Status: hiatus until co-author returns(or gives me the go ahead to finish alone.)
Paradise Lost
One
Summer of 1998
My father was a used car salesman. For some reason he had a fetish for borrowing old Cadillac’s and Pontiac’s and whatever other type of brand he could find. I had prayed that when it came to taking a vacation he would take our real car, but he insisted all the ‘kids’ these days would be rolling up in an insert car name here. Clearly, he didn’t understand that we had moved past the Stone Age by now.
Summer was always the best time of year, though I hadn’t really earned the best of reputations in the past year we had spent at the Lake House. But who really cared? I only saw these people for three months out of the year, and if I could help it I wouldn’t have to come back ever again. I was moving to Colorado in the fall, and I would use every means necessary to not have to come back.
We stayed in a house just south of the Lake House, it was a medium sized house, one that a used-car salesman could afford. It was just off the border of the town the actual Lake House was in. The name was a mystery. The sign that encompassed the name of our summer home had been graffiti-d to the point that recognition was almost impossible. Thus, the Lake House was born.
The first day was always the day of unpacking, and passing out on the old seventies styled couch. The first night, however, was much different. After being woken by my mother for a reason I couldn’t hope to comprehend in my post sleep state, I ran to the bathroom just down the hall from the kitchen. In it, there was what barely sufficed for a shower. Also, cramped in was a small sink with an even smaller mirror, and a ridiculously large toilet.
The water looked murky, not exactly brown but it was clouded, and I didn’t trust it. Bathing in the lake would’ve been more sanitizing. I grunted, stepping into the water with a wrinkled nose. It wasn’t as bad as I had thought, but I couldn’t get over that malignant feeling of fish flavored water; so to cover it up, I took the liberty of covering myself with my mother’s perfume. Luckily, she had a taste rather differing from that of the toxic musk my grandmother would wear.
There was no need for cars, because everything was within walking distance. That was the other benefit of this place, the constant movement kept you from not gaining the traditional summer fat. After I had changed into something less ‘moving day’, I headed over to the Lake House.
The Lake House was the hangout. The only rich idiot in this place owned it, and somehow their son managed to have parties every night for the teenagers who had hit puberty. We were supplied with every way to get the perfect hangover, as well as the perfect way to unknowingly get laid. But luckily the taste of alcohol disgusted me.
My father was a used car salesman. For some reason he had a fetish for borrowing old Cadillac’s and Pontiac’s and whatever other type of brand he could find. I had prayed that when it came to taking a vacation he would take our real car, but he insisted all the ‘kids’ these days would be rolling up in an insert car name here. Clearly, he didn’t understand that we had moved past the Stone Age by now.
Summer was always the best time of year, though I hadn’t really earned the best of reputations in the past year we had spent at the Lake House. But who really cared? I only saw these people for three months out of the year, and if I could help it I wouldn’t have to come back ever again. I was moving to Colorado in the fall, and I would use every means necessary to not have to come back.
We stayed in a house just south of the Lake House, it was a medium sized house, one that a used-car salesman could afford. It was just off the border of the town the actual Lake House was in. The name was a mystery. The sign that encompassed the name of our summer home had been graffiti-d to the point that recognition was almost impossible. Thus, the Lake House was born.
The first day was always the day of unpacking, and passing out on the old seventies styled couch. The first night, however, was much different. After being woken by my mother for a reason I couldn’t hope to comprehend in my post sleep state, I ran to the bathroom just down the hall from the kitchen. In it, there was what barely sufficed for a shower. Also, cramped in was a small sink with an even smaller mirror, and a ridiculously large toilet.
The water looked murky, not exactly brown but it was clouded, and I didn’t trust it. Bathing in the lake would’ve been more sanitizing. I grunted, stepping into the water with a wrinkled nose. It wasn’t as bad as I had thought, but I couldn’t get over that malignant feeling of fish flavored water; so to cover it up, I took the liberty of covering myself with my mother’s perfume. Luckily, she had a taste rather differing from that of the toxic musk my grandmother would wear.
There was no need for cars, because everything was within walking distance. That was the other benefit of this place, the constant movement kept you from not gaining the traditional summer fat. After I had changed into something less ‘moving day’, I headed over to the Lake House.
The Lake House was the hangout. The only rich idiot in this place owned it, and somehow their son managed to have parties every night for the teenagers who had hit puberty. We were supplied with every way to get the perfect hangover, as well as the perfect way to unknowingly get laid. But luckily the taste of alcohol disgusted me.
♠ ♠ ♠
:) Yay for writing Jake Gyllenhaal stories with Auguste. :) I am at my birthday party now, so I shall talk to you all soonish.-Billie Mae.