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Musicians/Music Groups Fan Fiction >> Swollen Members

The following is a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

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Moving On -in progress-
By Darchangel

 

Chapter 1
Twenty-two months.
Twenty-two months since I first saw Rob deejaying at a concert and fell in love at first sight.
Twenty-two months since I lied to him that I was nineteen, and he offered me turntabling lessons.
Twenty-two months since I impressed his friends with my rhyming at a rehearsal- and first kissed
him. He offered a date that Saturday afterwards.
Twenty-two months since Grandma Tifton told me of the boy she left behind in Wales, so I knew *she*
knew what I was feeling.
Twenty-two months since I had to tell Rob the truth that I was only sixteen, and I knew he was mad
at me and every right to be.
Twenty-two months since I told my father what happened, and instead of grounding me for life like I
thought he would, finally told me the truth why my mother left when I was three.
Twenty-two months since Rob accepted my apology and wanted me back.
He didn't even care I was sixteen. Honest to God.
"We can make it work, Shaw," he smiled. "There's no way I'd force you into anythin you didn't want
to."
The ride home was full of apologies, truths (like me, he was saddened to hear why my mother left),
and discreet kisses.
Twenty-two months since I came home from the ride and told Dad that Rob and I decided to work things
out. What I couldn't tell him was our agreement that I'd set the pace- I was afraid Dad would know
what I meant.
I can still remember his expression- not angry, just a little surprised. Maybe confused.
"Are you sure this is what you want, Princess?" he asked. That's how I knew he wasn't mad- he still
called me Princess.
"Yes," I answered- then started babbling. "I know four years is a big difference, Daddy! I was
worried about it at first, but Rob doesn't care. He understands! He won't force anything on me, he
promised!" That's when I realized I was babbling, covered my mouth, and blushed in mortification.
"He promised because I love him and he loves me," I mumbled.
Twenty-two months since Dad realized all this, sat me down, and laid down the biggest set of ground
rules since I got my driver's license.
Rule number one concerned alcohol. Under no circumstance was I to get in a car with Rob or any of
his friends if they'd been drinking, and Dad certainly didn't want to hear about me being DUI. (I
was ready to remind him I didn't drink- still don't- but didn't wanna set him off.)
Rule two was about drugs. Same thing, no driving with anyone under the influence, no getting high
myself (the time I'd smoked last year was still burned in his mind, pun not intended), and "if this
Rob's doing anything illegal, break it off with him like that!" (That's insane, I thought, he
doesn't even smoke.)
Rule three- curfews. Home by eleven at the latest on school nights, midnight on Saturdays. During
vacation, the rule may become more flexible depending on the occasion. (He makes it sound like I'm
gonna party every night, I thought.)
Rule four- well, I'm not sure it was a rule. At this point in the conversation Dad turned away,
reddened, and said, "Maybe it's time to set you up with...a different doctor. You're becoming a bit
old for our family doctor."
I knew what he meant and was even more mortified. "Dad, I said he wasn't gonna force anything! I'm
not even planning to-"
"Honey, that's not what I meant," he'd said, putting a hand atop mine, when his expression told me
that was just what he meant. "You're becoming a young lady now, and you need to take different
concerns about your health." He blushed again. "It's times like this I wish your mother was still
here. It's hard for a father to talk about stuff like this."
I knew what he meant in a sense- giving me "The Talk" when I was twelve had to be one of the hardest
things in his life- but I doubted what he said about Mom. He'd become more open about talking about
her, and she just doesn't seem like the type of woman who'd be overly concerned about a child. I
almost want to hate her for that.
Twenty-two months since I assured Dad I'd abide by his rules.
Twenty-two months since I recounted them to Rob (except about the doctor) the next time I saw him,
and he assured me they were fine by him.
I'd like to say I'm very proud of myself for sticking to the rules.
Curfews are easy, since I'm lucky if I get to accompany Rob to a show once or twice a week when he
and the band are in town. We usually make it a point to fit in a turntabling lesson during a break
or after a show. (When Rob does have to leave, we always call, write, or e-mail each other.)
Drinking- piece of cake. It's a running gag among the Battle Axe auxiliary that I'm the designated
driver, which is usually the case. If I don't bring my car I'll end up taking the bus home.
Drugs- no problem whatsoever. No one's brought anything stronger than pot to after-show parties (as
far as I'm aware of, anyway...) and I haven't touched any- I only have to remember the trouble I got
into at fifteen. (When I recounted to Rob last year, he found it hilarious.)
I suppose you're all wondering about...the "new doctor" bit? The "concerns about my health" bit?
I did find a new doctor, a black woman in her fifties with graying hair and a gentle disposition. It
was so easy to ask her anything about my body and mind- she's what I imagine Mother would like if
she'd stuck around and really cared.
After the initial physical examination- which I'd prefer not to go into detail about,
thankyouverymuch- I asked about the Pill.
Not for any particular reason, mind you.
Just because I heard how it does wonders for the complexion and period cramps.
After a knowing laugh and a discussion of the pros and cons, she wrote up a prescription.
Ron and I first made love weeks after my eighteenth birthday.
You were waiting for me to say that, weren't you?
And you're wondering how it went? What I felt?
I think I can say a few things without divulging personal details.
It wasn't perfect like in the movies, but then what is?
My nerves were shot; it was hard to relax for a while until Rob took me in his arms and assured me
he loved me and nothing would change between us.
It hurt. A little. But at least that ended quickly.
I remember the kisses and closeness most of all. Warmth, happiness...it may not've been perfect, but
I was happy.
In a medical sense, it was perfect. I never got pregnant, but then I never expected to.
And nothing seriously changed in our relationship. Rob treats me with as much love and respect as
before, and I'm grateful for that.
I still have my own life, pursuing what I love to do. I've applied to the multimedia design course
at UBC and have knuckled down for finals. I've even been able to pursue my love of music without
Rob- I've done amateur talent shows and freestyle contests at teen hang-outs, and while I'm not a
turntable expert yet, I seem to have wowed a few people.
And of course I have my friends. Kimmy, Gwen, and Jen are always around to talk to, whether or not I
have a new story of concert or party shenanigans (which is all I suspect Kimmy's interested in
anymore. But I'm not ready to hold it against her).
When I think about it, it's been quite the almost-two-years.
I think about all this when I see the display on my call ID that shows Rob's cell number.

