Bittersweet Chronicles: Pax Read Free Page A

earned. And that’s all I want—a career that’s about me, not my father.
    After high school I did what was expected, spent a couple of years at a small liberal arts college in the Northwest, not too far from home, but far enough I could feel like I’d left. It didn’t take. I knew it wouldn’t before I even went, but I wanted to make my parents happy. Neither of them has a four-year degree, and I knew they’d love it if I got one.
    But, music is the one thing that calls to me, and sitting in a lecture hall listening to some old dude talk about classical composers in the seventeenth century wasn’t going to help me answer that calling. So, after my sophomore year I told my folks I was done, then I picked the farthest place I could find, changed my last name, and announced that I wouldn’t be coming back to Portland until I’d made it on my own. My mom, who can be a little intense at times, cried for three days. My dad told me, “No one makes it on their own. Success is about using whatever advantages you’re given and not acting like an idiot when good fortune smiles on you.”
    Then he called Uncle Joss, the lead singer, who came over to the house and told me that he knew the perfect manager for me, a guy who wouldn’t be star struck by my family and would help me find my own sound and my own audience. Yeah, he wasn’t getting it either.
    When Colin, the bassist, heard, he looked at me like I’d lost my mind then said, “Dude, why would you make something harder than it has to be?”
    Mike was the only one who seemed to understand what I was doing. Maybe it’s because he’s a guitarist too—one of the best ever, in fact. Maybe it’s because he’s got a complicated relationship with his extended family. I don’t know, but when he was sent to talk to me—because they all were, Mom wouldn’t quit haranguing until every single one of the guys had a sit-down with me—he said, “Sometimes, you’ve got to leave your family to realize just how much they mean to you, and some things in life you have to do on your own. Just remember that time happens, people change, and people leave, and you might expect them to be waiting for you, but they’re not. You can decide if that’s a risk you’re willing to take.”
      I only understood what Mike was telling me in a theoretical way, but somehow, I knew he got me better than my own parents did right then.
    I’ve been in Bittersweet for two years now. For two years, I haven’t seen my parents, my sister, or my dad’s band mates because I won’t go see them and I won’t let them come see me. My dad’s band makes headlines every time they hit an airport, a train depot, or a limo lot. If Mom and Dad descended on tiny Bittersweet, my anonymity would be up in a heartbeat.
    So it’s been two years since I’ve seen the Pacific Ocean. And it still hurts. Every single day. But I can’t go back. I can’t give up. My dad and the guys will never understand what it’s like to spend your entire life as Walsh Clark’s son.
    Even if I wanted to be a banker or a doctor, it would be tough. As soon as anyone figures out who I am, they treat me differently. They can’t help it. They want to see things in me that are him —his songs, his voice, his face. And then they want to feel connected to the rest of the band through me. “What are they like? Did Mike say that? Did Joss do that? Who’s the bass player again?”
    My dad and the guys can’t get what it’s like when no one ever sees you . Just you. Not a reflection of your parents, not some guy falling into the family business because that’s easy, but you —a guy who loves music because, yeah, he spent his whole life with it, but also because that’s just the way he’s wired. I would have been a musician no matter what my parents did. It’s in my DNA, and I can’t help that.
    I sigh and strum a few more chords, jotting them down in the notebook I keep for songwriting. I’m trying to remember