I never thought I’d actually get something out of coming here. I’ve always hated this. It’s the same thing over and over. Maybe it’d be a different bar on a different weeknight, but the process is always the same.

Brendon gets drunk. He calls me. As his only living relative I feel obligated to come. Then he delays. Picks a fight, usually by flirting with some guy’s girlfriend. Gets his ass handed to him. Then I have to drag his drunk, nearly passed out body back to his foster home.

You try explaining to a fifty-something year old foster mother why your brother is such a waste of time. Why she shouldn’t bother with the group therapy or the meds. She wouldn’t understand anyways.

So here I am on another Saturday night. Trying to find my underage brother in a crowded dive bar. The noise grates at my nerves, making me anxious. I hate loud places, even more so when they’re filled with drunks.

I nearly didn’t make it, since the engine on my old VW Golf has been giving me problems again and I can’t afford to have it fixed again. I walk across the room trying to calculate the cost of replacing the engine versus getting it patched up. In the long run a new engine would be a better investment, but right now I can’t even afford an oil change never mind an engine.

The lyrics of the song drifted over me, pulling me from my depressing thoughts. I looked up caught up in the sweet melody, and there, across the room she sat. Perfectly poised in front of an old Yamaha keyboard. She was ethereal in her beauty, as if she was a vision meant only for my eyes.

But her beauty isn’t what took my breath away. No that was her voice.

Her voice was as beautiful and crisp as a clear winter’s day. Blinding in its brilliance, chilling in it’s clarity, and startling in its crispness.

She was surreal. I knew right then that she was it.

All I’d ever need.