Ocean and Atlantic
i've been up here so long
The doctors set me free two days after Nova’s funeral.
Aside from the boot on my foot and the faded scratches on my face and the bottle of pretty white pills to help with pain for my back, it’s like nothing has happened – like my best friend is still around town, spread out lazily on her front porch in her cut-offs and skinny legs and crazy curls.
Everyone pretends that nothing has changed, so I pretend that nothing has changed – that my best friend is just on vacation and I’m doomed for a couple weeks’ worth of boredom. Only it’s not just for a couple of weeks - it’s for a lifetime, but I don’t like to think like that.
Sometimes, it’s okay to live in oblivion.
I stare out the window of my mother’s prized, gas-guzzling, but still admittedly cool Navigator, watching as the bustling of Phoenix slowing fades into the slightly slower-paced town of Tempe.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my mother rest her hand over my father’s in the front – not in the loving, I’m-crazy-about-you-and-want-to-remind-you kind of way. It’s the worried kind, the parental “I don’t know what to do with our son/daughter”.
All at once my reality changes once again. No longer is my mother crying daily – just once in a while – and my father is actually living again. But instead of having dysfunctional parents, they’ve magically morphed into the over-bearing and concerned and overinvolved type. The type of parents teens everywhere learn to despise at least at one point in their adolescent lives.
“You okay, back there, Schuyler?” my mother asks, craning around in her seat to look at me. Her wide, youthful eyes blink at me, which only accentuates just how young she really looks. She’s the kind of mother that could double as a sister when out in public together. “You’ve been awfully quiet…”
I shift in my seat, feeling a twinge of pain shoot down my spine, down my legs and fizzle out somewhere before my feet.
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
She only nods and gives me a sympathetic smile. I can sense that she wants to grip my hand again – like some sort of reassurance that everything will be fine but the seating arrangement we have prevents her from doing it without being completely awkward.
So I merely turn out the window and dream of what the next few days and weeks and probably months hold in stock for me, when I face the most judgmental section of the public: my peers – the students of Corona Del Sol High School.
Aside from the boot on my foot and the faded scratches on my face and the bottle of pretty white pills to help with pain for my back, it’s like nothing has happened – like my best friend is still around town, spread out lazily on her front porch in her cut-offs and skinny legs and crazy curls.
Everyone pretends that nothing has changed, so I pretend that nothing has changed – that my best friend is just on vacation and I’m doomed for a couple weeks’ worth of boredom. Only it’s not just for a couple of weeks - it’s for a lifetime, but I don’t like to think like that.
Sometimes, it’s okay to live in oblivion.
I stare out the window of my mother’s prized, gas-guzzling, but still admittedly cool Navigator, watching as the bustling of Phoenix slowing fades into the slightly slower-paced town of Tempe.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my mother rest her hand over my father’s in the front – not in the loving, I’m-crazy-about-you-and-want-to-remind-you kind of way. It’s the worried kind, the parental “I don’t know what to do with our son/daughter”.
All at once my reality changes once again. No longer is my mother crying daily – just once in a while – and my father is actually living again. But instead of having dysfunctional parents, they’ve magically morphed into the over-bearing and concerned and overinvolved type. The type of parents teens everywhere learn to despise at least at one point in their adolescent lives.
“You okay, back there, Schuyler?” my mother asks, craning around in her seat to look at me. Her wide, youthful eyes blink at me, which only accentuates just how young she really looks. She’s the kind of mother that could double as a sister when out in public together. “You’ve been awfully quiet…”
I shift in my seat, feeling a twinge of pain shoot down my spine, down my legs and fizzle out somewhere before my feet.
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
She only nods and gives me a sympathetic smile. I can sense that she wants to grip my hand again – like some sort of reassurance that everything will be fine but the seating arrangement we have prevents her from doing it without being completely awkward.
So I merely turn out the window and dream of what the next few days and weeks and probably months hold in stock for me, when I face the most judgmental section of the public: my peers – the students of Corona Del Sol High School.
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Holy butt cheeks... This is really short! Like really, really short. I'll try to make the next one a little longer. I'll probably go start it now because I'm a little sad, a little stressed, in need of time kiling while I give my roommate some privacy as she unpacks and because I'm running on three hours of sleep and can't actually fall asleep right now.... So yeah. Thanks for the support guys! Tell me how you feel HERE.