music draw me in or was it the glass house they lived in? I can't go back now. And if I could, would I be the same person?

I just couldn't help myself. The moment I saw the poster hanging just slightly off a brick wall in the middle of the city. It flapped in the wind taunting me to come with it to some unknown land where my girlhood fantasies could be a reality. There I would be this cool girl dancing in the crowd. Perhaps, Jamie Heart would look down at me for a moment and we'd lock eyes, and he'd see something in me that was so amazing that he couldn't let go. My eyes darted to the street and back again longingly heart thumping in the sun. "OPEN FOR TICKETS NOW" It read.

"I have to go." I said aloud.

Was it the music that drew me in or was it this faint dream of who I thought I might be with it? Because of it? The loud- scream - out- your- lungs- until- you- bleed music. At first it was just a feeling. I'd flip the switch on the radio of my mom's car during a drive and their voices would come barreling through to my heart. They were this carefully calculated fantasy contrived by an old one hit wonder. John Everwitz, the original bad boy from an 80's punk/pop band, started a label with the soul purpose to take small town wonders and sons of once famous rock stars and turn them into big time thunders. He had started with a few bands that were semi popular like Minus the Subtly and Epic Fail. They would tour and hit stadiums and malls riling up a fan base of mostly prepubescent fan girls. Every once in awhile I'd catch a music video on MTV and wonder why they were all trying so hard. Their music videos were all show. This perfect formula of booze, boobs, and style. It was none of my scene. Celebrity bands were confusing to me. I was raised on counting blue cars and obscure references to Who albums. It wasn't that I didn't love pop music. It was that I didn't connect with it. What I needed from my music was more feeling. More heart! More soul! More everything that was within me.

Then one day something strange happened. I was sitting in my mother's car waiting for her to come out of the bank when a new single hit the radio. I turned up the volume and there it was. The faint prelude to my early adulthood loneliness plucked on a string to the most beautiful voice I had ever heard. The song was called "I See You Getting Me Mrs. Brown" and from the moment I heard it I was hooked. It was from this band called Roofs on Fire! I had all the t-shirts, the songs, and the videos. I was a fan in this embarrassing way Twilight fans are, where you're just embarrassed by them. We all know Edward is never going to come for us and Jacob is really a big jerk who doesn't love Bella enough to just respect her as a person. But still, I found myself falling into the dichotomy of the imaginary love triangle of the music and the musician. And now I had a chance to see them live in a stadium surrounded by people who really got how I felt about the music. 

It was called the "High Fidelity Tour" set up by John Everwitz. All of the bands from his label would set out on a nationwide tour across the country starting in none other than San Bernadino, California and ending in New York, New York. Rolling Stone called it the equivalent to Woodstock for the new generation of hipster fan girls and leggy musicphiles. The band line up included the Starting, Roofs on Fire, Minus the Sublty, Saturday Morning Cartoons, Boy Eats Girl, Epic Fail, and Gatsby's Memoirs. Pretty much every band that had been in the top 20 in the last three years. From the moment the word hit insanity broke out all over the fan girl message boards. They were sold out in days and finding one ticket at all was like finding the golden ticket from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. And can you guess who bought the last ticket? Can you guess who was just the luckiest nerd in the world? That's right, me. The home-schooled only child of a crazy artist mother. Whose Friday night was spent generally included trolling the /b/ boards and watching obscure Korean dramas on Netflix. Little Mia Rosen, the girl who knew nearly every word with her long brown hair and her beaten oxford shoes was going to get hers and a bag of chips! 

The morning of the show I awoke drenched in my own sweat with a tight coiled feeling in the pit of my stomach. It was like something big was coming. The heat from the desert rose high in the air. An electric current beneath the earth pulled me from the bed to the shower where I hoped I could wash it away. Little did I know the journey I was about to set on would take me to places I never imagined before. My mother always told me to hold onto these feelings when they came to you because they were reminders that you still had some sense. That control was an illusion, but just like the animal kingdom you knew you could run at any moment. She was always like that. This beautiful creature in the wild. Her wing span had so much force that when people tried to overtake her she only had to bat an eyelash and they would jolt back wondering what had hit them. She was born Donna Marie Rosen and had been the daughter of an Irish Army vet and a Mexican immigrant in the 60s. Their union into the great future allowed her to come into this world in fire and smoke. Her hair was a deep chocolate brown and her eyes showed a certain kind of light as they glowed above laugh lines. I remember the warmth of my grandparents vaguely but my mother was always guarded around them. We had always lived in the city in California ever since I was little and I had never met my father. I never had time to think of him. My mother became a very famous painter and I was raised by her and her artistic cohorts in the many basement rooms and studio spaces they worked in. I was never alone. How could you ever be alone when the world was surrounded by so much art?

I always wondered how someone as beautiful and enigmatic as her could have me. I was this short gangling looking girl growing up with a long face and a pair of slanted eyes. In all respects I was nothing like her. My demeanor was nervous while hers was relaxed. My paces were careful, while hers always jutted out with such confidence. She had tried many times to get me out of my shell as a child. I had gone to a regular school until I got bored and then she allowed me to home school. Mrs. Donna Rosen put me in dance classes, karate, classical guitar lessons, everything you could think of, but nothing took. I often thought maybe she was disappointed in how closed off I was. Sure, eventually I learned how to open up a bit through imitation, but it's like my friend Samar from Twitter says, "Asperger's was a lame disease created so that people would feel comfortable not knowing what to do with people like us." That's the problem. I'm a dork. I'm not hip enough to be a hipster. I don't detest the system enough to be punk. I think arbitrary rules on whats necessary and unnecessary in human interaction just keeps us from revealing our true selves. I'd much rather be trolling Jimmy Fallon's fan page and laughing about 'Basic Chick/Side Chick' memes than actually going out and pretending to be something for someone who only cares about what I feel about them. 

