To Live and Let Go

Just Imagine...

Junior year just isn't looking up to be a good year for you. Each morning you wake up to the same shitty mainstream noise they call music on the radio, and from there you drag yourself to the bathroom to get ready. Once ready, you drive the same route to school, park in the same spot, and listen to the same cookie-cutter lectures that the teachers having been telling for years. Today looks to be no different. You're sick and tired of the black and white, and the music you do enjoy is the only colorful thing out there anymore. But real life is grey.

You sigh as you practically smash your alarm clock. "No, Nicki Minaj, you're the stupid hoe," you mutter. You turn on the shower, and just as you step in, you slip on the curtain and fall as everything tumbles down around you. You're a cold, wet mess. Great. Today was actually looking to be a LOT worse than usual. You untangle yourself from the curtain and fix everything, self-conscious about being naked the whole time, despite the door being locked, let alone being the only one even awake yet.

You finish your shower, grumbling and shivering, and you get dressed as quickly as possible. You comb through your hair and turn on your hair dryer, relieved by the warm air. You click on your straightener as you wait for your hair to dry, but it starts smoking. Shit. You turn off the hair dryer, mortified that you'll have to go to school with hair looking like a Trollz Doll. You miserably finish getting ready, and shove a beanie on your head in hopes of covering up the mess you call your hair.

It's about time to go, and when you look outside, you realize in disbelief that its raining. Great. Just fucking great.

You dash out to your car, trying not to get wet. It's a piece of shit, but it gets you places in one hunk of junk. You have to turn the keys a few times, engine choking each time, but not actually coming to life until the third twist. You slowly make your way to school and head to your locker to put your bookbag away, but it's jammed. FUCK, today just isn't your day.

You speed walk down to the office, and the secretary calls the janitor down who follows you back to your locker. After ten minutes of practically dry humping the damn thing, he gets it open. You thank him, but it's more sarcastic than anything because you only have a couple minutes left before class begins and no time to say hi to your friends. You put your stuff away and rush to first hour, health class, and flop down into your seat, only to remember that you have a test. Which you didn't study for.

You cross your arms and put your head down, groaning in frustration. The teacher passes out the test, and you try to think positive thoughts, that you know this, you can do it. You look at the first question:
Name five symptoms of schizophrenia and how a schizophrenic's family can support them in their diagnosis.
Shit, you KNOW this, you just can't think of it. You spend a few minutes just staring at the paper and tapping your pencil on the table. Finally, you just figure 'Fuck it' and BS the entire thing.

Your teacher collects the tests and you despair that it'll ruin your GPA. The worries of perfectionism eat away at your mind. You know that it's just one test, but you still freak out.

Second and third hours float on by, and finally it's time for lunch. You walk over to your friends, but it looks as though your usual seat has been taken. Your face falls; this happens from time to time. You're the tagalong in the big group, the friend of the best friend of the queen bee. When this happens, it's usually that they just happen to find someone more interesting. It's a vicious little world that you live in.

You duck your head and head over to the long lunch line. You put your headphones up and finally relax. It's your therapy, and your worries over the test in health washes away.

The choices today look revolting, so you head over to the salad bar and grab some lettuce and carrots with ranch. You head over to the cashier, and when it's finally your turn, you punch in your number.

The lunch lady rips the plate from your hands. "You owe three dollars," she hisses.

Your heart sinks and you want to break down. You forgot your lunch money on the kitchen counter. "I'll pay tomorrow, I promise," you beg.

"No money, no food," the bitch practically growls.

You turn to look around for help, and a voice behind you pipes up. "I'll pay for it," a guy's voice offers.

You turn to see none other than the skunk-haired class clown, Jack Barakat, taking out a five dollar bill. You've had a few classes with him and remember doing a project with him in English back in ninth grade. You give him a meek smile. "Thank you. I'll pay you back tomorrow," you say graciously.

"Nah, it's on me," he grins, swatting away your offer.

You pay the lunch lady as she frowns at you, and once you're all set, you start towards the table of your friends, only to remember that you're not welcome there today. You stop in your tracks and look around awkwardly.

