Dreams and Wishes

Music poured from my truck radio as I sped down the street. I passed by the library, where mom was probably doing some extra hours and stopped at the gas station. While I was filling up my tank I went in and bought a slushy. Man you can get the biggest sizes for the cheapest prices at any gas station so long as it’s a slushy. I leaned against my Chevy Pickup and slurped my cherry icee until it was all gone. As I got back in my truck I noticed a boy pulling in who I didn’t recognize. Now this may seem normal to you, but in a town as small as mine if you don’t know someone they are either passing through or trouble. And the fact that he was on a motorcycle said trouble to me.
I watched as he pulled his helmet off, revealing a head full of curly brown hair with a few snippets of blonde here and there. He unzipped his leather jacket and laid it across the seat. Even from where I sat; sucking empty air through a straw could I tell he was in shape. His arms were well defined and luckily he looked about my age, eighteen. I watched him enter and realized that I was being kind of creepy just spying on him, so I started my engine and left, knowing I would hear all about him tomorrow at school.
I drove the long way home. I could feel the melancholy dull throb coming back even though I had already told it I had plans, it wasn’t involved, and that it should mind its own business. The heavy feeling began to over take me so I drove over to Sam’s.
Samantha, my best friend since elementary, was always willing and able to bring me up and out of the dark hole that tended to swallow me. (More on that later). Sure enough, I knocked on her door and she whisked me in to watch TV and eat these amazing nachos that her mom makes. I stayed only for half an hour because I knew mom would need me home early because she was working late tonight. I arrived home just as the sun began to dip over the horizon, highlighting the sky with orange and purple.
I shrugged off my backpack filled with school book bricks onto the kitchen counter and ruffled through the mail I had brought in with me. Suddenly I was struck by a salivating smell. I turned around to see our small oven light was on and made my way to see what Austin had prepared today. As I opened the door slightly, just to get a better idea of what I would be deliciously shoving down my throat later, my big brother’s rough hand came down on mine, peeling away my fingers. Luckily for me I had already discovered peanut butter cookies with chocolate chips just waiting to hope out of the oven and into my mouth.
“Those are for later, if they turn out.” He laughed jokingly. We both knew they would. Austin was an amazing chef and worked at the Moon Cactus Café as their top cook. Reluctantly I withdrew and returned to the mail, but halfheartedly. Austin walked back into the living room and immediately I returned to the oven. I had spied some already baked cookies under a paper towel. They must have been just out of the oven because the warm sticky mass of goodness was still soft. I set it on my tongue, burning it in the process. I leaned forward and fanned my mouth. Pouring myself a frigid glass of milk, I drained it and continued to cool my smoldering tongue as quietly as I could.
“Told you not to eat any.” Austin’s voice called through the open doorway. I glared in his general direction and continued chewing, savoring my prize. Once I was done I rinsed my cup and dragged my backpack behind me as I headed down the hallway to my room.
Now the interesting thing about my mom is that when dad died she felt we needed connection, so all the doors in the house were removed. Except for the bathroom door of course. She then put beads hanging down from all the doorways to ensure privacy but so we all had easy access of each other. We never went back to doors. After beads a room seems kind of isolated with a door shut.
I pushed through my dark blue beads and flipped on the fan. Summer was coming soon and the air was sticky and hot. I changed into a tank top and my yoga pants for comfort and situated myself on my beanbag. I pulled out my sketch pad and ignored my homework while I worked on my latest creation. I was working on an Asian themed picture with landscape and creating balance. My art teacher says it’s supposed to help create balance in my life, but so far I haven’t felt any. Mom always talks about balance. One of her favorite things to say is, “You can’t juggle things. If you juggle, you eventually drop something. Balance is the key. You have more control when you balance.” Perhaps this is true, but I am still looking for my own center of myself before I can even think about balancing.
Sure enough as soon as I let my guard down and allowed the smallest hole, it began to creep back in. The loneliness, the emptiness. I rolled back the sleeves of my dark green sweater and stared at the past, the scars, hoping it wouldn’t be repeated. Yet I still felt my body reach for the knife hidden under my nightstand even though my mind screamed no, a small part wanted the release. I hunched over and set the blade to my skin, not doing anything just feeling the pressure and crying, holding my stomach, trying to hold myself together when Meeko walked in.
With her long bushy tail, my calico is the one I love the most. She came and rubbed her head against my knee and helped herself to my lap. Acting more like a dog than a cat she always came when she knew I needed her.
I set the knife down and held her close. “Its okay girl,” I whispered, more to myself. “Everything will be okay.”