You could tell the rest of the world. The only thing my mother did give me was strength, but the intelligence was accrued elsewhere. Check every place on the internet. Cut all the ridiculous back story to the evening of my great escape to the biggest night of my life and my mother is painting another masterpiece on canvas while I am attempting the same on my face. I did not inherit her talent for contour lines. 

"So, when will you be back?" My mother asked me from in front of her easel. She was working on a new piece for the gallery opening downtown L.A. This one had something to do with shadows and the contouring of the ever illusive expanding psyche of the violent struggle between man and woman. Or something pretentious like that. I can never tell what artists are saying. "Tonight is movie night and I was thinking we could rewatch the Matrix or Lord of the Rings?"

"Umm... the concert ends at twelve, but there's a huge after-party that I heard about on the fan boards." I yelled over to her. I was in the bathroom and she was in the living room. By the square footage of our apartment it wasn't that far. Artists I hear like to shit where they eat. 

"Be careful! I know what happens at those parties." She cracked a sly smile. "Well, at least I know what I did."

"What did you do?" I asked flipping my head over and brushing out my hair from the back of my neck to the tips. I was told one time that adds volume.

"Nothing. Just make sure you call me before you leave and when you know you're heading back soon. I worry about you."

"Well you don't have to. I'm an adult. I can take care of myself." I sighed.

"Yeah, sure!" She yelled after me with a loud bellowing laugh. "Ha!"

Now, let me be clear. At the ripe age of 18 I was not, nor had I ever been, very good at dressing myself. Especially if we are talking about going out places where real people would be. Sometimes I would watch the Youtube and see the style channels and think. Is it just some gene they inherited that allows them to wear all those ridiculous outfits? Why don't I have it? When I tried pulling off a faux fur vest from Forever 21 I looked like an Ewok. Plus, where do you wear something like that to anyways? And why do they never say exact dress codes. Is a concert casual or formal? And what is semi-casual? This time I tried to do my research because on any given day you could find me walking around in an over-sized band t-shirt and a pair of leggings.This time in the heat of summer I wore a pair of shorts and a "The Clash" band t-shirt. So, I was obviously moving up. Give them a little bit of leg and a little bit of biblical rock reference and maybe we'll have a party.

"Do I look okay?" I walked out and asked my mother. 

She turned around from her easel to look me up and down. I took note of her as well. The light came in through the windows silhouetting my mother and the chair in a golden glow. There sat an attractive woman of 35 sitting at her work in an Aztec print shawl and a slip dress sprawled across books, bills, and letters from admirers she didn't care to reply to. She was so young having maintained her youth after having a daughter at the ripe age of 17 but laugh lines were beginning to show on the edges and tops of her high cheek bones. Everything was illuminated around her. A world of her design. Our small apartment with a big red velvet couch in the center and furniture of light wood and amber hues. There were book shelves filled with Faulkner, Blake, Wolfe, and all of the greats. There were bins of records from earlier times. There were instruments that never went unplayed and clay that never went unmolded. And post its everywhere filled with little ideas and dreams on all the walls, the chairs, and the mirrors. So that when she found herself lonely she could reunite with a dream. And there was her daughter standing there dressed for a concert awaiting her reply; looking back at her wondering if the lines in her face were ever the design of frowns.

"Where is the jewelry? You can't go out to a concert without at least 50 bracelets and two rings! I mean, have you not seen any album covers in the past decade?" She laughed openly. "Are you my daughter or aren't you?"

"Oh yeah!" I snapped out of it running back to the bedroom.

"Go into my jewelry box and there should be some cool stuff I picked up at the thrift store the other day. I got a new leather band." She called after me.

The jewelry box was on the dresser next to her bed. It was a vintage 19th century dresser in faded chromatic pink. Clothes fell in and out of it like they were trying to escape captivity. I ran to it and opened up the jewelry box which was really an appropriated pink music box with a little ballerina that danced as you opened it. It played a little classical tune, that I didn't know, that made you feel lonely. My finger traced along the line of the little ballerina that sat on top of it. She popped up as it opened, a happy figure in a tutu, slowly spinning to the tune. Parts of her, once bright gold and pink paint, were chipped off from time and venture. This box had seen a lifetime of ribbons and bows. Beneath her lay bracelets, rings, and necklaces in a little puddle. They were all special trinkets from travels and explorations of divinity. Some had emblems on them from gurus and others were just cool beads bought by the sea. I grabbed several of them without paying much attention to what they looked like or what color they were and threw them on. First a few bracelets on my right arm and then some rings on my left. I walked out to meet my mother and show her my wrists I had finished the task and I was fully capable of going.

"You look kind of like a pirate." She laughed. 

"You said put on jewelry!" I dropped them.

"Yeah, but whats with the rings? They're a little big." 

"All the better if someone comes at me I can hit 'em where it hurts." I waved my arms around awkwardly.

