kkisrmsq211
It's a terrible thing to experience losses at just a time frame of one year out of high school. To think that he was sitting in the same classroom as me for 80+ minutes a day, dreaming of college and beer, watching the clock and pretending to take interest, and now, all of that has led to one car accident. One night of one mistake.
I was always the holder, always grabbing and touching and carrying and waiting. And as we moved through the store, through the meat aisle and the pretzels and yogurt, I would hold some more things. And then even more. And all the while, people would stare at me like I was a pack mule, which I felt like, because my mom, for whatever reason, hated pushing around carts. Or carrying baskets. And I would laugh at her from time to time, but in the end, I would actually be very, very mad at her for making me hold so many groceries.
She suspects that once her friend arrives, she will no longer have creative juice, as if she had it to begin with. The idea spun in her mind like a ballerina, so full of life and pristine in its efforts, yet always struggling to find its way in the world. And so she kept it there, sitting dormantly, sitting every single day without any new progress, and thought that maybe she could find a way to write another chapter without any regret or second guessing.
The destruction of all that was normal to me happened so quickly. Suddenly, new trees shaped my view from my window, and new grass fixed between my toes. A new person was living in the exact same 11x11 room as me, and a new lifestyle began even though I did not want it: College. Put simply, it is the same thing as high school, minus any type of social, parental, or instructional order. Which to some may seem very endearing and maybe even a little bit exciting, but give it a week and it has the power to corrupt your sense of self.
Her heart yelled like a megaphone, tearing at the very core as she stood there watching him board the plane. It would be the longest seven months of her life as she took on the job of homemaker and pregnant mother...alone. The sky seemed unusually dark for a Florida afternoon; she hoped it wasn't a warning sign.
"Take a bow."
I didn't want to listen, but I did anyways. She thought that just because I had committed such a "terrible crime" that she had some superiority factor over me. This wasn't true. But I still bowed the most over-the-top, faked bow anyone could ever perform in a jail cell at three in the morning.
I was plagued by the last words he spoke before boarding the train, exiting our world we had molded perfectly amidst the summer winds and scalding pavement. I had some sort of intuitive feeling that this kind of abandonment was common with summer romances, but never by him. He had promised since the day we said we "would do this thing" that it would be different come September, and I almost fully believed him.
He cast away so many impossible trials, and eventually all that he was left with was a cinderblock cubicle and his thoughts. Unreachable like a wedding ring plunged deep into the sea, he wrote. And when he tired, he wrote more. The stories made up for all he had shoved into closets, for all he had abandoned.
The stem of his decease was growing thicker each day. I walked into him resting his head on a pillow like a perfect pearl to it's oyster; there was simply nothing to fix him. His broken body reflected every inch of shattered glass that lay on the interstate for investigation, maimed and unrepairable.
i assisted him
load more entries