im sitting in the parking lot at dollar general listening to the CD from region band this year with the windows down and this dude just gave me a “why are you listening to the star spangled banner” look. it’s ART, hoe
You were in the kitchen fixing lunch when you heard Calum’s voice, followed by the unmistakable sounds of your son’s cries. You set a fork down onto the counter and rushed upstairs with furrowed eyebrows, following the sounds until you were standing in the doorway of Calum’s studio. There he played bass and wrote songs for his world famous band.
Calum was kneeled down in front of his bass, examining it with a clenched jaw as your son stood behind him crying into his hands.
“What happened here?” you asked in a soft tone, squatting down in front of your three year old and peering into his face. “Calum, why is he crying?” He looked over his shoulder and heavily sighed, running a hand through his hair as he stood up.
“He… he broke a string on my bass,” he replied, swallowing thickly as he glanced at his guitar again. “And you know that I’ve told him so many times not to come in here and I just found him plucking a string and it popped straight off.” You understood why Calum was angry, his bass meant everything to him, but you were slightly annoyed at him for being so angry that it made your son cry.
You slowly nodded, taking your son’s hands away from his eyes and wiping his cheeks. He was still crying as you murmured, “Hey, bud, stop crying! It’s okay, daddy’s just a little upset right now, don’t worry.” Calum kneeled down in front of your son beside you, swiping his thumb across his cheek to collect a tear.
“You know that you’re not allowed in here,” he quietly said, making your son shamefully nod his head. “I didn’t mean to scare you, and I definitely didn’t want to make you cry! I’m sorry, little man.” You smiled at the nickname, turning to look at your son as he sniffled and nodded his head.
“I’m sorry, daddy,” he replied, blinking at the floor before he was looking into Calum’s eyes again. You smiled again and stood up as Calum took him in his arms and began following you out the room. Your son was still hiccuping in his arms as you all entered the kitchen, ready to fix your lunches and end your grumbling stomachs.
Calum turned and sat your son down in a chair, ruffling his hair shortly after before walking to stand beside you. He was staring down at the sandwiches as he murmured, “I kind of yelled and got mad at him, but I didn’t mean to make him cry, babe. I feel really bad.”
You shook your head, craning your neck to see the little boy swinging his feet in the chair. “I think he’s alright. But just don’t yell at him like that anymore, okay? I was worried,” you replied, bumping your hip with his.
“Of course I won’t,” Calum responded, quickly nodding his head as he trailed behind you. “I hate seeing the kid cry.”