She laughed and came over to me. Light bounced off the little beads on my wrists creating a little bokeh that flew across her face illuminating her eyes. Her dark brown hair fell a little as she pulled me in for a warm hug. She was always an amazing hugger. It was warm and inviting, never too tight, and she always placed a hand on my back and gave me a pat. I stood there for a long time in that hug, still unsure about my morning wake up and a little nervous to go to a concert alone. And she hugged me back as if to say it was going to be okay. 

"You'll be fine." She finally pulled away from me and ran a hand through my hair. "Just go have fun and be safe. I'll be here when you come home and we'll watch that movie."

"Thanks, Mom." 

I grabbed the car keys and my worn leather jacket on the way out. But something felt uncomfortable deep inside me and I stopped by the door to look back at my mother. I took note of the way she was as she grabbed a brownie from the kitchen counter. Her hair fell over her shoulders and her shawl that was inconspicuously covered in a mix of crumbs and oil paints. She looked vibrant in the sunlight behind her. Even without any makeup on, Donna Rosen was exuberant. She flooded everything around her in a pinkish glow. The sun itself shined brighter when she smiled back at my, but behind her eyes I noticed the bittersweet meloncholia that passed in the goodbye between mother and daughter. For me this was the pursuit of freedom in one big night. For her, it was a letting go of her baby girl. Her child, which she had reared herself and who had become her life. In my rebelliousness I turned my gaze from her and back to the world just beyond the door, but that unsettling feeling was still there even when I stepped out. And the light bokeh that traveled from her to the ceiling lingered in my mind. 

Have you ever been such a fan of something that you literally dream about it? Like the music and the musician are both this living breathing fantasy that comes to you? And its not even them that pulls you in, or their attractiveness, its what their music does to you. Its how much it speaks to your very soul. And you want that feeling to last forever so badly that it hurts. So, when you finally go to see them in concert there are all these possibilities, like anything could happen. Because it already has in your head a million times that you get jolted into the world of the music, of the musician, of the place in which this thing you love was created. And in this way maybe you could recreate yourself. I was nervous to go, but not so much that I was going to pass up even the glimpse of the opportunity to be able to touch the music.

    On the drive to the concert hall I was on the edge of a panic. The tips of my toes tingled with excitement and a little bit of fear. With traffic I felt like the whole world was running with the speed of light and I was walking with a busted leg. Nothing could be fast enough. The second I got there I put the car in park and barreled through the crowd awkwardly. It was the kick off of the first concert and people were already crowding together pushing toward the front of the stage. When going to a concert there are two strategies my mother taught me that will get you to the front.

First Strategy: I Can't Find My Friend. First start looking around as if you're trying to find someone, a friend or a boyfriend. Jump up as if you're trying to reach over the tall people or scoot around in a diagonal jumping into people and nervously apologizing so they see that you are trying desperately to find someone. Then start calling out a random name. My favorite to call out is Robert, because while it is a normal name, it's hilarious to scream. "ROBERT! ROBERT!" Then once people have your attention start pushing forward in in a zig zag while screaming the name. People will start to move away, feeling bad for you, and sure enough you'll be at the front in no time. 

Second Strategy: The Creep. This works best if you are alone. If you're with a friend, then you're just annoying. The strategy to this is actually pretty simple. All you have to do is step way too close to someone. If there is space in between you at all then you're not close enough. Your shoulder should be touching theirs. Eventually they'll move, out of sheer discomfort. When they do, you step forward quickly to steal the spot. Keep doing this until you're at the front.

Tonight I did the Creep and giggled all the way to the front until I bumped into a very tall guy with blonde hair. I flipped around, apologizing quickly as he stammered back. 

"I'm sorry! I'm just creeping here." I stepped away from him.

He smiled widely the kind of smile you only see in Anime films all wide and wolf like. He had these icy blue eyes and short blonde hair that slicked to the side. His arm extended out my way and I took his hand to shake it.

"It's alright. I guess i'm just not used to getting creeped on." He replied. "I'm usually the one creeping."

"You? Seriously? Have you seen your face?" I laughed nervously. "It was, like, carved from Hayao Miyazaki's wet dreams." 

"Who?" He raised an eyebrow.

"He's this amazing... Nothing. Don't worry! I'm just dorking as well as creeping." I sunk in.

"Well, both are adorable." He replied.

The heat went to my cheeks as the roar of the crowd hit us in waves. Without replying I turned to the front of the stage where a grungy pair of boots stepped out and met me at eye level. I looked up at who is known as The Second Sexiest Man according to TeenBeat and recently labeled "Bad Boy of Rock n' Roll" by Teen Vogue, Adam Gibson, lead singer of Boy Eats Girl. His dark hair hung in a big wave above his head untouched by gravity. Steam rose from his leather jacket. Nothing touched him. Not the heat or the wind, or even the screams from the crowd hit his power stance. It was as if the whole world and everything it was made of was one entity encased in a box he didn't care about. He ran his hand through his hair and walked back to the drum set, his brass and silver throne. And all at once he grabbed the mic to his teeth and spoke hushing the people below.

"We are here to fuckin' rock and if you aren't then get the fuck out!" 