Chapter 2
I wonder what this could be for. Last time I heard from Rob, he and the rest of Swollen Members were
in Ontario. What happened?
I tell myself to quit being paranoid and pick up the phone. The buttons that make up his number are
starting to wear down.
Ring...ring..."Hello?"
"Hey Rob, it's Shaw."
I hear his voice brighten like it usually does when I call. "How's my favorite girl? Have you heard
back from UBC yet?"
"No, but I should this week," I lounge on my bed and twirl the cord around a finger (I got my cell
phone last year, but just use it when I'm on the town). "You don't usually call unless it's an
emergency. What happened?"
I hear his soft laugh. "This was way too important to just e-mail you for. MadChild found some time
last week to scope around at different labels, an he recently got a call from the head at Nettwerk
who might be interested."
A label? My God... "Nettwerk? I don't think I've heard of it."
"It's part of Universal Records. I think Sarah McLachlan's on it-"
I don't hear much beyond 'Universal Records.' *That* I've heard of. One of the Capital B L Big
Labels. I'm brought back by Rob saying, "-and if we're lucky we'll be able to bring in the rest of
Battle Axe. But you know what the best news is?"
"What?" I can't guess.
"The main office is in Vancouver, so guess who's gonna be there to witness history?"
"Me!" I can't help squealing my excitement. Rob's coming back to the island. Eeeehaw!
"Yeah. We just have a few more shows out east an we're hopin to gather everyone on the island in
June."
June? Did he say June? I look to my calendar. Almost June. You know what June means to people my
age! "You think you could come to my grad?" I blurt into the phone and quickly blush.
He's not fazed by my question, however. "Wouldn't wanna miss that. Will your family be OK with it?"
My family- such as it is- would be Dad, Grandma, and various aunts, uncles, and cousins from the
Tifton side scattered around Western Canada. Never any word from the maternal Greenburg side. I'm
saddened to be reminded, but just say, "Why not? Dad's really loosened up over the past year,
y'know. He's seen what a good girl I've been about his rules," and giggle.
"Not always a good girl," he answers, slyness in his voice.
"Ro-ob!" I say like 'What if someone's listening?' Which I know they're not.
He laughs and changes the subject. "Have you got somethin to wear?"
I look to my closet. "Yeah, you're gonna love it. It's purple velvet, goes all the way to the floor,
and I even have a matching handbag. It's so cute!"
"Purple, wow. That's gonna be somethin with your hair."
I find myself changing the subject and saying, "I better let you go. I've gotta review for my
history final."
"Can't interrupt that. I'll mail you when I know when we'll be back on the island."
"OK." I hold a hand to my heart. "I love you."
"Love you, Shaw. Bye."
"Bye." I hand up and turn to my mirror, the first thing I notice being my hair.
'That's gonna be somthin with your hair.' That's close to what the saleswoman in the boutique said,
but wasn't as nice about it. "I don't know *how* you're gonna pull that off," she'd snipped, but I
bought the dress anyway.
I've had the pink hair four years, but the times they are a-changin', as that song goes. Maybe it's
time for another change in my life.
I toss my history books on my bed and pick up the phone again. "Hello, Super-Look Hair Salon? Do you
have an opening on Friday afternoon?...It's just a coloring."

(tbc...)

 

The preceeding was a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

Please see the Terms of Service for more information.

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