"You can sit by me if you want," a voice says behind you, making you jump about a foot in the air. Jack walks up to your side. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"It's fine. And that'd be great, thanks," you say.

You follow him outside to a small table covered with engraved graffiti. You sit down with your pathetic salad and just stare at it for a few moments before shoving it away and putting your head in your arms.

"Hey, I paid five bucks for that wimpy little salad! I hope you eat it," he says, acting insulted.

"Sorry. Bad days cause a loss of appetite for me," you sigh.

"What happened? Oh, and your name's Y/N, right?" He asks before taking a big bite out of a burger.

"Yeah," you say groggily before recalling to him what had happened this morning.

He gives you a sympathetic look. "That's too bad. And I'm sure that that test won't affect things too much," he assures you.

"Yeah. I just don't even know anymore. I just wanna get out of here," you sigh again.

"Then let's go," he says.

You look at him, confused. "What?" You're a straight-A student, you would never even contemplate skipping.

"I said let's go. It sounds like it would be good for your health anyway," he observes.

The offer is tempting, and your mind begins a war within itself. Soon the pros weigh out the cons though, and you find you and your bookbag in the passenger seat of Jack's '85 Corolla. He turns the key in the ignition and shoves a cassette-to-iPod converter into the cassette player and plugs his iPhone in and blasts A Day To Remember through the stereo. "Say goodbye to the halls and the classes," he winks at you.

You grin, feeling free, and a rush of adrenaline courses through your veins at the thought of not knowing where you're going. He revs the engine, and then burns out of the parking spot, and then screeches out of the parking lot.

It's stopped raining, and the sun is out, and you feel like your whole day is turned around. You know that you'll be in deep shit if your parents ever find out about skipping, but in all honesty, you smile and don't give a damn about the consequences.

He takes off towards downtown before asking, "So, where to?"

You lean your head against the headrest and close your eyes in bliss. He was right; you did need this. "I don't know. Somewhere exciting."

He just grins and pulls off onto an exit and heads north.

The risk of skipping class and taking off with a mere acquaintance makes your heart race and anxiety soar, but your adrenaline covers it all. The windows are rolled all the way down, Jack has on a really good playlist and you just breathe. You realize just how suffocating the school really is, and it makes you squeal out of relief that you escaped. More things seem to turn to color by the second.

After about half an hour or so, Jack pulls off another exit and takes a scenic back road. The houses turn from manufactured homes to rustic log cabins, and you long to have one of your own and escape the pains of society. It's so peaceful.

Soon Jack slows and looks along the right side of the road, until a huge smile breaks across his face and he pulls up to a small little shack on a river with old tractor parts and license plates hung up everywhere. "This is an old little pancake shack my dad used to take me to when we had to get away," he explains. "Their breakfast is 24/7 and its phenomenal."

You give a giggle before hopping out of the car and following him inside.

There are only two other parties, a group of four fishermen, and an elderly couple in the corner.

You head over to a window table and take a seat. A friendly, older woman comes over and you suspect her to be the waitress.

"Hey, there, Jackary," she says lovingly, ruffling his hair. He scrunches his face up before shaking his hair out to get it back in place.

"Hey, Rita. How are you?"

"Good, good. I take it you're skipping?" She says, seeming not to be bothered by the idea at all.

He smiles sheepishly. "Yeah. Y/N, this is Rita, the owner. Rita, this is Y/N. She was in dire need of a getaway," he explains to her.

She smiles sweetly. "That's nice of you, Jack. So, what can I get you kids to drink?"

"I'll have an Arnold Palmer," he says.

She looks at you. "Uh, I'll have the same, please."

"Alright, I'll be right out with them," she says before taking off to the kitchen.

It's a sweet little place, with vintage artifacts hung up everywhere. You love it.

"So I'll at the very least pay you back for this tomorrow," you tell him.

"No, no, it's on me, I insist!" He says.

"Are you certain?"

"For sure," he grins.

Rita comes out then with your drinks and you spend a few minutes examining the menu and enjoying the peace. You decide on a simple pancake meal with bacon, hashbrowns and eggs. Rita takes your orders and whisks off back to the kitchen.