The music hit the crowd like waves crashing from a sea. It circulated wildly within us bringing us close together and pulling us back apart. Bodies crashing and girating with the motion of a finger to a guitar and Adam Gibson riling them back together in an intoxicating revolution of sound with singular beats. I almost didn't notice the lead singer singing or the guitarist jumping. All I focused on was how that beat felt. While the entire crowd moved in unison, I fell apart from them fixated on this moment. Surprised by the very feeling that brought us all here. It was aggressive. It was loud. It was rock n' roll. They played four songs each one with a bigger crescendo. A mix of post modern rock that came out of an era of dirty t-shirts and suicide notes. There was something lacking in their reintroduction to Nirvana paraphernalia though. What had once been an example of pure unadulterated self loathing was replaced with this very factual fixation on the female form. And I wondered why they never played a slow song or said anything honest. 

"Thank you! Good fuckin' night!" Adam screamed himself off stage. A one man send off.

The roar around us got loud as he left. I turned back to my new friend who simultaneously turned back to me, smiling in a sort of reassurance that the performance was amazing. Quickly a single man in a t-shirt came out to change the instruments and retune a new guitar. He was short with shaggy brown hair and blue eyes that hid behind thick rimmed glasses. You could tell he could play guitar by the way he tuned it. Without a single reference guide he found a perfect tune and meanwhile people sat there watching unenthusiastically. One particular man from the crowd screamed, "Hurry the fuck up!". Just as quickly as he had appeared he nervously jutted off stage disappearing behind a large black curtain. The unimportant man tuning the guitars. 

"So, whats your name?" The new friend from before turned to me with a smile.

"My name?" I had somehow forgotten to remember my being here. "My name is Mia. I came here to actually see Roofs on Fire! I'm a huge fan." 

"Aren't we all? They're fucking amazing." He laughed in a way only Disney Stars laugh- rehearsed and calculated. "My name is Scott by the way."

"Nice to meet you Scott. Is that Scottish?" I shook his hand even though he hadn't offered it to me.

"Do potatoes grow?" His shake was firm and aggressive.

"Wow, you went there." I laughed. 

The moment was taken by a hush as if something was about to be spoken. All eyes averted back to the stage as Jesse Sparks stepped onto the stage. The single artist known as Gatsby's Memoir. Just a boy and his guitar on a large platform in front of thousands of people who distracted themselves from him. This person stood there tall and gangling jutting out like a spider for a moment taking in the air around. Then as if he had set himself toward the moon at the exact moment he needed to be, it began with a soft strum of skin against copper wire. A note ringing clear out like a lighting bolt in a storm. I must have been the only one who heard it because the crowd just sat back and stared. While I, without knowing really why, moved closer to the stage even further still. This boy, just this simple boy in a button down and suspenders, claimed the space around him with the ghost of his forefathers singing a song called 'Winter Wind'. Have you ever seen someone who was the embodiment of music? The embodiment of pain and grits and guts and everything holy. If you sat very still when he played, you could see it trying to come out of him so hard it hurt. This whole body was a vessel shaking and trying to hold it together as the vanishing swarm of divine came from him. Straight from his gut and into the air. It shook me to my core. Teeth grinding and on the edge of something that had no words. He was no form, he had no sense of the world around him, he was only this one moment- this one idea as it escaped him in a single grasp.

It left a sensation in my very core I could not have described for I had never felt it before. All the world around us in hidden plastic statues that couldn't quite grasp what it was that made him, this boy, so peculiar. So special. He sunk into himself a moment more taking the deepest of breaths for the final note and I knew that this one particular moment, between the breath and the chord, I would never forget. 

"Wow, that guy can wail!" Scott screamed in my ear pulling me back to reality.

I gasped. "He's amazing."

Just like that, Gatsby's Memoir faded off the stage having only played a single song. The crowd clapped enthusiastically, annoyed by his departure and he belittled by their response. 

"That was so beautiful, it just tore me to pieces." I whispered. 

"Yeah Fidelity picked him up from his own tour. He's new to the label. From Texas or somewhere." Scott whispered in my ear. "I hear he has horrible stage fright but he's so good they keep him on for whatever he likes. Plus he's banging the Head of the Label's daughter." 

"I don't care about any of that. It's the music..." I stammered away from him. 

While the set changed and the man from before came out to replace the instruments Scott talked about himself in awkward half-handed details. I half listened as I waiting for the next set. The one I was waiting for! Roofs on Fire come to set me ablaze in a wonderland of music and teenage craze. Scott prattled on and the man sitting by the front of the stage, and suddenly as if by some miracle you could hear it from far off in the distance. The strum of a guitar. Strings plucked off in the distance already attached to an amp. The crowd went wild as Eli Levitt Scott the infamous guitarist of Roofs on Fire walked his way on the stage. He sauntered on in a white button up and tie, homage to the old ones that came before him, and planted himself awkwardly on the side of the stage. I could hardly hear the cry of the guitar as the crowd began roaring in applause at him that only got louder as the rest of the band met the stage. First drummer, then bassist, then second guitarist, and then an angel in the light filled up the stadium. Jamie Heart. He had the kind of magnetism that pulled you closer to the stage and made you sit very still. 

I couldn't remember when they began or how. It was one big blur of music thrust-ed into you. The sounded just like they did on the CDs. They moved just like you imagined. And when Jamie heart sang it was like he was singing to you, and you were the only person in the room. The lights and sounds were ecstatic sensations that can only be traced with the flick of the wrist. I could have sworn there were moments when he was only singing to me. 

"That was so amazing! Everything about it!" 

We burst out of the stadium having been the last ones to leave. I had parked all the way in the back where the edge of the stadium lights met darkness and the tour bus's could be faintly seen. There was this frenzy of excitement within me that I never wanted to end and my companion Scott had the bug too. We were giggling uncontrollably and skipping off to my car side by side.

