18 January 2014

"It's an American tragedy, as I float away into the Dead Sea-"

Lottie felt weightless.

"You got me flowers and sweets, but baby all I need are the beats-"

Her eyes were closed, shielding them from the bright stage lights but she could still feel the heat of them and her skin felt warm and sticky from sweat.

"And I'd give you a second go, but I've realized that even weeds grow."

She opened her eyes, looking over the crowd of two-hundred plus people that cheered and screamed her own lyrics back. Her fingers easily maneuvered around the fret board of her black acoustic guitar, letting the rhythms and flow of the piano in the background overcome her during these last few seconds. This was one of her last shows.

Ever, she would soon come to realize after she walked off the stage.

"Cut you from my garden, I've got a pretty pick . . . just remember that you're the one that couldn't take the hint."

Her fingers were splayed out now, letting the guitar fade out into the screams and claps and demands of an encore. She raises her head, slightly shielding her eyes from the bright stage lights, and waves to the crowd.

"Thank you, Pomona! I'll be seeing you again soon!"

She lies, to hundreds of kids and people who love her music and know her lyrics by heart. Lottie lies through her clenched teeth and gives them a tired, shaky smile before moving her guitar strap so it isn't around her body anymore. Lottie gives one last wave before walking off the stage and to the back room that she had all her cases in. The next act was setting up as Lottie found herself sitting in the bathroom floor, crying.

There were only three shows left on her schedule until she would need a manager to help her book more gigs, but they were spread out over the next two months, two at a festival and one just a local show, and Lottie didn't know if she was going to be able to sing by the last booking. What if that six months turned into a week? It was unlikely, she had been told, but six months was just a rough estimate if nothing bad happened. It could be four months. Or three.

Or tomorrow.

"Hey, where's Didaktik's dressing room?"

Lottie quickly wiped her cheeks free of tears and quickly stood up, straightening her crop top and unwrinkling her shorts. From the tattoos, she didn't seem like the girl to play acoustic guitar and sing about heart break and being young and living each day like it was the last. But she was, and her stage name fit well. (It was a rewritten form of didactic, meaning to teach with a moral understanding being an ulterior motive. That's what all her songs encased, after all.)

The door opens and in walks a smiling Mike, dressed in his usual tank top, skinny jeans and snapback. His sunglasses are hanging from the collar of his shirt, shining slightly in the dim room lighting.

"Lottie! That was an fucking amazing show."

Mike grins, happy to see his best friend, the girl that beat him up in middle school and had to give him a written apology, which he still had in a box somewhere at his mom's house, and hugs her. She's slightly sweaty, but it's nothing he doesn't mind. He's used to giving her post-show hugs when he's soaked in his own sweat from drumming.

"Thanks, Mikey," she mumbles, resting her chin on his shoulder as he hugs her. "You're the best."

He chuckles and slowly rubs her back with his hand, his warm skin catching slightly on her own when his fingers brush where the fabric of her crop top stops. Mike pulls away and sits on the small black couch in the room, stretching his legs out. The room is so small, however, the bottoms of his Vans touch he opposite wall and he leaves them resting right there without a care.

"I know," Mike says cheekily, grabbing one of the bottles of water on the nearby table. Lottie rolls her eyes and opens up her guitar case, putting away her instrument and locking it in safely. "Oh! Hey, you're coming back to my place, right?"

Lottie raises an eyebrow before shrugging and sitting beside him on the small couch. "I guess, yeah. Why, what's up?"

Mike just grins more, before standing and pulling Lottie with him. "Well c'mon, I got a surprise for you! Grab your shit."

Lottie stares confused at her best friend but packs away her guitar and grabs her two small bags. Mike slings the guitar case over his shoulder, smiling as he lets her leave the small dressing room first; a smile that she tries to match but she's tired from the show and from the small cry she had just cut short because of Mike.

The shiny white Cadillac that Mike has driven for almost two years now since he got enough money to pay for it from the sales he made off of Collide with the Sky, sits waiting for them in a no parking zone and a pissed off cop writing a parking ticket. Lottie rolls her eyes, not surprised at the incident and watches for a full thirty seconds of Mike and the officer arguing before she goes over, accepts the ticket and tells Mike to drive.

