One Way

Writers block. It was the worst thing someone like me could experience.

I stared at the blank notebook in front of me. The assignment was to write a 'Where I'm From' poem. All I had was Ari Kruger in the corner of the page.

How could I put an entire lifetime worth of memories into a single poem? Where would I even begin? It's as if my creative writing teacher did this just to get his students frustrated. If that was the case, then it's working.

Think. I'm from Framingham. I'm from a family of seven, my mom and I being the only girls. I'm from the woods? No, that's too predictable.

After an hour attempt at trying to write something, I eventually gave up and headed downstairs to where my family was all hanging out. They were watching The Walking Dead. Typical. I feel like I'm the only one in this family who doesn't obsess over zombies or death. I grabbed a Mountain Dew from inside the fridge and sat down on the couch in-between my mom and my brother, Paul.

"So what's happening?" I asked. Everyone shushed me simultaneously. That was expected. You never talk unless this show is on commercial. Same goes for Sons of Anarchy and The Voice. I just rolled my eyes, got up, and headed outside.

It was a nice night for the middle of December. Probably around 50 degrees or so. I got into my mom's car and stole a Marlboro out of her pack. She'd never notice. Besides it was basically a full pack anyways. I also grabbed the lighter that was on the dashboard and headed to the end of the driveway.

I sat there and smoked the cigarette for the next five minutes, trying to figure out what to write for Mr. Monroe tomorrow. I had him first so this poem had to get done tonight. I sat there, looking up at the clear sky. 'Maybe the answers would be in the stars,' from the words of my pussy ex-boyfriend Max. I laughed at the thought of him. Wow, I actually hadn't thought about him in awhile.

When I was done, I was planning on walking back inside and continue writing. Or at least trying, but failing. Something caught my eye though. It was a figure at the end of the road. I knew exactly who it was too. Jesse Brady. He's lived across the street from me since I was born. In fact, we just so happened to be born on the same day. And he also was one of my best friends. Maybe he could help me with this block I'm having.

He walked up the road fast, turning into a jog. "Hey Ari! What you doing out here? It's freaking freezing!" He stopped in front of me.

"Not even. You just don't know how to handle the cold." Jesse took vacations to Arizona every few months. His dad lived down there. He just got back from one the other day, which would explain why he was so cold in this beautiful weather.

"But hey, what you doing right now? I'm bout to go over to Scotts," he said.

"Doing what?"

"Where just going to hang out, smoke some, maybe a couple video games. Nothing too major. And Rachel is coming over to." I laughed. Yeah right. I wasn't going to spend even two minutes in the same room as her. All she tries to do is get every guys attention and it really bothers me. Plus she's a bitch.

"Nah, I think I'll stay here tonight. But I'll see you at school tomorrow, kay?" I just smiled and walked back inside.

"Wait!" He screamed. I turned around and he was running back up to me. "Kyle wants to text you. He likes you. And also, does your mom have another cigarette?"

"Why my mom? And why Kyle?"

He laughed. "Cause I know you wont have one and I don't know bout Kyle. For some reason he thinks you're hot." I walked up to my mom's car rolling my eyes. "It's weird, I think. I mean, normally he goes for better looking girls. And that's me saying you're ugly."

I walked back down to him with the cigarette. I was about to hand it over to him. "First I want you to re-finish that last part."

"Uhhh," he playfully moaned. "Fine you're the beauty Goddess of the Ham, and I'm sorry." Then he fake smiled.

"Better. Remember, don't insult the person giving you something you want."

I went back inside shortly. It was a commercial and everyone was in the kitchen, talking about what they just saw. My parents, Paul, Greg, Derek, and Holden. All the Kruger's under one roof. This only happens once a week. Sunday night when the Walking Dead is on.

"So what happened?" I asked. They didn't seem very interested to tell me, considering they were all ignoring me. All I heard was 'Rick something something, Zombie blah blah blah, and something about black people getting the shit end of the stick.' Deciding that this conversation was boring, I headed back upstairs.

Looking at my notebook one last time, I thought of a line.

I'm from a zombie deranged family.

That was it. I fell back into my bed and put in my headphones, eventually falling asleep to Elliott Smith's beautiful voice.