"It was so fucking amazing! Eli is a god! Did you see the way he shredded on the solo? I've never seen anyone do that." He laughed.

"That man has a way with the crowd." I replied with a swift nod of the head. 

"You want to go grab a drink? I'm still buzzed." Scott inched closer to me and I realized I didn't know where his car was.

"I'm underage." I shifted away. "Thanks though. I think I might just head home. I'm out way past my curfew."

"Well thats not very rock n' roll, kid. We don't have to grab a drink. We can just go back to my place to hang out." 

He slung his arm over my shoulder and I pulled away again. This time trying to make sure he noticed my hesitancy.

"No thanks, really. My mom is probably really worried about me. Not to mention I have to update my blog and my Netflix cue is full of old movies, and my rooms a mess. I really should be running off."

"You're cute when you're nervous." He grabbed my hand gruffly now. His hands were rough and sharp like asphalt. I tried to pull it away but he held on firmly.

"Yeah I tend to babble. I mean, not as much as Juno or Quinton Tarantino, but it's bad." I pulled away again. "Could you let go of my hand?"

"Come on, it's just my place. There will be beer and movies and we'll just talk. Nothing crazy." He leaned in towering over me this time.

It was just then that I realized I might be in a dangerous situation. His intent was in his hand, like the lie on the tip of his nose. I was not five feet from my car and I didn't even have a whistle to blow. He was tall and strong, and I was a quarter his size and had never been in a fight all my life. What do Law & Order SVU victims do in situations like these? Oh, right. They get raped and killed.

"I can't, but you should call me! I had such a great time! Bye!" I pulled my hand away and shoved it in my pocket. 

My blonde, 6-foot-something, muscular companion began following me. I stepped fast and put my keys very slyly in between my knuckles like a claw. The parking lot was nearly empty now. The few cars that sat were the buses off in the distance and the attendants were all behind gates. Everything seemed so still and I felt like an animal caught by a predator.

"Well, then can I at least get your number?" He attempted to step in front of me.

"Uh, I don't have a cell right now. I mean, I did but it's dead so I can't get your number and I don't remember mine." I side stepped the dance.

"You don't remember it at all?" He stepped in front of me this time. His whole body was a wall. "What happened? I thought we had something going back there, kid. Don't you want to get to know me?"

"Of course I do! It's not you. It's me. I just really have somewhere to be." I took my keys out slowly and turned my body toward the car but he grabbed my arm this time. This wasn't a friendly grab, it was rough and sharp. "Hey!"

"Come on, we spent hours in there together! Don't you want to get to know me?" He had madness in his blue eyes as he leaned over me pulling me into him like a small mannequin. "I thought you wanted to get to know me or else you wouldn't be dancing so close and you wouldn't look like that."

"Look! I don't want to go back to your place! I don't want to give you my number! I just want to go home! Now let me go!" I yanked myself back and turned directly to my car. 

His foot steps came closer to me quickly, but I heard them as if they had been in slow motion. The whole world stopped for me as I let out one breath before the crash of knuckles against steel. My hair stood on end, my head thumped, and I could hear a cry in the night. At first I thought it was my mother far off in the distance. I swear I could hear her voice shrieking loud and clear. It was a warning telling me to run to her. But before I knew it I was hitting the hood of the car with the edge of my teeth as he pushed me into it. And then I realized the scream was me. 

"Remember, Mia. When you're in trouble always stick to the golden procedure. Run, kick, and scream for help!"

I began thrashing for dear life. My limbs flew at him but it was as if he was built of stone. I scratched his cheek with my keys and kicked his leg with my foot. I punched him and whirled around, but he grabbed me stronger yet still. His arms threw me on the gravel and my body was a paper weight slamming shut the brief pages of my story. His body came down on me pushing me further into the earth. A sharp pain from my gut took the wind out of me. His hands grabbed my throat pushing me down and I began to scream as loud as I could.

"Shut up! Shut up! Stop crying!!!" Scott, with madness in his eyes, wrapped his fingers tighter around my throat cutting off my air supply. He began to pull down my shorts as I struggled to get away. "Shut up!!!"

I screamed and kicked as he punched me his spit flying into my face. I yelped as he yanked down my shorts breaking the skin of my side against the rocks beneath. And as he squeezed my throat tighter and all the air began to leave my lungs I used my last breath to beg him to not do what I knew he was about to do. As everything blurred into broken lights and sound I realized my fate and suddenly felt very cold. But before the darkness overtook, and my attacker could reveal himself to me, I saw two strong arms yank him by the shoulders far away from me and I could suddenly breath again.

One breath. I saw a slew of angry fists flying this way and that. I saw a strong jaw line and a patch of messy dark hair flapping in the moonlight.Two breaths. Then a glowing of bright blue eyes piercing through the night like a glint of hope. And what had just been a towering monster was now a whimpering pig and those very strong arms that were now red with fresh blood reached out to grab me. Three. My hand caught air  and my mother's scream rang in the distance as everything went black. 

--

They were all lined up in a row shaking hands with the company. Wide eyes attached to a small white dress sat behind the table to watch. Tall service men in suites patting the backs of pretty women in bright dresses. The air was open up high but on the ground the stench was clear. They spoke in gilded tongues about cars, houses, and boats. The discussion was vaguely distant from previous conversations I had heard at the dinner table the night before. The tiny hand reached out to empty pockets but was slapped back to the table.

