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TITLE (EDIT)
Just A Ride |
DESCRIPTION
A young girl tries to find herself through rediscovering her childhood.
[781 words] |
TITLE KEYWORD
Literary Fiction |
AUTHOR
Natalie Pierpont |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
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[August 2007] |
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (2)
Completely Consumed (Poetry) Story about being entirely infatuated with another. [63 words] [Romance]
The Sun Dried Monogramed Towel (Short Stories) Short story about two people, their relationship, and the beach. [136 words] [Relationships]
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Just A Ride
Natalie Pierpont
Time to Think
1:35 am. I’ve been on the road for over an hour now. I don’t know where I’m going, just driving South. I put my black cassette into the tape player. The Counting Crows begin to play as I lose touch with driving and become lost in the music, the lyrics, that calming acoustic guitar moving one note at a time. The music swirling around me in the moment seems the only means of escape. The whole incident now hours past seems so surreal. But again I try to focus on the tape player connected to my ipod. “Either way now, I don’t really care” The words of the song are sad and lonely, and about finding the right tune, the only thing I can identify myself with.
My eyes move down to my hunter green cable knit sweater. I’m dressed entirely in JCREW’s 2006 Christmas line. I can’t even call my shirt my own. Hiding behind a big pea coat or a blue North Face jacket, I’m exactly like everyone else. Looking up from my books in Biology I often feel lost, each person with a messy ponytail, UGGS, and a similar blank stare, I’m no different. Who do these blue eyes staring at me in the mirror even belong to?
The Volkswagen that I’m driving is my Mom’s. Purchased three years ago, its two front doors already spot signs of serious rust. The tan seats are covered with dog hair, I hate dogs. The tickling at the back of my neck is coming from the stuffing pouring out of the headrest. My parents didn’t get me that 1988 navy Volvo I had wanted for my birthday, but this piece of junk is getting me to where I want to go, so who cares anyways?
Maybe my next stop is New Orleans, to stay with my sister for a few days. Or maybe 3,500 miles away I’ll find a new life in San Francisco. But that doesn’t have to be decided just yet because “Mr. Jones” just came on and I really want to hear what Adam Duritz has to say about, “the grumbling difference between wrong and right”.
No number of espresso shots could raise my sagging eyelids. My eyes just managing to glance up at the exit sign. Reading the letters, I can feel the little bumps creep up my arm and each hair stands on the back of my neck. Hand over hand; I can feel the speed of the car decrease. A whistling in my eyes, the car swirls down the spiraling ramp. I’m ready for that oh so familiar bump at the bottom. Exit 17, Norwalk Ct.
I left my car down the street and crept up the long hilly driveway. The house was exactly how we’d left it. A charming 1920’s colonial with a red front door and a white and blue rope swing hanging from the backyard Oak. The air was crisp a faint breeze of sea salt coming from the Sound down the street. The lawn sprinklers had come on an hour ago, leaving leaves of grass clinging to my bare feet. I then proceeded to the backyard where out of the left of my eye I can still spot it clearly in the dark, the Olympic sized swimming pool. The glows from the underwater lights always made the water look like an eerie mirage. Everyday during the summer between 5th and 6th grade did laps; I never wanted to do anything else. The sides of my lips begin to curl, my eyes squint, and a tear freezes to my cheek. I never did let anyone beat me. Looking down, I can feel the smooth texture of the worn down grass where we would have relay races. Decked out in spandex, Nike sweat band, and Keds at 12 I thought I could face anyone. Running laps I could imagine myself in the 2012 Olympics, beating all my competitors in the 100 meter dash. I was determined. The pain in my legs never bothered me, nor did I grown tired, I could push through it. That’s why I always won.
“Hey who’s out there, get off my lawn!” The 2nd story bedroom light cast a bright shadow out into the lawn. I only wish I could stay a little longer. But this house doesn’t belong to me anymore, the pool doesn’t belong to me anymore, and no longer does spandex make me look so fierce. I have me, my music, now. You can never go back, only forward. I’m ready for that oh so familiar bump before I ascend the exit ramp. It’s time to go home now.
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2006 Natalie Pierpont |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
August 2007 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
1656
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