Road To Acceptance

All things humid and dry; not my friend. Water sounded appetizing, but the occasional wind hitting my face, stop the perspiration from falling as fast. I hummed a tune in my head, as I casually walked down the dry horizon;

Why should my fun have to end? For me it’s only the beginning.

It’s 1990 and I’m 17, fighting for my freedom and individuality. Walking the dry freeway on my way to California where I’m going to start my new life and career. My parents are dead and it gives me so much more to live for. Can’t end up like my parents when I found them hunched over one another with a needle in each’s hand, blood soaking down their arm, to their pants - they died just a month ago, and I dropped out of highschool. The only thing I carry is my pride and my torn messenger bag and such things within it. It hit the back of my legs, every step I took and my hair poked at my forehead, just taunting me to get irritable and pin them back.

I heard a distant honk out of all of my thoughts; I turned around and saw a red semi slowing down towards me.
“Where you headed sweetheart?” The southern trucker woman said, tugging off her soaked headband.
“California, but I’m fine walking.” I grabbed at my strap and kept walking.
“You can’t walk to California from here - that’s nearly 200 miles still!” Her voice trailed on as I walked hesitantly faster on rocky terrain.
“What makes you think I can’t do it?” I stopped in my tracks and turned to face her.
She laughed at me and mocked my bitchy attitude, “Well do I need to really say it sugar - it’s about 100 degree’s and you’re simply a twig. You won’t last,” She pulled over and rested her hands in her lap and continued, “If I give you a ride, you can sit silent the whole damn way for all I care. I just don’t wanna say I told you so when I go home and hear a police report about a dead teenage girls body.”

Her accent tickled my crude humor and made me smirk.
“Fine.” I opened the rusted silver door handle and hopped into the passenger seat. It reaked of rotten food and sweat, but I shouldn’t be complaining. She got past my attitude and that’s all I’m grateful for.

We arrived in a rural, deadbeat California farm city and stopped at a local diner. She offered me lunch and I immediately took up that offer. We sat silent for the most part of our meal until she wanted to get a little personal with me - which I don’t blame her. A 17 year old teenage girl with blue hair, a nose ring, and distinct grey eyes - not something you should see roaming the highway desert.
“So let’s start of with your name?” She asked as I poked at my sausage and gagged. Vegetarian for 5 years and striving.
“Sidnee. My parents wished for a boy, but stuck with their original plot of naming me Sid after one of their favorite, and most influenced musicians.”
“And who would that be?” She asked, mouth full of food.
I rolled my eyes and look out the window. “Sid Viscous from the Sex Pistols.”
She snorted and finished her food while I sat their with a annoyed serious face on. Obviously this woman has no taste in music whatsoever.
“Is that some kind of joke to you?” I asked sipping my orange juice.
“No no, not at all. I just didn’t think they had a band called that,” She wiped her mouth and got serious again, “Well my name is Theresa if you cared to know.” She stuck out her hand and I simple ignored it. I continued to look out the window and think of my childhood. The one lush tree swaying across from me reminded me of one my grandmother had. I would sleep over at her house and sit in her tree and gaze off into the valley. I came from a distinct little town in Phoenix, Arizona and I never want to go back. Such backstabbers and liers live there, and I choose not to be a scene of that.
“So why do you want to go to California at your age?” Theresa cleared her throat and sipped her coffee.
“To start a band.”

Later that day, we made it finally to the East Bay. She dropped me off downtown to roam with the local punks.
“Be safe sugar, don’t forget me when you start that band.” I opened the door and hopped out. I started walking away until she threw something at my feet. I looked down and it was a pack of cigarette’s.
“You looked like you were craving some, so I figured I’d give you the rest of mine. But look inside.”

I bent over and did as she asked...several Marlboro Cigarette’s remained and a rolled up 50 dollar bill. I turned around to actually thank the woman, but she sped off in her semi. I shoved them in my bag and strolled along the street. I wound up in a coffee shop, and sat down next to some single mother with bleached hair and pink eyeshadow. Her pretty makeup made up for her shitty motherhood skills, but who was I to judge?
I watched almost every person who walked in. I watched them order coffee or grab a magazine. I didn’t deserve to be here, no punk kid should be in here. It reaks of leather furniture, cheap incents and fake motherhood - something almost too familiar to me.
Until a lanky tall fellow walked in. He wore his hat backwards, his eyes a light ocean blue, and his smile...unforgettable. He looked all around the room and met eyes with me. I quickly glued my eyes to the ground and coughed.

“Can I help you miss?” He asked now standing infront of me.
“No.” I mumbled, shifting my feet to leave.
“Well their must be something, you were staring directly at me.” He laughed and sat next to me. How horrible. A guy actually noticing that you were checking them out. I bit my lip.
“Nothing at all.” I stood and walked outside and sat on a black metal bench. I pulled the pack of cigarette’s out of my bag and rummaged around for a light, but didn’t find anything.
I sat there with the cigarette in my mouth unlit. Until my favorite person came out and once again sat next to me.

“Need a light girl?” He said lighting his own cigarette and blowing the nauseating stench in my face. I hated cigarette’s and still didn’t refuse to quit.
“I guess.” I said, looking up to him. He handed me the lighter and crossed his legs and looked away. I lit my cigarette and blew out. The cool California wind hit my face and blew my hair. I flicked the ashes and they landed on his black and white hightops. He looked down - then at me.
“What’s your name?” He asked inhaling.
“Sidnee.”
“Well Sidnee,” He exhaled, “I’m Mike. I’ve never seen you around here before, where are you from?”
“I’m from Phoenix. I just moved here.” I placed my bag on the ground and felt a little bit more comfortable.

“Well what a move. It’s much better here. Why did you move, and how old are you?”
I sighed. “I’m 17 and I moved from Phoenix because my parents died from a drug overdose. I dropped out of highschool since it was pretty pointless and I wanted to start a band anyways.” I shrugged and scratched my head.
Mike put out his cigarette. “You wanna start a band?” He smiled that smile earlier and just stared at me, like he knew something that I didn’t know.