"Go back and play with your friends, dear. Grandma, Grandpa, and Mommy have to talk to the adults."

"But I-"

"No buts."

Pushed aside these tiny hands reached the top of the table once more and began to trace the buffet. Mysterious mixed drinks and strangely shaped objects that were foreign. Below the clamor of boasting voices my fingers lightly brushed against each plate. First soft bread straight out of the package. Then plates of relishes and sweets. The taste melted the back of my throat.

"Mia! Stop that!" 

I snatched back. Mommy toward in a floral dress. She stood out from everyone else in yellow. But her face twisted and I could tell she was angry.

"Sorry, she's really a very good girl. She never ever gets hurt or in trouble. She's just out of sorts today."

"No problem. I think she's adorable."

"Mia, don't touch the top of the table. There are things up there that could hurt you. Now, in a few minutes we will get you food. Until then go play with the other kids."

Why was she angry? The tears welled up in my eyes. To be brought into the world so unlimited only to be limited by hard hands roughly washed by the world. Without knowing how or why my litle hand reached up to touch the plates once more. Thump. Thump. My heart pounded as I watched the back of my mother's head bob. Amongst another plate my fingers caught something thick. As if snatched back by trouble I took my hand back. The liquid flung up and hit me in the eye slightly sticky. I wiped it away to a color brighter than anything I had ever seen. Red. Red like firetrucks and cars. Red like when my mommy cut herself cooking. Red like blood.

"Waaaaahhhhhhh!!!"

I was brought back to the world with the sound of my mother's scream far off in the distance. This time it was muffled by my own and I shot out of my spot somewhere on a cushioned seat. My eyes fluttered open to the sharp bright light over head and a long face across from mine. 

"Are you okay?" His voice came out deep and smooth. 

Things were blurry but I could make out musky blonde hair and polished linens. I was somewhere uncomfortable. The pain was in my neck, my back, my throat. It was everywhere I had a pulse. The art of breathing turned to a fight with a sharp knife. 

"Where am I?" I croaked. 

The world beneath me was hard like I was sitting on cork board beneath a thin cushion. And it was shaking like an earth quake. The whole world was shaking blurry and sped up. I tried to focus on in the boy before me who sat just across on a black amplifier substituted for a chair. Focus, I thought, Focus on him. What does he look like? It was then that I honed in on his large Romanesque eyes. They were large and bulging half across his face. They pierced through you above a thin smile humorously. The other half was covered in a large blonde beard. He looked at me and I blinked back noting the dark circles under his eyes created crevasses under his milky white skin. 

"You're on my friend's tour bus. Are you okay? Do you need me to call the police or a hospital?"

"A tour bus? What? Why?" I looked around but everything was still far off.

"That guy was beating on you pretty hard I heard. Jesse got security to grab him and they turned him over to the police. You don't have to make a statement, they said, but they want you to. Are you okay?" He asked again this time searching for a deeper answer. Like he wasn't sure if he could trust me to answer honestly or not.

"I'm fine." I'm not really. "I really need to get home. Where is my cell phone?"

"I don't know. Jesse didn't bring anything back. Just you." He replied. "Oh, I'm Will by the way."

"Whose Jesse?" I asked. I adjusted my seat my whole body reeling from the pain. "Ow..."

"Jesse is-"

"Hey, I got some bandages from the first aid people." A deep sullen voice was heard coming from the front of the bus like a coo to my aching bones. I looked up to a set of husky sharp eyes peering behind white blonde hair. He strolled in with his homeboy charm in his button up 80's throwback and my knees went to mush. There was something star powered in his stage make up as it fell into the crevices of his face creating stronger lines and more defined spaces. I immediately knew who it was. "They're little Dora the Explorer ones. And I got the bag."

"You- You're Jamie Hart!" My jaw dropped as I stood before my Hollywood crush- Sexiest Man of the New Age Rock Beat- the lead singer of the infamous Roofs on F-Fa-Faaaa"

"And you're finally awake!" He smiled warmly and moved his hard knuckled hands toward Will handing him the box of bandaids. "You took a pretty good beating."

"I don't think a few bandaid's is going to do any good." Will took a wet wash cloth and pressed it to my head. I winced away. "You really should go to the hospital to check if you have a concussion or anything."

"You're Jamie Hart!" I said again pulling away from Will. 

Then I caught a glance at the wash cloth he was putting to my head. What was once white was now a bright red. A huge pain shot through the front of my skull making its way to the back of my spine. The whole world instantly seemed to blur into a thousand colors. How did I not know I was bleeding?

"N-No it's okay!' Jamie sat next to me as I breathed in as deep as I could. "Please don't cry. Does it hurt that much?"

"I didn't even know I was crying!" The voice that came out I suddenly didn't recognize. It was high pitched and strained. Both boys sat back as huge drops of salty tears began to run down my cheeks. "I'm bleeding!" I cried.

"It's okay. We don't have to talk to the police or go to the hospital. But is there anyone we can call?" Will smiled awkwardly like an adolescent at a funeral. 

Jamie put his hand naturally on my shoulder and patted down my back. The pat sent tingles down my spine making me shiver.

"Hey will you close the door? She's cold." Jamie motioned toward Will.

"Yeah." Will quickly closed the door and then make his way back to sitting in front of me. "Hold still please."

