Strange We Should Meet Here
Planted in the Dark
"Do you want a ride?" They asked. "No, no. I'm fine, and I'm trying to get used to driving on the interstate more, but thank you," I repeated back.
"Are you sure? I mean, It's no problem," she offered. "I swear, it's okay," I replied, chuckling. "I'm not going to die," I assured them.
Granted, I didn't die, and the next to worst possible situations didn't happen, but I did break down after they left. Peachy.
"Oh, no, it's fine, it's fine," I repeat to myself with exaggerative assurance, as I pace around my godforsaken car. "What can go wrong?" I ask with the same, airy tone. This.
My friends and I drove about thirty miles, to Orlando to go chill out at Downtown Disney. We went to Disney Quest first, which was amazing. In a nutshell, it's a giant arcade that has rides in it. They even have a roller coaster simulator.
After Disney Quest, we went over to the House of Blues, right across the pathway. The Matches were heading the show, with Idiot Pilot opening up. It was the perfect show. We actually didn't plan on going, my friends and I, but the tickets weren't sold out yet, and were legitimately affordable.
When we left the concert, the time had almost reached eleven, so we knew we had to leave by then, so our parents wouldn't freak out if we weren't home by the next day. One of the guys from Idiot Pilot caught my eye, though, and I told my friends to go ahead. I did have my car to drive myself home. They waved bye, as did I before moving ahead to try and get a photo or something with the guy from Idiot Pilot.
I did, and a few other people caught attention that he was out. I waved and thanked him as I left. Walking out to the car, I was chipper. I had just met Michael from Idiot Pilot. I unlocked my car door and attempted to start it. The lights on the radio temporarily lighted up, and the car started for a split second, but it died just as instantly.
I think my battery is dead. Wonderful luck I have, eh? At least it's not Sunday. I would be screwed as far as going to school, goes. Hell, if I have to, I'll camp out in my car and call my parents or friends to come pick me up tomorrow, although I can't imagine the intense interrogation I'll receive.
I pace around a little more, and decide I'm thirsty, but I don't want to leave the car sitting by itself, I think. God, I'm acting as if it's a baby.
Moping around the car some more, I hear a voice yell, asking if I need any help. The figure is walking towards me, and I start to freak out. Okay, yeah. What are you going to do? It's eleven at night, there's really, not that many people around. Okay, there is over at another part of Downtown Disney, because they always have parties, but as far as congregating in the parking lot, not so much. Maybe the guy just happened to see me standing there looking like a moron, but I'm not taking chances.
He speaks, and of course I hear the expected, I saw that you're having problems, blah blah blah. Yeah, okay. Let's cut to the meat. You want to rape me, I think, as he's speaking.
He's actually not that creepy looking. On second thought, he's pretty cute. But aren't the worst criminals the clean cut ones? That's what I've heard. I mean, look at Ted Bundy.
The guy asks me where I live. "Lakeland," I answer nonchalantly, but still on guard. He nods and speaks again. "I have some relatives over there. I live in Winter Haven," he says. Winter Haven, for the record, is about a twenty minute drive, southeast of Lakeland.
"Look, if you want, I'll give you a ride. You probably don't trust me, but I swear, I'm not going to kill, stalk, rape, or come onto you," he tells me, seeming somewhat sincere. No, no, no, I tell myself. But what? Am I going to camp out here tonight in my tiny 94 Miata, suffocating? Yeah. Not so practical. But I don't want to just jump in the car with this guy.
"Okay. I'll make a deal with you," He starts. "If I can get you home safely, I'll give you five bucks. Because, well, yeah. Making you give me five bucks isn't going to make you want to get home any faster, is it?" he continues, chuckling. He has an interesting humor, and he seems kind of young. Maybe twenty-one, at most. But still. I debate with myself for a few more minutes.
"Fine," I decide. "Let me get my camera, though," I say, getting it out of the car, from when I put it in the passenger's seat, earlier. I pocket it, and scratch the back of my head awkwardly. "Thanks. But seriously. If you rape me, I'll kill you," I threaten, but to him, it was probably comical. He smiles awkwardly, and I lock up my car, putting my keys in my other pocket.
