#live loud

“Every time I try to sing louder than a speaking voice as Phantom, yeah.”

Ember swings her guitar around, absently plucking a string. The fact that she summoned it at all is telling of how much his almost-wail scared her. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, baby bop, but, did you die screaming? I died coughing.”

“I don’t actually remember.”  Danny looks over his shoulder at Sam and Tucker. They’ve fallen asleep in the car, but as witnesses to his death, they’d be able to answer that question. Not that he’s asked. What his death looked like, sounded like. He doesn’t want to know.

“Probably. It was, um, pretty painful.” He tiptoes around the details of his death, thankful Ember’s question isn’t too personal. Still, his left side throbs in remembered pain. Danny will dream of his death in flashes sometimes, but the whole thing? His brain has shut it out, and he’s okay with that.

“Okay. Let me talk to someone. I have an idea of what’s going on, but I also don’t want to mess you up.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I mean it, baby bop. I’d rather have you part of my concerts than breaking them up, but also, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Please be careful where you are. I’ve been getting snippets of the news and it is frustrating.

I am a pillar to those who can’t. A beacon for anyone to see.

Because, you see, growing up, and even to this day at 38 years old, my family likes to equate my emotional responses, or even when I am simply speaking in hyperbole, to “being dramatic”. As a negative, not a simple description.

Anyway, I’m sitting here with aching hips and legs, feeling like I’m going to cry for no reason, exhausted, hungry, and a little sad and thinking about that radio report and seething. But also proud of my growth.

Because just the other day when speaking to a close family member she said, “I try not to be dramatic or overly emotional about anything,” to which I responded, “I like to think it’s what makes me so fun.”

So here’s to being a sloppy emotional razzle dazzle woman. Here’s to taking up space and feeling your feeling and laughing loudly, living without restraint, and to happy tears and sad tears and angry tears. Here’s to removing the weight of other people’s opinions and letting go of all of the criticisms you were fed your entire life. Here’s to no longer trying to cover yourself up so you blend in and struggling to fit your round peg into their square hole.

It always bothered me but I thought it was just kinda me being rebellious and whatnot, but today I saw my mom has a list of ‘things to work on’ that my dad gave her and one of the things is: be quieter. I don’t care about the explanation for that or the reasoning behind it, I don’t fucking care what enneagram book it’s from, or if it’s a goal she agrees with. I don’t care. I am so mad.

I’m so mad about every time I and my sisters got forbidden to speak for meals or for days “to give your brothers a chance to talk.” No. Fuck off.

I’m so mad that I didn’t ever talk in public when I was a kid.

I am so mad that I know so many girls who hate their own laughter.

I’m so mad that I don’t know how to be loud.

I’m so mad that my dad is telling my grown adult mother, a fully functioning human with a brain and a story and a voice and a life, to “be quieter” in her own damn house.

Please, please be loud. Please, if you have something to say, please say it. If you’re just a loud person who makes noise in the kitchen, and sings in the shower, and laughs loud, and sneezes loud, and turns the music up, and tells stories that get louder as they go, and wears noisy jewelry or shoes with heels that click on the floor, PLEASE CONTINUE BEING YOU. Don’t listen to anyone who tells you to make yourself smaller. Be respectful of others space, sure, but make sure your space and your voice are respected too. You the way you are are loveable and fine.

Music is Life

“And he was horrible,” Sam throws in. “He just wailed the whole time. Like, his sonic attack. Every time he tried to sing, that came out instead of a singing voice.”

Ember flies a circle around Danny. 

“Okay. I’m pissed at Skulker.”

“Of course,” Jazz says, “but you don’t need him.”

“Damn straight. He might try to be the Ghost Zone’s greatest hunter, but he never will be. Not like I’ll have Earth cheering my name.”

“Uh-huh,” Jazz encourages, ignoring the looks she’s getting from Danny and her friends. She knows where this is going. Ember’s hair might not be on fire, but her eyes are. This is a woman looking for revenge in the form of an empowering ‘I’m better’ statement.

“And since he’s so focused on you, Phantom, let’s see how he likes it when you help me fulfill my obsession before you can help him fulfill his!”