Punk 57

You told us it’s better to be safe than sorry,

And little sister listened, but I was the one who learned.

Reap, reap, reap, you don’t even know,

All you did suffer is what you did sow!

Necessitate, medicate, eradicate, resuscitate.

Swallow your Pearls, but for me it was too late.

Do better, be more, too many, too much,

I’m about to fucking choke, I can’t force it down.

So string up the little Wisdoms and wrap them ‘round my neck,

I’ll strangle myself with your Pearls of Wisdom and die a wreck.

The lyrics ring a bell. I repeat them in my head. Reap, reap, reap, you don’t even know…

Misha and I put those lyrics together. The entire fucking song is Misha’s. I remember it, and something terrible and hard curls through me as I stop breathing and read the short bio at the bottom.

Cipher Core is an American rock band based out of Thunder Bay.

A band in Thunder Bay. No… I swallow, acid bile rising in my throat.

Members:

Dane Lewis—guitars and backing vocals

Lotus Maynard—bass

Malcolm Weinburg—drums

Misha Lare—lead vocals, guitars

“Oh, my God.” I crumble, sinking out of my chair and to the floor, sobbing and shaking my head. “Oh, my God,” I cry.

I run my fingers through my hair, holding my head and my chest growing heavy. I suck in short, shallow breaths. I can’t breathe.

Masen is Misha. “What the fuck?!” I yell.

The whole time. All this time I’ve been missing him, worried about him, wondering where the fuck he is and why he hasn’t written, and he’s been right in front of me the whole time!

I scream, slamming my hands down on the floor and curling my fingers into the carpet.

I can’t believe it. He wouldn’t do this to me. He wouldn’t make a fool out of me and play with me like that.

Shooting up, I wipe my nose with the back of my hand and glare at him on the screen. He finishes the final note, long and languorous, into the microphone, and from the distance in the crowd, I can see him dip his head as if still lost in the song after it’s over. People cheer, the last chords of the guitar ringing out, and I hear a couple girls call out for him.

Calling for Misha.

Everything is shaking, and the room is spinning as my mind races.

Masen. Mysterious, quiet Masen who no one knows anything about and who came out of nowhere. The guy who knew I’d loved Twilight, where I lived, and exactly what to get out of my backpack when I had my asthma attack without me telling him.

Oh, my God, how did I not know? I close my eyes, angry tears streaming down my face.