My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie " Hey, hey look, it's like I'm holding the keys to your heart!" "John?" "Look look look!" "John, those are my car keys." "Look at them!" "They are not capable of unlocking my heart." "Wanna bet?" "Please put them down." "But I love how they jingle!" "Can you stop acting like a cat?" "Meow!" "I knew I shouldn't have let you mix your drinks." "Meooooow." "It's a wonder you're not sick." "Mrow?" "John." "Aaron." "John." "Aaron." "John." "Whaaaaaat?" "Can you put down my keys already?" "Can they unlock other things?" "No, they can't." "They unlock your car." "Yes, but nothing else." "So they unlock other things?" "No, they ...

I couldn't hear anything with my headphones on. Not the screams from downstairs, not the thundering footsteps up and down and all around the house, not even the roaring from my father. Every note of sanity rang tried and true in my ears, and sometimes, I could only wish that the music deafened me. So that the last sound I'd hear, instead of my mother cussing out my brother and my father throwing chairs, was a screeching chorus.