Sonata

It was times like this when I hoped people really could sleep like the dead.
When during their 8 hour slumber, their ears would turn deaf and the only activity they were aware of was the one in their dreamland, and the world that they were realistically living in ceased to exist.

I didn't know the thread-count of their sheets, but it had to be high enough to attain this fantasy in my head.

My room was on the second story of my house, unluckily enough, which meant my journey to the front door would be a nice, solid 300-ft walking distance away.

Why not climb out the window, you ask, and my answer is that my fear of heights and lack of any outdoor landscaping, meaning trees to go down, were the blockades. There wasn't one shrub in my backyard high enough to brush the wooden frame of the kitchen window.

Where are you going, you ask, and I would tell you that it had to be somewhere other than here.

Why are you going, and I would say "it's called sneaking out".

I had no desire to go out during the day, considering I never had an agenda and sunshine didn't interest my tastes. Nightime had always been more appealing to me, and tonight, I needed it.
Vans were no doubtedly my shoe of choice, one for their comfort and another for the flat soles that made creeping around a much easier mission to accomplish.

The cherrywood floor beneath my feet hadn't screamed as of yet, and I mentally thanked whoever it was that decided to remodel the old pine panels for new, silent wood.
So far, everyone had remained in a heavy heavy sleep as I had made it halfway to my escape. Just down the stairs, down the hall, and out the door.

I scratched the nape of my neck out of itch and out of nervous habit. It was when I got close to exiting that my nerves began to get paranoid. I peeked around the corner of the wall to secure my mindset, and took light steps to the stairwell.
Some of the maids had rooms at both wings of the first story, so by no means was I 'home free'.

The light, mocha shade of the interior of the house looked blacker than black, and all the furniture and idle objects merely leftover shadows.
I made it down the stairs in recore time, of course quietly. The need to leave had intensified with every minute.
My palms were getting uncomfortable, so I swiped them across my jeans quickly to dry them off.

The door was literally seconds away, making my heart pound.
My right hand wrapped itself carefully around the knob while my left turned the locks.

The top one clicked, then the one in the middle, and I turned the handle.

It opened into the outside gently, revealing to me a cool, clear sky that was more accurate than from the view in my bedroom window.
The moon had showed its entire self that night, making a small smile leech onto my face.
I stepped out, closed the door, and began walking off the porch.

To say I knew where I was headed would be a flat out lie, but I figured town square would be the best place to start
To call it 'town square' indicated that indeed, it was small; 'one grocery store and a post office' kind of place you could say.
There was also a coffee shop for the workaholics and a pretty decent thrift store.
An antique shop for all the senior citizens.
This was the heart of Wilcom, and that heart's beat was slowing.
And in the midst of the night, the town became even more dead.
During the day would be the time when those old prunes and housewives would scatter the streets, and while they slept, a couple more kids my age and weirdos would come out.

Maybe it wasn't the best idea to sneak out, for the sake of my own safety, but that still wouldn't stop me.
It was crowded in the afternoons and vacant at midnight.

It only took about ten minutes to get from point A to point B, which made me grateful we didn't live too far away from something. The houses on my right had their ugliness hidden in the dark; an illusion that would have a tourist fooled into thinking that they were actually decent looking. But we never got visitors here, so everyone knew. They were grimy and old like all the citizens that would allow themselves to live in them.
I almost forgot how bad the grass was before it crunched like pringles beneath my shoes.

On my left was a field of brush that separated this sad excuse of a town from the downtown itself. It was a huge, tall prairie, and at the horizon line, if you squint a little, you could see the lights of the city.
That was quite a sight for folks in this town.

I'm making it sound as though I've lived here all my life, but actually, my first home was back in Illinois, living in Chicago, until dad decided he wanted to conquer something and moved here to Wilcom. I just like to joke about the absence of excitement in the community.

The walk took shorter than expected, but I guessed it was because of my hyperactive thinking.

Wilcom was just one really long road that was on the right side, opposite from the wilderness on the left. An assembly line where you came in as a nice, shiny toy that got picked apart over the years and superglued back together into a dirty, misconstructed product.
I'm just glad I still sparkled.

My black hoodie was a shield against the biting wind that seemed to come out of nowhere as I walked up the path.
On the edge of town square was a laundry mat that strange people inhabited no matter what time it was. The only beings there were a man in brown trousers and a pale yellow shirt, crossing his arms tightly against his upper chest as he watched a woman with frizzy curls carry two full baskets of clothes.

Big, entire wall-sized windows were making the laundry mat similar to a see-through cube. The lights were so numerous and strong that they practically lit up the whole street.
Screw streetlamps.
I walked by that lot quite quickly, feeling like a vampire blinded by the fluorescents.

Other than the mat and the store, everything else was closed.
There were usually only groups of teenagers together in alleyways doing 'bad things' that could be classified as playing spin the bottle or "have you ever..."
Yes, these kids were painfully sheltered.

Then, there were the full-grown creeps who counted numbers or yelled at Elvis to leave them alone.

A couple normal ones like myself roamed around too, but we were too soft spoken and on guard to approach anybody.

My eyes caught sight of the empty lot, and I stopped.