The drive is filled with Mike talking over the radio about how stupid it is that he got a ticket when he was gone five minutes (even though he wasn't because that would mean he didn't watch Lottie's show and that means he would be lying and Michael never lied to her because that's not what best friends do).

Pomona was a two hour drive back south to San Diego, and Lottie did not even realize that she had fallen asleep during the drive until she heard a loud shout from Mike and the white Cadillac went swerving into another lane. She jumps up, her groggy eyes taking in the whole sight as she watches two cars collide to her right. There is a burst of sparks and the sound of crashing metal almost covers the sound of her mini-heart attack. Almost.

Mike pulls off over to the side, his arms shaking but his hand gripping the thin leather wheel firmly. He stares at the dials on the dash, and the static from not changing the radio channel fills their ears like their heartbeat.

"Are you okay?" Mike asks, looking at Lottie, but his voice shows he's almost out of breath like he just ran a marathon.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Are you?" Lottie replies, realizing just how small her voice sounds compared to the honking of car horns and the few other people that have stopped and ran to the two cars to see if they can help them.

Mike nods, closing his eyes and takes a few deep, uneven breaths. His arms stop shaking, but his fingers are turning a pale skin tone from the lack of circulation.

"Mike, relax," Lottie says softly, grabbing onto one of his hands. His eyes snap back open and he stares at her hands on his, thoughts obviously running through his head. "What happened?" Lottie asks, trying to get his mind on one topic.

"The black truck started swerving and there was a car trying to pass it and the truck hit it and oh my god, Lottie that could have been us."

Lottie's heart clenches, but she keeps calm and looks at the green highway sign.

"Hey, we're almost back to your place. Do you want me to drive?"

Mike nods, and releases his hands from the steering wheel. Lottie steps out of the car and goes around the front, but Mike never moves from his spot. She opens the door and gently pushes him, hoping he'll scoot over the bed seat and into his new spot on the passenger side. He does so, slowly, and when Lottie takes her seat, Mike grabs her hand and holds it tight. He looks straight, not at her, but she feels his gaze whenever she's looking back at the road.

"That could have been us," Mike says again, just as Lottie pulls off on the interstate exit that is ten miles from Mike's coast house that he shares with his brother and two close friends. Lottie squeezes his hand and looks his way when she pulls up to a red light.

"But it wasn't, Mikey," Lottie reassures him. He looks to her, eyes still lost in thought. "We're okay. We were careful and you did the right thing to swerve. You saved both of our lives," she says, squeezing his hand one last time. "Thank you."

The light turns green, and it is a silent fifteen minute ride through the coast houses of San Diego before Lottie pulls into the almost packed driveway. She turns off the ignition and looks at the many vehicles, trying to find familiar ones. She does.

"Are you having some kind of party?" Lottie asks as she steps out of the car. Mike is right back at her side as she slips his keys into the pocket of his pants and his hand finds hers again.

"Yeah, you'll see," Mike says, his voice back to its usual volume and he starts to walk with that same swagger he had before they left the venue in Pomona. Inside the house is filled with soft music and loud chatter.

"Lottie!" they all shout, and the singer is surprised at just how many people there are. Every surface of the house seems to be covered with some kind of board game and alcoholic beverage. Lottie looks up to Mike, who grins, and holds out a small plastic bag to her. She takes it, unsure of where it came from (and she's happy, but surprised, to see his mood change so quickly), and looks inside.

"You're gonna need to wear that before you see the main event," he tells her. Inside is a plain white bikini top and white shorts. Both do little to cover her inked skin.

When she looks back around, pretty much everyone else is wearing something similiar. (The guys in white tanks and black gym shorts while the girls wear the exact same thing as her.)

Lottie looks over at Mike only to find him gone and his black snapback sitting on one of the table beside the front door.

"Lottie!" Jessica says happily, handing over a fresh bottle of Corona; Lottie's favorite beer. "C'mon, go change. Mike wants us to do the twister first before we play games in here."

