grow up in the deep, redneck South.
Within the first few months of starting
the band, she traded in her long, raven
locks for a fire-engine red buzz cut and
covered her arms and back with tattoos
of flames and dragons.
We decided that as the tough one, she
should play bass while I, the desperate-
for-attention one, would be on guitar,
and that my little brother, Stephen, the
malleable one, would play drums. “Only
until we find another drummer,” I
promised him, as I attempted to plug my
guitar into the wrong part of my amp.
Stephen has played the drums since he
was five, and is the kind of younger
brother every bossy older sister dreams