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| Not exactly what you would expect from a future rock star's house. |
I soon found a house that I can afford a few blocks across the city hall. It's quite small and only has three rooms, each only spacious enough to accommodate the bare necessities. Of all things, I decided immediately to invest in a good bed because in my future life as a musician (hopefully), I will need a whole lot of good sleep if I want to be well-inspired to write epic song after epic song. I also invested in the best shower because of all things I hate, it's a cold shower in the early mornings. Furthermore, I purchased a fancy stove that does not start fires when I cook. It even comes with a free cookbook for starters.
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| The house's exterior |
However, those big decisions left me with a cheap refrigerator that makes my leftovers taste like everything else in the fridge.
This really isn't a house anyone would expect from someone who came from the Sanderson legacy, that family from New York which is over thrice as wealthy as the Alto family, the richest ones in the new place I've moved to.
After a few tiring hours of moving furniture around, I lay down on my new (more comfortable) bed. I didn't even have enough energy to go on further and attach all the band posters I have brought with me onto my bedroom wall. The plain, tan walls of the bedroom sure feel new to me because I've already been so used to the dark gray, band poster-laden walls of my college dorm room and the ornate wallpaper with fancy, ancient-looking wainscots from my old room in the Sanderson legacy home. At least my back is feeling the nostalgic comfort of a luxurious canopy bed again after two years lying down on what is just a thin mattress over a brass skeleton of a bed frame just like those in prisons. My mother once told me that all of them had to go through dorm life as a rite of passage in order for all of us to experience being at the bottom for at least four years and how it is to rise through the ranks just like everyone else would have to so that we would know how to justly treat our employees when we all become CEOs someday, well at least not me. One thing about the Sanderson Corporation though is that all employees are justly treated and well-paid for a good job.
Still, I've already moved away from that life as the heiress of the business and into the life of an average girl in the west coast who aspires to become a rock star someday. I don't want to just be in this for the money. Well, okay, money is a good thing, but there are more important things in life than those greens.What I really want in life is to make a difference. I want to inspire someone. I want to save a life. I want to prove that success does not necessarily always come in the form of a statuesque lady or gentleman in a leather suitcase filled with millions of simoleons but in the form of genuine happiness. I want to reach out to my future fans in the same way that all the bands I am a fan of have reached out to me even if I have never met some of them and even if they have never known about my existence at all.
The best feeling in the world is for me to know that someone out there has recovered from an eating disorder, coped with the psychological impact of some serious disease such as cancer, quit cutting, or turned away from suicidal thoughts all because of my music. I do not plan at all to mass-produce stuff that most pop musicians 'sing' about nowadays in a voice that sounds like that of a kid speaking in front of an electric fan- things such as money, getting wasted, or partying. I want to prove that rock stars are not always about those superficial things or even getting stoned even if I am a Green Day (a band that got their name from the term that defines 'a day spent doing nothing but smoking weed') fan.
I wasn't able to really get into deep sleep right away as all these thoughts about what I hope for my future ran through my head like a sports car racing uninterruptedly through a smooth, empty highway.
The next day, the first thing I did was to go straight to the theater, the only place that would possibly accept a heavily-tattooed girl in a rebellious rock star vest. That would be where I would start my dreams and see my first sunrise over Sunset Valley, my new home, one that is far away from everything that my mom wants me to live for.
Besides, I don't even know anyone here yet so I don't have anyone to start a band with. So far, I haven't really met anyone who shares my music taste and is musically inclined. Besides, back in high school, no one would want to start a band with me because I never really was good enough at playing any instrument. The only thing I could do back then was play a few generic chords on an acoustic guitar. I only gained some skill with enough practice during my dorm days, and I only felt confident enough to perform in the streets three-fourths through freshman year. Day in, day out, when there are no home works or term papers to work on, I would play the guitar until my fingers almost bled.
I entered the auditioning room in the theater. It was nothing but a small room of just plain white, eerily similar to an asylum. The only things inside were a brown wooden stool, a microphone, a table with papers and bottles of water on them, and a folding chair. A young brown-haired man sat cross-legged on the folding chair. He looked quite average to me, red checkered jacket and all. He didn't really look to me like someone in the music industry. He looked more like he should be in car retail.
"Ah! There you are! Auditionee number 1,724! Okay, Ms... Sanderson," the brown-haired man said. "Play any song that you know on your guitar and sing."I decided to play a song that I've already mastered by heart, 21 Guns by Green Day. I sat on the stool, adjusted the microphone, and started playing. He just sat there quietly, scrutinizing me from head to foot, and often staring at my hands to look at my strumming technique. He would occasionally close his eyes to feel the song and he would even nod his head to the beat. All throughout the five minutes that I played, he did not say a word or even clap. He would also write stuff on the papers and drink the water. The only audible thing all throughout was just me and my guitar. The room was soundproof so neither of us could hear anything downstairs where there are often rehearsals for plays.
"So, how was it?" I asked. I was shaking in nervousness because this was so much like an American Idol audition to me, only, this will determine whether I will get the job or not. In the past, I never really considered auditioning because my mom wouldn't want that for me. She doesn't want me to quit school for something I would never have a sure future in.The room was silent for about thirty seconds. He was sorting out what seemed to be his observations of me as he read the paper and summarized in his mind what he will tell me.
"You are pretty good," he said. "You already have the looks, but you lack the experience of a true stage performer. Practice some more and you will someday become a rock star. You need to build up your confidence a bit more because you need that if you want to assert yourself and to draw in the crowd to your mosh pits. That means, you will get the job, but you will have to start from the very beginning, impossibly far away from the stage. You will be assigned to a band and be their roadie. Your job is to observe how they rock and they roll because someday, you will be on that stage. Aside from that, you will also have to know the technical thingamajigs of the stage, controls, and microphone checks. You will also help carry their equipment. As for the band, don't expect too much yet, but I promise you that they are really nice, friendly folks. Oh, by the way, I'm Stiles McGraw, your talent scout, even if I don't really look like one. Even my roommates think I should be in car retail."
