Rosie
My phone was blowing up. Although I felt like my dad was doing everything that he possibly could to sway me away from chasing my dream, the video I’d posted the night before was instantly among my most successful. I read through the comments, feeling vaguely surreal.
Brilliant…unbelievably talented…incredible…destined for stardom… Not every single comment was positive, but the overwhelming response was. It felt good.
I shook my head. It was nice that strangers on the internet thought I had talent, but sometimes it felt like it would never translate into anything real. One day, I would need to get some real gigs, find some real fans, and sell some real records.
But in the meantime, I had another song to upload. It was a song that I’d been debating posting for a while, but because I felt like I was walking on air at the moment, I also had the confidence to post it. It was called ‘Child Support’. It was actually one of my favorite songs that I’d written, but it was so autobiographical that it was an act of vulnerability to share it with the world. As a result, the video was just a closeup of the guitar strings, rather than my face. I watched the video one last time before putting it up.
Three months in summer and every other December,
Calls on your birthdays, and maybe cards if he remembers.
It’s a perfect arrangement for a part-time father,
It’s a part-time arrangement without too much stress and bother.
Take-offs and landings,
taxi onwards to the gate,
There’s an unaccompanied minor,
flying in from out of state.
It’s all fun and entertainment in Anaheim and Hollywood.
It’s a picture-perfect time,
a picture-perfect childhood.
Then it’s back off to the airport,
bon voyage, auf wiedersehen.
When the tap turns off in August, it’s hand-me-downs and top ramen.
Take-offs and landings,
taxi onwards to the gate,
There’s an unaccompanied minor,
flying in from out of state.
In the meantime, mom was angry,
she said you never got the phone,
But you can’t read a clock yet
You don’t know about time zones.
And he will never dare discuss her.
But she won’t stop discussing him.
The rules are set in stone,
until they’re shifting on a whim.
Take-offs and landings,
taxi onwards to the gate,
There’s an unaccompanied minor,
Struggling beneath the weight.
She hates it when you go, she hates it more when you come back.
You grow up and start to wonder if you can dodge the counterattack.
It’s a perfect arrangement until you hit the runway.
It’s a part-time arrangement and you’re nothing but a stowaway.
You can’t love him if you love her.
You can’t love her if you love him.
The rules are set in stone,
Tied ‘round your ankle and you can’t swim.
Take-offs and landings,
taxi onwards to the gate.
There’s an unaccompanied minor,
Losing from your endless stalemate.
Back on the other coast and Autumn won’t be good.
She resents the fact you flew away,
And had a different childhood.
Because she hates him with a passion,
That’s stronger than her love for you.
And he must love that he’s set it all up,
Because you know he’s playing too.
I pressed the post button and felt like a weight I’d simply grown accustomed to had been lifted from my shoulders. There was no telling whether my parents knew about my YouTube channel. I’d certainly never told them, but they were both relatively resourceful. Still, I’d decided a long time ago that I wouldn’t let anyone else’s judgement censor my songwriting. If I ever opened that door, I’d never write a word.
Part of me wondered if Ryan knew about my YouTube channel. What had my father told him about me? What research had he done on his own? I’d only known him a few hours really, but I couldn’t believe that Ryan wasn’t the type of man who’d Google the woman he invited home. I mean, I was Googling him within the first five minutes. But then again, there was a lot I didn’t know about Ryan. Maybe he wasn’t nearly as interested in me as I was in him.