TITLE: Elliot Fears And the Phobias
“I'm just getting into bed, mom.”
It was, I say without fear of contradiction, the biggest lie I had ever told my mother in my entire eleven years. I mean sure, I'd told her some rather substantial untruths in the past, you don't get to eleven without some fibbing here and there, but nothing of this scope or sheer falsitude.
I was as far from “getting into bed” as physically possible. I was in the back seat of an SUV barreling north on the New Jersey Turnpike, about to go to play in a battle of the bands competition in Manhattan.
My parents were out of town. They had trusted my well-being, their home and all belongings contained therein to the hands of my older brother Jason who was sixteen and happened to be driving said SUV. He also sings in and pretty much runs the band.
“Okay, honey,” my mom said. She and my dad were at my aunt Missy's wedding which Jason and I had lucked out of having to go to because we couldn't afford four plane tickets to Daytona, Florida, where they were having the ceremony.
I hate weddings. Jason tells me to get used to them because he intends to form a cover band to play other people's songs at weddings to make “ends meet.” I'm 11. My parents drive me to and from fifth grade and pay for our internet connection. My ends are met.