Page 24 of Pierce Me

(I’m sure she never even noticed she went viral, again).

My mom is a cellist. She is one of the most brilliant and famous classical musicians the world has to offer right now. And my brother was offered the position of assistant professor at a music college in New York when he was just sixteen. He is an even bigger prodigy than my mom.

Yes, I’m the stupid one in my family.

And yet, I am the one with the global fame. I am the one who has to have at least six guards positioned around my house at all times to protect me from the rabid fans.

I am the ‘Prince of Pop’ according to Rolling Stone. I, the idiot.

Isaiah: Hey mom.

I don’t call her, because I have no idea where she is or what she’s doing. She might be doing anything from final rehearsals or playing in a concert or taking a quick nap between classes. She’s on the other side of the Atlantic as well, touring Stockholm, Vienna and Warsaw for Christmas concerts.

She replies almost instantly.

Mom: How are you, baby? Did the show go ok?

Isaiah: Yeah, it went great. How are you?

Mom: Everything is all right, Isaiah. I am doing well.

Isaiah: Good. I’m glad.

Mom: You’re worrying about me again.

Isaiah: It’s in the job description.

Mom: It’s really not.

Isaiah: ...

Mom: You ok, honey?

Isaiah: Well, let’s see. All kinds of no.

Mom: Talk to me, kid.

Isaiah: I’m supposed to come up with a new album before the European tour. Or at least seven songs.

Mom: Oh no, are they forcing you to do what you do better than anyone else in the whole world?

Haha, very funny. I chuckle wryly to myself but my throat is shredded to pieces—we had five encores instead of the usual two—so it comes out as a cough.

Isaiah: I don’t enjoy writing under pressure.

Mom: Play nice with your friends.

I chuckle again. She’s always trying to make me laugh. And I’m such a difficult, horrible son to her. I keep falling apart on her. And right now, I’m being such a drama queen. Then again, if I can’t be a drama queen to my mom, when can I be one?

But she has been the strong one for too long.

It’s her turn to need help.

Isaiah: Never.

My messages are starting to blow up like crazy with Christmas wishes and congratulation for the end of the US leg of the tour. I turn the notifications off.

Mom: I wish I could help you more, sweetheart. Call your brother?

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