"Are you sure? I mean, It's no problem," she offered. "I swear, it's okay," I replied, chuckling. "I'm not going to die," I assured them.
Granted, I didn't die, and the next to worst possible situations didn't happen, but I did break down after they left. Peachy.
"Oh, no, it's fine, it's fine," I repeat to myself with exaggerative assurance, as I pace around my godforsaken car. "What can go wrong?" I ask with the same, airy tone. This.
My friends and I drove about thirty miles, to Orlando to go chill out at Downtown Disney. We went to Disney Quest first, which was amazing. In a nutshell, it's a giant arcade that has rides in it. They even have a roller coaster simulator.
After Disney Quest, we went over to the House of Blues, right across the pathway. The Matches were heading the show, with Idiot Pilot opening up. It was the perfect show. We actually didn't plan on going, my friends and I, but the tickets weren't sold out yet, and were legitimately affordable.
When we left the concert, the time had almost reached eleven, so we knew we had to leave by then, so our parents wouldn't freak out if we weren't home by the next day. One of the guys from Idiot Pilot caught my eye, though, and I told my friends to go ahead. I did have my car to drive myself home. They waved bye, as did I before moving ahead to try and get a photo or something with the guy from Idiot Pilot.
I did, and a few other people caught attention that he was out. I waved and thanked him as I left. Walking out to the car, I was chipper. I had just met Michael from Idiot Pilot. I unlocked my car door and attempted to start it. The lights on the radio temporarily lighted up, and the car started for a split second, but it died just as instantly.
I think my battery is dead. Wonderful luck I have, eh? At least it's not Sunday. I would be screwed as far as going to school, goes. Hell, if I have to, I'll camp out in my car and call my parents or friends to come pick me up tomorrow, although I can't imagine the intense interrogation I'll receive.
I pace around a little more, and decide I'm thirsty, but I don't want to leave the car sitting by itself, I think. God, I'm acting as if it's a baby.
Moping around the car some more, I hear a voice yell, asking if I need any help. The figure is walking towards me, and I start to freak out. Okay, yeah. What are you going to do? It's eleven at night, there's really, not that many people around. Okay, there is over at another part of Downtown Disney, because they always have parties, but as far as congregating in the parking lot, not so much. Maybe the guy just happened to see me standing there looking like a moron, but I'm not taking chances.
He speaks, and of course I hear the expected, I saw that you're having problems, blah blah blah. Yeah, okay. Let's cut to the meat. You want to rape me, I think, as he's speaking.
He's actually not that creepy looking. On second thought, he's pretty cute. But aren't the worst criminals the clean cut ones? That's what I've heard. I mean, look at Ted Bundy.
The guy asks me where I live. "Lakeland," I answer nonchalantly, but still on guard. He nods and speaks again. "I have some relatives over there. I live in Winter Haven," he says. Winter Haven, for the record, is about a twenty minute drive, southeast of Lakeland.
"Look, if you want, I'll give you a ride. You probably don't trust me, but I swear, I'm not going to kill, stalk, rape, or come onto you," he tells me, seeming somewhat sincere. No, no, no, I tell myself. But what? Am I going to camp out here tonight in my tiny 94 Miata, suffocating? Yeah. Not so practical. But I don't want to just jump in the car with this guy.
"Okay. I'll make a deal with you," He starts. "If I can get you home safely, I'll give you five bucks. Because, well, yeah. Making you give me five bucks isn't going to make you want to get home any faster, is it?" he continues, chuckling. He has an interesting humor, and he seems kind of young. Maybe twenty-one, at most. But still. I debate with myself for a few more minutes.
"Fine," I decide. "Let me get my camera, though," I say, getting it out of the car, from when I put it in the passenger's seat, earlier. I pocket it, and scratch the back of my head awkwardly. "Thanks. But seriously. If you rape me, I'll kill you," I threaten, but to him, it was probably comical. He smiles awkwardly, and I lock up my car, putting my keys in my other pocket.