"Thank you," you say quietly.

"Huh?"

"Thank you. For all of this, everything today. You really didn't have to do any of it," you say as you stare down at your lap and twiddle your thumbs.

"It's no problem, seriously," he laughs. "So, lets play twenty questions," he suggests.

You look at him skeptically. "Okay?"

"One. What's your favorite ice cream?"

"Chocolate," you answer easily.

"Blech. So plain."

"Well, what about you?"

"Rocky Road," he says. "Your turn."

"Okay...two. Favorite movie."

"Psshh. Home Alone. One. Not two, three, OR four. No, the original. You?"

It goes on like this for the next fifteen minutes, just going back and forth, shooting questions at each other.

"Parents divorced?" He asks.

You smile falters at the memory of it. "Yeah. It was pretty gruesome. You?"

"No. But I'm sorry to hear that. Plans for after college?"

"To get out of this shithole," you say as though its the most obvious thing ever.

He frowns. "Why?"

You sigh. "It's full of painful memories. And the people are just so...blah. I feel like I'm just another face in the crowd here. I want to BE somebody, you know?"

He nods. "Yeah, I get it. My problem is I just don't know what TO do. Sure, I can play guitar, and I'm pretty funny, but it's not like I'll be playing alongside blink-182 or guest starring on Tosh.0. It sucks, not knowing what the hell I'm supposed to do with my life. So, until I figure that out, I'm stuck in this fucking rut," he tells you.

"Hmm. I've known since the first grade that I want to be an artist. So that's what I'm doing. I plan on traveling the world, looking for muses, stopping here and there, hopefully finding someone special along the way," you say, looking up at Jack for the last bit.

"That's awesome," he grins as Rita brings the food out.

You didn't realize how hungry you were until you smell the pancakes and bacon. As soon as she sets the big plate down, you dig in. She lets out a chuckle. "Eat up, hun. You look like you need it."

The comment kind of pisses you off, but you shrug it off. She takes off to take care of the other people, and you look over at Jack to see him making a mess out of his food.

"What are you doing?" You laugh out loud.

"Indulging in childhood actions that I wasn't able to partake in," he says simply.

Your face falls a little in question. "What do you mean?"

"My mom was always on my case about growing up to be a gentleman since my brother is a 'slob and disgrace to the family.' She didn't let me play with my food or watch Teletubbies or Barney or SpongeBob. I'd never listen though, and she gave up on the hope of it when I was about ten. That's probably the reason why I'm such a kid now. I was deprived of childlike antics when I was a child."

"Aww, that's sad," you say. The two of you go on like that, just talking about everything under the sun, laughing about stupid stuff.

"You know, Y/N, you're really beautiful," Jack says at one point.

You look down and play with them hem of your shirt. You can feel the blush creeping up to your cheeks. "No, I'm not," you argue.

He looks at you with a stubborn tone in his eyes and crosses his arms. "And why would you ever think that?"

"Because I'm just not. Look at me, Jack. I've never even had a boyfriend," you say, barking out a laugh.

"That's probably because none of the assholes at our school see the beauty in you."

"I'm too skinny," you say flatly.

"Y/N, beauty is not judged by the size of your jeans," he tells you.

At that, you have to admit that you melt a bit. You've always thought he's cute, but in a goofball way, and that slight comment just makes him that much more attractive.

You give a small smile and look up at him shyly. "Um. Thanks?"

"You're so, so, so beautiful, and you're sure as hell too good to let them hold you down," he says, returning the smile and reaching across the table for your hands. You put them in his, and it feels good to know that someone's there for you.

Rita comes over to give Jack the check, and he quickly pays before the two of you thank her and say goodbye. You head out together, and once you're outside, he grabs your hand and holds it in his own again. You walk together over to the edge of the river and breathe in the intoxicating scent of mint. Jack looks down at you and you look back up at him before he rests his head on yours.

After so long of only having yourself to pick yourself up off the ground, you rest your head on Jack's shoulder and let go.