Right on the corner, as it was the only building on the left side, was the record store.
It seemed to be darker than night itself with all its hollow defeat. I somehow came to stand right in front of it, looking at the dreadful outcome of the only building I really loved in a town I really hated. The red bricks that were vibrant in memory were dull in reality.

Everything about it could only be described in negative adjectives like worn, dusty, weak, and swollen. It had been weeks since I had last seen it, and I remember it being a place to get away and get lost in endless albums. where the interior was covered in posters, and also taped to the windows.
It was a Gin Blossoms one that pulled me in, and the amazing selection that forced me to keep coming back.

And now look what Wilcom did to it.

They got their hands on something shiny, destroyed it, and poorly put it back together to suit them. That's why I hadn't come here in weeks, because I didn't want proof that it was gone.

I didn't budge for ages.
I just kept staring at the lifeless store with a big white sign in the window that read 'FOR SALE' in scarlet.

My life, officially, had ended.

The mere sight made me want to go straight back home and slit my wrists; go to the grocery store and swallow everything from cough syrup to laxatives.
I was willing to bash my own damn head against that brick wall and bleed to death, anything so that my eyes would stay closed forever.

"It's not fair..." I squeaked.

I could still see the faint outlines where the posters hung. They even left the aisles of cd holders.
The cash register probably still had money in it.

My breathing became deeper, and I coughed.
My eyes stung while the wind blew at my tears.
I hated this town. I hated it so much.

"Fuck you Wilcom."

I turned my back against the door and slid to the ground.
I knew the whole night would be ruined for coming back, but it had to be faced. I was still a little kid, honestly, even at the age of 23.
I got hurt the instant something wasn't my way, and I would've rather stayed in bed all day than fix anything.
How pathetic was I?
I didn't even get out into the working world like everyone else and get a job. My father was fully loaded and he never noticed me anyway, so I just figured I'd ride it out until I was kicked out. This wave was still strong after two years.

And soon, every mildly horrible aspect of my life had come out of the trunk to be thought about once again.
All from shutting down my favorite record store.

Goddamn, I was emotional.

I layed my chin on my kneecaps and stared seemingly "numbly" at Wilcom's side of the road.
Oh how I wish I could burn it down.

A low drone began to echo on the street and brought me to attention. It didn't sound like the majority of automobiles, but it obviously was one.
Unless a transformer was charging down the street.

I looked out of the corners of my eyes to the left and noticed two headlights dancing across the asphalt. It was a long van thats color couldn't be determined due to the eclipse of the laundry mat's lights. I wanted to laugh at the old, crappy engine that screeched high pitches into the atmosphere; disturbing the small town silence.

The van was coming to a steady stop and I started to somewhat freak out when I realized that it had parked right in front of me before the store.
There were two figures, from what I saw, and who knows how many others in the back since there weren't any windows.

When the car was shut off, their hushed arguments were not clear to decipher. One of them, the passenger, had his hands in the air and waved them every few seconds while he conversed to the driver, who just tapped his fingers against the steering wheel.
It was easy to make out these small details because the lights eclipsed them too; making them appear like clean cut shadows.

Some of the other kids hanging around peered over their shoulders curiously.

"BULLOCKS!"
One of the men yelled in the van.

I ducked my head, afraid that they saw me.
So clearly they were not from Wilcom, not even from the states, but all the way from England.
I don't know...did any other country use that phrase?

I prayed for safety as the seconds died, not wanting to perish here of all places. The horrific thuds of car doors shutting caused my heart to race.

Please don't talk to me, please don't talk to me, please don't talk to m-

"'Ello."

I kept my head down.

"'Ello? Eh, I saw yeh looking at u-"

"Curtis, yeh git, stop badgering her! She's not interested in buyin' another pair of your cheap trainers!"

"I wasn't tryin' teh sell 'er nothin' mate, I jus' need directions out of this village."

"I could a' told yeh tha'. Now come on,"

I listened to their footsteps descend, and I lifted my face up to see the mystery men.
One was a lanky boy who was at least 6 feet tall with long hair, and the other; shorter and slightly pudgy. Probably due to the fact that he was walking next to a string bean.
The tall one glanced back at me, and grinned.

"Oi! I knew she wasn' sleepin', unless tha' was a cat nap. Excuse me miss,"

He walked around from the driver's side of the van and approached me once again. The one I took as the passenger sighed deeply and followed.
I wondered if I should have ran or screamed for help. Granted, they hadn't done anything that would be considered a code red, but you could never be too careful.
I decided to nod politely, yet I couldn't hold back my anxiety.

"Yes?" I asked.

"Um, do yeh know how to get back to the downtown area from 'ere?"

"You just keep going down this road, take a left, and keep going until you reach the highway."

His face looked thoughtful, but nonetheless, shook his head to himself.

"Blimey, it's jus' so damn puzzlin'. I feel spinny drivin' on the other side of the road; like i'm gonna hit someone head on. Little Matty 'ere losses his bottle everytime he tries to drive. Ain't tha' right?" He asked the shorter one.

"Can it yeh wanker, and let's go. She probably thinks yeh're off your top."
He grabbed Curtis and gave me a cordial smile.

"Thank yeh for listening to 'im blabber. Have a nice night."

Curtis giggled as his friend started to drag him to the van, but not before asking,
"Eh! Do we pass those really nice houses on the way?"