Blue Neighbourhood

This is my take on the poignant, yet powerful music video trilogy by Troye Sivan.


"only fools fall for you, only fools. . ."


2. 1.2


    Almost everything about my life has changed drastically since Mum's death, to say the least. 

   Her departure from our lives robbed my father and I from every morsel of peace we once owned. Almost anyone could sense the negative aura hovering over our house.  We didn't get along the way we used to. We would argue often, sometimes over trivial things. We stopping playing with each other and did most of everything on our own. We couldn't operate without Mum's sovereignty. She kept the peace. With her gone, Dad and I witnessed what little we had left go up in smoke. 

   Happiness was hard to find in our home. We couldn't sit down to enjoy dinner like a normal functioning family would. Getting through the day without bickering was as difficult a task as scaling Everest. Instead of teaming up to sort out our problems, we took the duty upon ourselves to solve them. You'd think that after losing someone this close to us, we would need each other more than ever. Clearly, it is not the case with this family. 

   When Dad wasn't losing his voice due to yelling at me, he was drinking. At age eight, I didn't realize what he was doing at first when I crept into the kitchen for a glass of water to see a man with his back turned to me, chugging down large glass bottles and spitting out profanities vehemently. It took a few nights of lying in bed at night and listening to him for me to register that something about this wasn't normal. But at this point, normal wasn't a word in our family's dictionary. We could never be normal again.

   A few months later, Dad got fired from his job for his recent behavior. Things only went downhill from there. We lost Mum, and now we had no means of getting what we need to keep a roof over our heads. Dad started asking for things to do for his friends in exchange for money in hopes to make ends meet. But it most of the time the amounts didn't suffice. We were just about ready to throw in the towel when one of his friends was concerned about our situation enough to suggest that he could help repair a few boats with him. He told my dad that this could really help us stay afloat financially. It could also help him take his mind off of Mum. Dad, in such a state of distress and depression, couldn't say no. This would help us in so many ways, he thanked the man on the other end of the line emotionally, with a batch of fresh tears threatening to drench his cheeks. 


   "Thank you so much, Mike. I should be over there in ten minutes. I'm bringing Jason over so he can help out as well. Alright. See ya then. Bye." Dad ended a call one Saturday morning and placed the home phone on its charger. His anxious eyes roamed throughout the small living/dining room as he patted his front and back pockets for the keys to his truck. 

   Then they are fixated on mine, and for a second, I thought I saw a glint of desperation in them. He's cleaving to the hope that his friend had given him. Hope for redemption. I could see in his eyes that he wanted to believe that there was a second chance for this family. 

   "Ready?" He fetched the keys from out of his back pocket. His gaze never left me. 

   "Yeah." I gave a slight nod and he and I started making our way to the door, opening it to see an ancient, rusty pickup truck standing in our driveway. After Dad unlocked it, I climbed into the passenger seat. As the engine coughed and sputtered to life, I mentally prepared myself for the long day ahead of me. 

   About fifteen minutes later, the chatter of gravel awakened me from my daze. The soft hum of the vehicle ceased to exist. We were here.  I peered out of the window to familiarize myself with the surroundings. I hopped out of the truck to be met with a maze of old and new boats in varying sizes and colors staggering me. The soles of my Skechers drove the granulated stones further into the earth as I ambled through the forest of boats in awe.

   "Aye, Dillon!" An unfamiliar voice resonated throughout the air. Someone was calling my dad. A few seconds later I heard my name. I heaved a sigh and trudged out of the entrance and met up with my dad and another man who looked to be in his mid to late 30's. 

   "I'm glad you can get to be here, Dill. I needed someone who could help me with this problem in the first place, so I guess you couldn't have come at a better time." The man explained to my father. I didn't listen to the rest of their conversation due to my preoccupation with staring at the boats scattered around the front and backyard. 

   I caught one thing towards the end of their little chat. 

   "Hey, well I've got another helper for ya if you need am extra set of arms." Michael (I'm assuming that was his name from their conversation via telephone) patted my father on his shoulder before he began striding toward the porch steps of his house. "I'll get him now—TROYE!" He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted loud enough for people in the Grand Canyon to hear. 

   "Yeah?" A boy about my age materialized into my peripheral vision with the man, marching toward the two of us. I double took and tried to get a full view of the kid. He approaches us and looks at Michael, causally saying, “Ya need anything?” 

   "Yes. You think you can help us with a couple of things today? My friend's assisting me with some of the boats we're repairing and we might need your help. Think you're up for it?" 

   "Yeah, I can help." The boy beamed at his father and then took a look at me. 

   His hand raked through his untamed auburn spikes, which contrasted with his tanned skin. A constellation of freckles peppered his cheeks. 

   "Troye, this is Jason. Jason, this is my son, Troye." The boy's father introduced us to each other. 

   And my life has never been the same since.

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