He patted my head with the cloth again cleaning a huge wound I could not see. His eyebrows furrowed creating wrinkles just blow is white hair.

"You're pretty tough you know. I would've been crying from all the pain but you didn't start crying until you saw the blood." Jamie smiled at me.

"Is it that bad?" I sniffed.

"Well, it was. We were afraid you weren't going to wake up." Will said. "But Jesse told us to just give you a little time and rest. Guess he has more experience with this sort of thing."

"You can go to the bathroom and clean up a little. Then we'll talk about calling the police." Jamie patted my shoulder again.

"No! Please! I don't want them involved! I'm already in enough trouble as it is." I pushed him away feeling quite alarmed by what my mother was going to say. I'd be grounded for a month! It wasn't like she didn't teach me better.

"Okay, well just go get cleaned up and we'll talk about it." Jamie sighed.

I nodded and stood up. I felt a little light headed but not dizzy enough to lose my balance. My legs wobbled forward down a small hallway toward a tiny room the size of a closet. I stepped inside hardly noting the world around me. There were far off whispers between two confused figures just behind me. I closed the curtain to look into a rusted mirror and for the first time see myself. 

"Holy fuck. I look like fucking Lord Voldemort."

There were two scratches on my right cheek, a bruise across my neck from a hand print, bleed dripping from just beyond my scalp, and several sides of my body had scrapes from the asphalt. Then there was one gash right across my eyebrow covered by a tiny Dora the Explorer bandaid. I had taken a hit to the flesh and right on through to the soul. My shirt was ripped, my knees were scraped, and my hair was a birds nest of gravel and blood. I peered into the mirror as a young pale girl looked back at me. 

"Great way to meet your idols, Mia." I whispered. "Pull yourself together."

    I covered my face in water trying to free my skin of eyeliner and blood. Then I pulled my hair into a small bun with my bracelet. There wasn't much I could do about my clothes. My stomach was showing a bit and there were scrapes on my back and knees. My whole body felt like a raw nerve and there wasn't anything I could do about it. I picked up what dignity I had left from the gravel off the floor and sucked in. The whole world was this big kaleidoscope of sound. As I whimpered over to the end of the bus I could make Will and Jamie out just barely. 

"Where is my stuff?" I asked as I leaned against the wall. "I need to call my mom. She's probably freaking out about now."

"Here you go." Jamie stood up and handed me by cellphone and bag. 

By some ominous cue my cellphone began to ring. It was a clip from Clash City Rockers. Will began to hum along and wiggle in his seat like a kid until Jamie pinched him. 

"Ow! Geeze, just admiring her music taste." Will stammered back and looked at Jamie with a smirk.

I could feel this sinking feeling in the bottom of my stomach. It was probably my mom wondering where I was. She was going to kill me when she found out what happened to me tonight. I wasn't careful enough. I should've had my cellphone in my hand the whole time or scratched him with my keys. Not to mention I was now alone with two other guys who were notorious on their sexual fields. All the DUI's and nasty drug habit on E! news were not going to look good to my mom. I could feel the lashing now. Maybe I shouldn't go home. Maybe I could run away with the band to some far off distant land where my mother didn't help pay for my living expenses. I could live off of berries and champagne and when the nights got warm i'd just cuddle up to some lonely boy who didn't care about me. Too bad i'd miss her terribly. 

"Are you going to answer it?" Jamie urged.

"Yes!" My finger snapped back and brought the phone to my ear. Click! "Hi."

"Hello, is this Mia V. Rosen?" It was a man's voice.

"Yes, it is." I replied trying to keep my balance against two hot pairs of eyes.

"Are you the daughter of Donna Rosen?" 

"Yes, she is my mother. What is this about?" I bet she called out the police on me already. There was already a missing persons report out for me, but I couldn't have been gone that long?

"I'm sorry to tell you, Miss Rosen, but there has been an accident downtown. We need you to come to the morgue and identify the body."

"What?"

The room went silent.

"We tried to get a hold of you earlier and we sent people to your house but no one was there. You were the only one listed on her contact sheet as related."

The wind went quiet.

"What do you mean there was an accident?"

Even the birds stood still. All the while a sigh on the other end mocked my shock.

"Miss Rosen, Donna Rosen passed away earlier this evening. Normally I'm not aloud to tell next of kin over the phone but she was ID'd already. There wasn't much the paramedics could do once they got to the scene... We're very sorry for your loss, Miss Rosen." 

My heart dropped into the empty pit in my gravel assaulted stomach. The impact was so heavy it sent my whole body into a crumble. Legs, arms, back, and head caved in on itself like a fawn trying to walk for the first time. A loud ringing jolted through the world. It seemed all around like this surreal cosmic joke. This impending sense of doom didn't feel like it should. It didn't feel heavy or harsh. It felt quiet. It felt unreal.

"There wasn't anything you could-? B-But... How?"

"I'm so sorry for your loss." The voice replied factually. "Do you need me to send some officers over with you tonight? We could have you come in - in the morning."

"No. No! There is no way! There is no way! You have the wrong woman!" The reply to this messenger came out broken and blindly sure. I could feel hot salty tears coming down to my lips to cover my words. "Are you sure?"

"Again, we would like you to come sign some papers. Otherwise do you need someone to stay with you tonight? Do you have any relatives you can call?" 

"No... I'm fine..."

"Okay, I will call you in the morning to remind you of the appointment. 8AM at San Bernadino Hospital. I will be there to greet you. My name is Detective Carnahan."

