“Yeah, I get that,” I said. “Sorry. I won’t show it to her again.”
“Thank you for understanding that, honey.” She paused. “Now, I guess I have a question for you. Did something happen? Anything you want to talk to me about? I have to admit I’m having a bit of difficulty understanding you right now.”
Part of me wanted to tell her about Brandi, about the confrontation, about how stupid and helpless I had felt. That would make her feel better. That would give her an explanation. It might even have made me feel better too. “No. Nothing happened.”
“It’s just that all year you wanted to write, be alone in your room, which is fine. I would have liked it if you’d met a friend or two, but we didn’t let it worry us because you’ve always just been so happy doing your own creative thing. We support that. But . . . I guess I’m just trying to say that if you want to talk about anything with me, or with your dad, you can.”
“Mom. It’s just a CD. Please don’t worry.” I appreciated that my mother was concerned. I wanted to reassure her that everything was fine. Because everything was fine. In fact, I had hope that everything was going to be much better than before.
THREE
I spent that summer in transition. I devoured that Die Every Death CD and investigated other bands, getting into Bloodvomit and Goreceps next. I didn’t hide my purchases from my parents, and they tried to be good natured about it. When I brought home the Goreceps album Excrement from Birth, my dad even tried to have a laugh about it.
“Goreceps? That’s like ‘forceps,’ right? That’s sort of clever,” he said. My mother said nothing. I knew she was disgusted. But to me, it was funny. It didn’t speak to them on any level other than how scary and inappropriate it was. But to me, it was power. It was anger. It was creative. And it was tongue-in-cheek in some ways. I mean, you can’t name your band Goreceps without acknowledging it’s kind of a funny name.
I started really focusing on the lyrics of the songs, which thankfully were included in the CD jackets. I was grateful that you could rarely make out what the vocalists sang; my parents definitely didn’t need to know.
One of the DED songs really stood out to me. “I Ignore Your Screams” painted a picture of where I wanted to be.
Standing on your face
Crushing all your dreams
Put you in your place
I ignore your screams
Who’s the big shot now
On the winning team?
You fucking little cow
I ignore your screams
Beg, beg, beg
I show no mercy for the wicked I am the cruellest of them all Is it bad that I’d listen to that song and imagine another confrontation with Brandi? Of course, I would never carry out anything violent. And neither would the vocalist from DED, Balthazar Seizure. He understood what it was: a fantasy. It wasn’t madness and blood lust and something for parents to worry about. It was empowering. It was going to make me stronger. And it sure made me feel very pleased to picture myself standing on Brandi’s stupid face.
Most of DED’s lyrics were about vengeance against some oppressive force or person, and the joy that could be taken from tormenting and eventually erasing bullshit people from your life. Another song I liked the lyrics to was “Moon” from the band Bloodvomit.
We will ride through a sky
That is black with your pain
We will howl at the moon
Red with bloodstains
Together we pull you apart
Piece by fucking piece
Your suffering death
Is my only release