Jon woke up in a sleepy daze after his father pounded on his bedroom door as he shouted, “Jon, you little bastard, get out here,” in a very annoyed voice. He lazily pulled himself out of bed, past his drum set, and walked through his door.
“What time did you get home?” his father asked.
“Around midnight or so, the gig went a little long,” replied Jon, as he lied through his teeth.
“Bull, shit. Don’t lie in my house,” confidently stated the interrogator.
“You will get home on time after playing your crap music. Seriously, shape up, do something better with your time,” calmly insulted his father, as he walked out of the hallway down the stairs. Jon simply shrugged it off, nothing new to him.
Ever since his mom died, his father had grown more and more hateful as time passed by. Jon thought that it was good that at least he hasn’t gotten an addiction to anything, as most people that pissed off at life do (to Jon’s knowledge anyway). He had respected his father in the earlier years of his life, but eventually vowed to never end up like his father later on – this was around the time Jon started to drum.
He crawled back to bed when his alarm interrupted the short, desperate attempt to sleep for just a few more minutes. Mornings were not his thing – most times he never even knew what day it was. A calendar lay, disorganized next to his drum set beside his bed. On this, the audition date was circled many times over. He looked at this calendar for a quick minute and finally realized that it was Monday.
It took a minute to put two and two together, but eventually he realized that he had school (again, mornings aren’t his best time), no matter how tired he was. ‘The world doesn’t stop for you, so you’d better catch the bus and get to the destination quicker than them,’ was a quote from his father (from when he was happier) that had always stuck whenever Jon had doubts in education, or his father for that matter.
Taking his time, Jon slothfully prepared to go to school with all the usual things – he showered, brushed his teeth, fixed his hair, packed his bag, and other typical, everyday things. He picked up his sticks last, placed them in his bag, hopped down the stairs, and shouted, “Leaving now,” to his dad in the next room. It wasn’t exactly an emotionally touching moment like you’d see in nearly every single movie, as his father replied (without missing a beat), “Don’t screw up today.”
As he stepped out the door, into the wider world around him, he simply whispered, “f--k,” as the bus drew farther and farther in the distance – he had missed it (which is quite hard when the stop is right in front of your house). The cool, fresh spring air whipped past Jon’s ears as he sprinted towards the ever-moving bus. It was a 30-minute ride to school, and he really didn’t feel like paying for gas that day, when the bus was seemingly so close from him. Step after step he ran, hoping that the bus was getting ever closer.
He pushed himself farther and farther. One, two, one, two, his feet tapped in rhythm as they struck the sidewalk below him (of course, a drummer would hear it slightly different, as every rushed footstep is never perfectly in rhythm with the last). After a few last frantic steps, he gave up as he turned back the way he came to get his own car. He let out a sigh as he ran.
A few dozen fast close calls later, he arrived at the school, alive (but a little rattled, due to the fast speed he needed to drive to make it on time). He exited his car, locked it, and headed to the school chapel for the daily announcement, hymns, and so forth. On the way, a few people criticized his ‘ride’, as it wasn’t quite the overpriced luxury sports car most of the people there got.
He had always thought that the world was so ‘fake’, in the way that everything is never what it appears to be. Behind every face in the crowd there was a story, some secret they’ve covered up at one point or another. Behind all these spoiled brats was a story – some filled with values lost along the road of life, and others just plain unsatisfying. As Jon began to believe this in life, he lost interest in regular social topics such as clothes, cars, shoes, girls, and all those other common topics (at least at his school). It was all too superficial, too fake to reveal whom one actually was. When you left high school, you knew less about the true essence of what goes into those fellow students’ personalities than you’d know what stores they like.
This belief swept through his mind as it erased everything he thought he knew about life – the majority of people sickened him at his school, so he really didn’t care what anyone said. Combined with the desensitizing of his father’s hate, made Jon quite passive in social situations. To those who criticized his ‘ride’, he simply kept on walking.
He plopped into one of the back pews next to his usual group of friends – fellow musicians who were in the majority of his classes mostly were in his group of school friends. In a community like this, everyone liked to believe they were friends with everyone, so that also impacted the day-to-day life at the school (one large popularity contest is what Jon thought it was).
Jon sat quietly, as he twirled his thumbs through the entire thing – some guest speaker talking about working hard to achieve what you like, same old, same old. Eventually, it was time to exit and go to his first class of the day, and the one he enjoyed most, music.
/ my profile 
