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Liam

My name is Liam, a name that hides a profound significance. I’m the first born, and after my birth three other children arrived, all of them rigorously masculine. My mother never had a moment’s peace in the house, but we love her and notwithstanding the years of migraines we caused her, as well as a nervous breakdown, she loves us all indiscriminately.

My family is one of those staunch Irish Catholic profound believers in the faith. My parents always wanted a large family and they were convinced that after me, there would be other children. That’s why I, as the first-born child, was given this name.

Liam, meaning protector.

And that’s what I’ve been doing since I was born. I’m 29 years old, and I’ve spent all of this time defending my brothers, my friends and those weaker than me.

At school, I was always getting into trouble. My primary occupation was hunting down bullies: those who pick on the next guy just because he’s more fragile, more timid, defenseless. I spent more time in the Principal’s office or in detention after school than I did in class.

No, I’m not a tough guy, courageous or even a beacon of justice. I’m just a guy who doesn’t like assholes and enjoys putting them in their place.

I became man of the house too soon: at 16 years old, I was already taking care of all of them. My father was a useless drunk who’d do anything to avoid a bit of work and who disappeared one day and whom no one misses. He wasn’t a bad man, but he was good for nothing and he spent his money and energy at the pub with his friends rather than providing for his family.

My mother always tried to give us everything we needed. She split herself between two jobs to send us all to school, to buy us clothes, books and some little extras when the tips were good.

I quit school early, thinking that she’d have less problems if I didn’t go to college, giving someone else the chance to go, someone who earned it more than I did. I helped her the best I could: doing little evening jobs in the neighborhood, home deliveries, being a car-wash boy. Indeed, doing anything that would allow me to bring home a bit of money at the weekend for our family.

My little brother Neil was a good guy. We were inseparable. When we were kids, he followed me everywhere. I was his idol. He was frequently the target of bullies at school and I took care of him. I made sure nobody bothered him.

For me, music has always been everything. I’ve been playing since I was six years old and my dad gave me my first guitar. When he was still a father.

I put a group together of neighborhood kids: my best friends, Aaron, Jason, Patrick and obviously Neil. I was the one who started in music. Even though I was the one who introduced Neil to my world, and even though he was the youngest and most inexperienced, he became the front-man we needed. He was hands-down the best of us and now I’m the only one left.

But I wasn’t able to take his place, I’m not up to the task, but I made a promise, I made him a promise and I promised myself and I’m not going to go back on it.

He’s not here any more and now I’ve got to fix things. I spent every moment with my friends since the age of ten. We shared passion, loneliness, and the fear that the only place in the world for us was the basement of our house. And it was within those walls where we grew up, and our friendship bloomed day after day, becoming one with the music. We had ambitious dreams and big ideas to chase after, and we did so.

Then, it all ended one rainy night at the end of summer.

One damned mistake.

Our lives stopped, leaving us on standby, but I’m the one who pulled out, I’m the one who left, who abandoned everyone, who put himself before everything else.

I hid the pain under the dust, I held my tears and the suffering for what I had lost. I transformed all of it into rage and frustration and turned these feelings into energy, courage and determination. I funneled all of my emotions and myself into the music.

I didn’t have anything else left.

I grabbed the first chance I got and I threw myself into it without regret. At least that’s what I told myself for two years, but it was just an illusion, a life wrapped up for me by someone else.

It’s not what I really wanted. Not like that. Not without him. I made one mistake after another and I thought that I had just about reached the end. Almost hoped I had. I would have done anything to not remember, to not see her in front of me every fucking night.

And yet here I am. Once again, it hasn’t gone like I had hoped.

Another mistake, Liam.

Seems like I can’t avoid it. I made a mistake that time, and then I made another mistake, but I swore to myself that I would not commit any more errors.