Page 3 of Sorry, We're Closed

The living room was dark with only the TV glaring throughout, but the sound has been muted. I watch her hand grasping and pushing every button on the side of the TV before it turns off, the room falling into the same darkness which plasters the night sky.

The sound of Mother dragging her feet and stumbling into the door frame echoes across the house. While I can't see her face, which is probably for the best with what I have caused tonight, I just know it would be filled with the tears from Father leaving, regret for never having taken a firm stance with me when growing up, and for allowing me to feel this way.

I could make out her figure as she struggles to pull herself to the front door, locking it after fumbling with the keys the same way she did with the TV. I wonder why she was struggling so much until I heard the clicking and ringing of glass on every wall she passes. Father's whiskey. Something he only treats—treated himself to on special occasions, but this bottle was nearly finished.

“Sawyer.”

Barely being able to make out where her face is, but I could tell by the smell, she slurs, “Why you did what you did, I'll never know, but this will be discussed when I am ready.”

My mouth dries, and my eyes begin to fill again with the salted waters which had been with me all night, but I could not argue. I could not try to explain myself, and only a few words could spill past my lips. “Yes Mother, goodnight.”

I was left on my own for the rest of the night. Mother hesitantly drags her legs up the stairs, each one followed with a hiccup of some form, until their—her bedroom door is shut, and her sobbing fills the house once more. I follow her, dragging myself back to the room which I had confined myself to that whole night, and as soon as my body hits the bed, everything and anything that had happened that night, the emotional weight of everything Ihad caused, fell on top of me.

As the memory continues to play, the realisation begins to settle in my mind that tomorrow’s shift is going to be a tiring one.

Two

Avory

Uncle Marcus’ driving has always been awful, no matter how much he prides himself on it. Forceful braking, skimming curbs and always parking at a massive angle, no matter the size of the space he’s parking in. He swings out of the car park, the contents of the van swinging from one side to another with a screech against the metal flooring.

“Marcus! We kind of need stock for the shop, don't break it!”

A bellowing laugh leaves Marcus’ mouth as he takes a hand from the wheel to adjust his salt and pepper hair in the van's side mirror, sweeping it all on top of his head.

“Avory my lad, all the stock is in my name, that falls on me if anything breaks. How are your lyrics coming along?”

He signals to the notepad I've had bouncing on my leg since we left our latest performance grounds – a cider and beer festival with small indie bands performing throughout to crowds of drunkards and dancers.

We definitely looked out of place there as a punk rock band, but we need to get used to festival atmospheres instead of pubs and clubs like we have been doing, because that’s our end goal. It had always been Uncle Marcus’ end goal, and it became mine when I officially joined the band over three years ago, at only eighteen years old.

“You tell me, Marcus. How well do you think you can sing scribbled out words and random doodles?”

Marcus clears his throat, grabs his bottle of water we bought at a petrol station a few hours back, bringing the cap up to his mouth like it was a microphone and proceeds to sing my exact words, scribbled out words and random doodles.

“Now Avory, I would never lie to you, but it's not your best work.” Marcus struggles to finish his sentence before laughing, my hand becoming a fist and lightly punching his arm as I laugh along with him.

Marcus and I have always had an easy-going lifestyle which has been brimming with banter, music and travelling. Marcus taught me guitar from the day he took me in at ten years old, then the drums from thirteen, and everything I needed to know about being in a band alongside the other members who had moved on.

I learnt from each and every one of them, yet once Marcus decided it was time for us to travel, that the band needed new land and needed to conquer new heights, that's when we packed up and never looked back. We always talk about how amazing it would've been if the whole band could've come along with us, but this was more of a fun evening once a week for them, but for us, we wanted more than just the same locals every performance.

We want new ears to bless every week, every day eventually, and the guys were more than encouraging for us to go. They knew how much this meant to Marcus and with everything he did for me, the man who always said he wasn't made to settle down with a family or kids, it's what we needed.

Joining him was just the beginning of my gratitude to Marcus for introducing me to something I never knew I needed – music. I am always buzzing with excitement when a new town is coming up for us. That means new venues, faces, chances at someone important seeing us live.

“So, what's the plan for this new place? How long are we looking at? Festivals or pubs? You never actually told me the name of this town.”

“Tetherton. It's a small coastal town, quite cosy with not too many pubs, but the ones it does have are huge and well equipped for hosting live music. Tetherton is smack bang in the middle of a load of festival grounds and has its own festival; Tetherton’s Farewell to Summer Nights! I tried to get us a spot, but they were fully booked within minutes of opening their applications, but I’m sure I’ll find us a way!”

Marcus shoots me a wink as he continues, “I've got us a small unit in the centre of town to set up the shop and then a flat above, sound alright?”

A calmer town sounds nice for a change. I’m always one for the loud, crowded audiences, because I don't mind the attention, no matter who it’s from, but having a calmer environment for a change would be a great opportunity to focus on creating some new material for Bright Lights.

“Sounds great, maybe I’ll actually end up getting something on this notepad.”

Marcus’ hand slowly drifts to his water bottle again before I grab his wrist to stop him.

“I promise I'll write something better!”

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