Lottie's brows furrow and she has a slight frown as Jessica pushes her toward the small downstairs bathroom just outside the kitchen. There she smells popcorn, Vic's famous salsa, and shrimp kabobs.

After changing from her show attire, Lottie walks out barefooted in the white shorts and the white bikini top. Mike is standing with the rest of the guys, a red cup full of whiskey and coke, she is for sure of, in his hand and a smile on his face. It's a definite change from the last stretch of the drive that she had to do because he had been so shaken up. Lottie was glad that he had been worried around her well being, and she knew that this smile was just a slight cover up to how he had been acting earlier. This wasn't the end. It would be a matter of time before the alcohol he was shoving down his throat would break the temporary wall he had built.

"So, what's this I hear about twister?" Lottie says, drinking another swallow of her Corona. Mike is instantly by her side, walking her out to the back yard where everyone is soon crowding around what seems to be a simple twister mat.

"I had to look up what messy twister was," Mike says, before grabbing a bottle of paint from a plastic bag near the mat and proceeds to squirt out almost half the bottle on to one of the many circles.

"Mike! Why are you putting blue paint on a red circle?" Lottie asks, and he looks down at the circle before laughing and admitting his mistake.

"Whoops!" he says loudly before grabbing more bottles and squirting more puddles of mix-matching paint on the squares. Lottie laughs before grabbing a bottle and doing the same. Casey, Chris and Erin all grab a bottle too, filling in the last of the circles before Tony grabs the spinner and starts calling out positions.

"Right hand, green!" He says, and Lottie has to make everyone stop before they can even start.

"Wait! Does it mean that circle or that paint color?" She asks, and the all think on it before Chris says;

"The circle."

Everyone agrees before Lottie takes over a corner circle and feels the yellow paint squish underneath her fingers.

"This feels so weird," Erin says, Chris seconding the statement before everyone searches for a red circle to put their left foot on.

"Get your ass out of my face!" Mike yells at Chris, who proceeds to laugh and wiggle it before Mike uses his free hand to push him over. He goes falling, taking Erin and Lottie with him.

"I win!" Mike shouts, thrusting his hands in the air before Lottie and Erin push the drummer, making him fall and splatter more paint. The two girls laugh before they go to grab more paint to refill the messed up squares. The next group of four takes over while Lottie drinks the last of her Corona and drinks from Mike's red plastic cup.

"Easy, little lady, that's my al-key-hall," the younger Fuentes says, grabbing Lottie around the waist and picking her up from behind, pressing his paint covered tank into her bare back. She squeals, shouting that it is cold, but drinks more from his cup. "Hey!" he shouts, before releasing one arm from her and grabbing the cup, proceeding to drink what was left from Lottie's stolen sips.

Lottie is put back on her feet when the third group goes onto the mat, but Mike keeps his arm around her waist.

"Where's Alysha?" she asks, noticing that Mike's blonde model arm candy wasn't at the small fun party that the Fuentes were currently hosting.

"She's out of town for the week," Mike says, shrugging and watching as Jaime and Vic fight for the winner's spot on the third group.

"Hey, Mike, you got some paint on your face," Jaime says after he won the third round. Mike frowns and reaches up to pat his cheek before the cool, slimy texture of paint comes pouring down from above. Lottie squeals loudly, running away and the splash catches her back and hair. Mike yells loudly, trying to get the paint out of his eyes. Casey is standing above them on the deck, holding a large bucket of purple paint.

"Casey, you're dead!" Mike yells and starts to chase him into the house. Lottie is silently glad that most of the house is tile and hardwood, and not carpet. It would be almost impossible to clean Mike's obvious paint foot prints and drips otherwise. "That's right, asshole, you better run!"

"Having fun?" Erin asks, and Lottie grins and nods. She takes another bottle of Corona from the cooler sat on the deck, able to just barely reach for it.

Lottie actually forgets about the countdown for six months, and she couldn't be happier about it.

Notes

DiDAKTiK

Lottie's List

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