The longer he lived in the dorms, the more he hated going home. He loved his parents, but he hated their rules. He hoped that Dahlia would be home from school when he got there; he missed her more than he missed anything else from home. Since they grew up together, in the same house, with the same parents, it just seemed like she understood things about him that nobody else could. If he went to her with a problem he knew that she wouldn’t tell anybody else about it, and for some reason he knew that talking to her wouldn’t make him feel half as pathetic as when he had talked to Matt the day before.
He pulled into the driveway and took his keys out of the ignition, sitting there for a moment and preparing himself for the masses of questions and advice that were going to be thrown at him by his parents. He reluctantly got out and put his keys in his pocket, then headed for the door.
As soon as he closed the front door behind him, he heard a familiar “Shane! You’re home!” and his mother ran out to greet him.
He forced a smile, “Hi Mom. I just needed to pick up a few things.”
“Well how are your classes? Are you eating okay? Do you have everything that you need?” she began. She was the typical worrying mom, which was great because Shane knew how much she cared about him, but he couldn’t help feeling annoyed by all of the questions.
“I’m fine, Mom, everything’s fine,” he said, heading for the stairs. He had to pass Dahlia’s room to get to his own, and when he stopped in front of the door he noticed that it was closed and he could faintly hear music coming from the inside. He smiled to himself and knocked a little rhythm on the door. He expected the usual – a smiling face and a hug. Instead, Dahlia opened the door, she stood there for a moment, looking at him with the phone to her ear, then she rolled her eyes and shut the door again.
Shane stood there, confused, staring at the shut door. Just last week they were as close as ever, and now Dahlia seemed put out of her way to even say hello to him. He squinted at the door for a second, as if looking at it hard enough might reveal a clue to his sister’s strange behavior, but nothing came to mind.
He slowly made his way to his room, stuffing some clothes and his microphone into a bag, and glancing around for anything else he could pick up now so that he wouldn’t have to return in the near future. He put a few more odds and ends into his bag, then made his way downstairs, trying hard not to glance at his sister’s door. Shane stood by the front door, “Hey Mom! I’m leaving!” he yelled.
His mother rushed out again like before, “Oh, Shane! Good luck with school!” she said as she hugged him. He hugged her back, forced a smile, then was on his way.
‘Good luck with school’ echoed in his mind. Yeah, school was a big deal, but what about the things that Shane really cared about? Why not ‘Good luck with your band!’ or ‘Good luck with your show!’? He knew he was lucky that his mother cared about him the way she did, but he felt that she cared for something that she didn’t really know. She was proud of him going to college, proud of what he’d been able to do, but was she at all proud of who he was or who he had become?
He sighed at the road stretched out in front of his car. He knew that being onstage later would help his mood, it was like being able to scream what you were feeling at the top of your lungs and know that people were listening, know that they felt it.