"See you then." 

Click.

The fallow arid carpet beneath me stood still. It kept me above but not beyond the silence. The dread. No one moved. I sat there for a second, my ears ringing hot and my face flushed, attempting to recall the conversation I had just had. Somewhere in my mind it began to melt away as if it had been a dream. All the while my voice began to croak out the words as if it didn't believe them.

"She's... She's gone... She's gone!" I croaked out. My haze stayed near to the floor as I slowly found my way up. "My mom... She's gone..."

It barely sunk in. Just barely it made it skin deep. My head pounded making tears rush down my cheeks in a flood. My legs wobbled over to a seat on the bus bench just barely making it. A quick tumble to the seat and all I could think of were those words.

She's gone. She's dead. She's dead, Mia. Your mother is dead. No more cold pizza and long movie nights where she mimics the bad Kung Fu subtitles. No more dating lectures through email. No more lectures period. No more having to call the fire department every time she attempts to bake brownies. No more holy bracelets or beads.   Or late night talks. Or I love you's or I miss you's or goodbyes. My last goodbye was today... I didn't even give her a proper goodbye...

Tears were all my face had to offer. Nothing could stop them, not even the sleeve of Will Fabrae's shirt as he attempted to hold me close and rock me. I didn't care who was holding me though. All I needed was someone. I needed my mommy. I felt his thin fingers run through my messy hair and I closed my eyes trying not to let the wave of sobs hit. The tears streamed out in an unnending shock. A nick at my chin made me open my eyes as Jamie, amid the flood of tears, put his fingers to my chin and lifted my gaze to his. Like an adult to a child he smiled soft and firm.

"Mia. What happened?" He asked.

"My mom is dead. She's dead. They called I have to sign some papers or something. There was an accident! Who am I going to call? I have no one." I couldn't breath. Air was coming out in big waves.

"Take a deep breath." He breathed in keeping eye contact as I slowly followed along. "Okay, you can stay here tonight. We'll keep an eye on you and I'll go with you in the morning." 

"But I- I'm just someone- I'm just-"

"It's okay. You're a great someone. Just stay here tonight. I don't want you to be out there alone." He nodded. I took a deep breath and nodded in reply. "Here, I'll go get something for you to change into. Just wait here."

Jamie jumped to his feet and disappeared into the back of the bus leaving me with a very silent William Fabrae. 

"Your mother? How?" He asked slowly.

"I don't remember..." The thundering was making its way to a dull silence I had never felt before. The kind of internal emptiness that can't be described by any one thing. All the world was a doldrum. 

"Oh..." He mouthed. "Listen, I have to go find Jesse to make sure he's okay. Jamie is a great guy. I wouldn't expect him to come onto or anything like that. You're in good hands." Then he kneeled in front of me making me look directly into his piercing blue eyes. "Alright?"

"Alright."

"I will be back in the morning to check on you." Will gave me a curt nod and a soft pitying smile and backed out of the bus.

Some people are only good for hellos and goodbyes I guess.

Almost on cue Jamie Hart came through the door with a pair of shorts and a t-shirt in hand. 

"Here." He handed them to me. "What happened to Will?"

"He had to leave to check on Jesse..." I swallowed.

"Well, I am here." He smiled kindly. "Go change and I wont move a muscle."

I nodded and took the clothes from him. An hour later I somehow found myself in the bathroom changed. I don't know how I got there. I don't know how I changed or why I stood staring at my face in the mirror. It was as if someone pressed the 'fast forward' button on my life. There I was staring into a mirror looking at myself and seeing nothing of me. All I could see was my mother. All the traits I had inherited from her right there. A living breathing entity of her and for a moment I could feel she wasn't on this planet any longer. That there was nothing of her here except pieces of me in this mirror. My ears, my nose, my eyes, my frown... my tears... my mother...

Knock. Knock.

"Mia, are you okay?" 

I don't remember telling him my name... 

"I'm moving the curtain."

Jamie slowly moved the curtain that separated their small bathroom from the rest of the bus. It was so easy for him to just stroll forward and pull the curtain away. I knew I looked horrible. I mean, I was wearing some overly baggy shorts with blue stripes, a huge t-shirt that said, "The Doors" on it that came down to my thighs, and a pair of goofy flappy socks. Not to mention my tear stained face contorted by a shock of emotions that held it together, but all of that didn't stop Jamie Hart from pulling me off the top of the toilet seat and enveloping me in his arms.

"Shhhhhh.... It'll be okay..." He patted my back.

"No, no it wont... She's gone..." I sobbed into his shirt. "She's gone..."

I clutched onto him as he slipped his arm under the back of my legs and slowly lifted me up bridal style to the front of the bus. There he sat me down against him and pulled a thin blue blanket around my body. I cried until my mind went blank. Until I had cried so hard that I was hiccuping and there wasn't anything left in me to speak. He stroked my hair and asked nothing in return. He touched me gently as if he made wrong move I'd break into pieces. And he didn't move one inch until I had drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

I am not prepared to lose you. 

I am eternally shaking.

There are no words that could grasp it. No single piece of music or work of art that could describe this pain within me. It was like one day you were there and the next you were erased. And there was nowhere to find you and no place to go. My home, my life, taken in a single instant. A shot through the dark that destroyed something within me. 

You are erased and so I am erased with you.

Gone like a spec of sand through an hour glass.