At a young age, I dreamt of fame. I wanted to see the name "Sadie Manson" in lights, as cliche as that sounds. I wanted everyone in the world to know my name and scream from their lungs when they heard my voice. My parents discouraged this quickly. Apparently, my dreams weren't practical enough. I knew that, but I was only a little girl. I could dream at least, right? Just for a moment?
I turned my attention to science and told my parents I wanted to be a chemist. Maybe if I aimed high enough they would be proud. They didn't like the chemist idea either, or my doctor dream. I jumped from dream to dream in order to reach my parent's approval, but nothing seemed to work.
Once I reached my teen years, I rebelled. I ran away, dyed my hair, worn nothing but tight leather, chains, and spikes. I stretched out my ears, pierced my lip, my nose, my tounge, and bellybutton. I got two tattoos and almost dropped out of school. My friend Dennis let me live at his house. He was eighteen and graduating from the high school we went to. He talked me into staying in school and eventually graduating. He remided me that I was still young and had my whole life ahead of me. At the age of fifteen, it was hard to believe there was anything past the small world that I boxed myself in.
Dennis gave me everything I needed and became a father to me. He fed me, took care me, helped with boy problems, and kept me on a relatively straight path. He's kind of like that rock n' roll dad your cool friend has. The dad that lets them do whatever they want "but that". He let me pierce whatever I wanted and tattoo wear ever I wanted, but I had to get good grades. I wasn't allowed to drink or smoke or use drugs. Dennis was more responsible than I thought he would be.
I first met Dennis when I was a freshman at Stevenson High. He was fairly popular because he was in a band called "Know Where You Stand". They weren't anything big, but they were well known within our small town. We had a lot of bands in Livonia, Michigan. We took care of them and made sure their names were known.
I knew the name Dennis Chase my first day at Stevenson. The older brother of a good friend decided to show us around during lunch a pointed him out to us, a long with the rest of his band.
A week later, the older brother invited us to of Know Where You Stand's show at a local venue. I snuck out of the house to go with a stolen twenty dollar bill in my back pocket and walked to the show. My friend Nikki and her brother Trent met me there, but during the preformances they would leave me to smoke cigarettes.
Dennis spotted me sitting all alone and decided to sit down next to me.
I recongnized his flippy, straight, light brown hair and cool, boyish charm. I felt a little star struck. He was local celebrity; everyone in Livonia knew his name. He was talking to me. It felt strange.
He said hi to me, in a friendly manner. I just looked at him with confussion. Remembering a rumor Trent told me about Freshmen and upper classmen, I said one of the dumbest things I could say.
"Freshmen aren't allowed to talk to upper classmen," I whispered stupidly. Instantly, Dennis broke into laughter,
"Who told you that?" he asked, smiling sweetly.
"My friend's older brother," I replied, hiding my head in shame. I felt stupid and so...freshmen-y.
Dennis and I continued to talk almost all night, even after his preformance was over with. I watched him play guitar, pose for the few cameras in the crowd, and he even crowd surfed for a second or two. Know Where You Stand were like rockstars in my eyes. I was just young.
Dennis and I became instant friends. He guided me through my first two years of high school and then let me live with him. I'd say he's a good person. He's a little goofy and weird, but that's what I like about him. I saw him as a rockstar at first, but then I got to know him and I laugh at my assumtions. You expect rockstars to be charming and sauve, cool and smooth. Dennis Robert Chase is the clumziest, silliest, and possibly dumbest person I know. He get's nervous easily and studders all the time. He trips over everything and breaks everything he touches. I've watched him fall down his basement stairs more times than I can count. I'm surprized he's not brain damaged.
Another thing that makes him seem more human, he can't get a girlfriend. If he finds a girl attractive, he can't talk to them. His tongue twists into an irreversable knot and his language changes into something known only to aliens. He sweats and makes a fool out of himself. He's female repelant if I've ever seen it. I'm not saying he's not attractive; he is, Dennis is very handsome. He has this "prehistoric emo" look. He combs his hair to the right and makes a light brown, side band that covers his hazel eyes. He wears black, thick-rimmed glasses, old school band tshirts, and skinny jeans with worn out converse. He listens to, what he likes to call, "true emotional rock". The Promise Ring, Jimmy Eats World, Refuse, The Gaslight Anthem, and Deathcab for Cutie. He's very limited in music choice, making sure it's music that no one knows or doesn't listen to anymore. I guess that would make it hard to talk to girls as well.
Despite his faults, I love Dennis. He's very sweet and kind hearted. That's probably why he was the first person I ran to when I ran away from home. I knew he would let me in.
He took me into his home without a second thought. He just opened his dented and stained door, let me, and made me a humble bed on his couch. I instantly felt a sort of guilt fill my heart as I looked around the room I was in. His house was small. It was hardly a house at all. It had one room, a laundry room, a living room that doubled a dining room and connected to the kitchen. Dennis lived with his parents up until his senior year. His dad had a relapse after loosing his job and fell into a sea of depression and booze. His mom left soon after, taking his little sister. Dennis said he would stay behind to take care of his wasted father, but that only lasted a few months. Dennis got a job at the local venue I saw his band at. It's called The Token. He was basically the janitor, electrician, bus boy, and roadie of the venue. He took the job to support his father, but it didn't help the situation. His father just got worse, which meant abusive, and to teach him a lesson, Dennis moved away.
I thought about that I slept on his couch that first night. The hard year Dennis had to overcome bruised my tender heart. I felt like I was using him, just like his dead beat dad. It brought me to tears. That night I cried silently into the pillow he provided me. I pulled the blanket over my face in an attempt to hide my shame.
The next morning, Dennis woke me up with a nice small breakfast. We sat at his two person table and shared the meal with happy conversation. We talked about school and his band for a while, before he paused for a moment and poked at his food.
"I'm kind of glad you're here," he admitted quietly, "It kind of sucks being alone."

That's what got me to stay. I saw it in Dennis's eyes when he looked up from his breakfast that he needed someone here as company. Someone so sweet doesn't deserve to be alone.
Dennis ended up quitting Know Where You Stand due to creative differences. That's when I told him my dreams of becoming a musican and sang for him. He liked my voice and we began a small, garage band called "Long Live the Dead".
That small garage band made up of only Dennis and myself, grew. We aquired a bassist named Dakota Toole, a drummer named Kyle Ridgway, and a rhythem guitarist named Connor Kearney. It began with local venues. Then we toured. We even played Warped Tour a couple of years. It didn't hit us until we were standing infront of crowd of thousands that we had made it.

That's where this tragic love story begins.