untitled

A memoir I began. I was trying to write it as I live it, but I haven't added to it in a long time. It will most likely never be finished.

The strand of old Christmas lights strewn about the top of our makeshift wall is switched on. I was already awake. Thirty minutes, I'd say. My mom shuffles slowly around the wall to the foot of the discarded couch cushion that I sleep on. “There's no breakfast,” she says, almost like she'd burst into tears right then and there, “Sorry.” I don't reply, I don't really care, I'm not hungry in the morning. I toss my scratchy blanket off and sit up, turn on my lamp. I go to the bathroom, before anything else. My mom has made her way back to the bed, and my dad is now getting up. I fill up the blue plastic cup that I keep at the sink after using the toilet. The water doesn't taste all that pleasant. My dad's started coffee for himself, and turned on the TV in front of the bed. I sit back down, on my side of the wall, looking for something to wear to school. I check the open space underneath the drawer of my bedside cabinet. Only a pair of pants that's too loose on me. The rest of the little clothes that I have at the moment are stacked in a disheveled fashion in the space beside where I lay my head to sleep. None clean. I grab my favorite pair of pants, simple and black, and pull them on over the shorts that I didn't bother taking off from last night. Then I change shirts into my Cap'n Jazz tee, a favorite shirt from a favorite band, of course it's dirty, but no one could tell. I have to leave in ten minutes to catch the bus. It's cold outside, I slip on a long-sleeved button up, and a heavy corduroy coat lined with faux sheepskin. That should be enough for this five minute walk. Shoes and socks on. Unbelievably durable shoes, not a single sign of wear, at least not to me. I take care putting on my backpack, the strap is ripped, leaving the rest to hang on by the smallest thread imaginable. It's teeming with holes. About to leave, I open the door, it stops short, hitting the trash bag filled with crushed cans behind it. Walking outside, my mom says a “Bye, have a good day” type deal. I don't reply. Maybe I grunted a bit.

It's colder than I thought it would be, I think, at the bus stop now. I'm shivering, can't wait for it to get here. When it finally does, I get on first. It stops and opens its doors right in front of me, the others line up behind me. Off to school. I always wish the bus ride to school would never end. We'd just ride around all day, no stops after mine preferably. Mine is the second or third stop on the way to school, and I can find a vacant seat everyday. I keep my backpack in my lap for when others need to sit next to me. No one today. Looks like I can set my backpack beside me an slide over a tad. The bus in the morning is quiet, but that's to be expected. Everyone with headphones in their ears, no interaction with others until they've warmed up. Figuratively, that is. The bus ride doesn't last forever, not today. We reach the school in about ten minutes. So I walk to my first class and sit in there, waiting for school to begin. Same old s**t, different day. No, it's all one massive day. I just take a lot of long naps.

School drones like a long tribal drum solo during a bad mushroom trip. Pounding away at your sanity, denting and chipping with each thump. You think you're going mad. You think you've gone mad. In my case, though, there's nothing to keep you grounded. No friends here, no one to talk to, nothing to do. My first class is some kind of credit recovery, to make up a geography class I wasn't required to take at my old school. We have work to do weekly. It's Wednesday, I finished Monday. Two hours (Hour and forty minutes, whatever) of sitting at my desk. Except it's all day.

Lunch is accompanied by a very light snow fall. It's gotten warmer since morning, albeit still freezing. I make my way from the gym to the place I normally go at lunch, the end of an outdoor hallway, sitting on a ledge. Few people walk by at lunch. I browse the internet, listen to music, on the laptop provided to me by the school. The connection is never stellar here. I opt to use the mobile connection rather than the school's, as I prefer not to be monitored. I still am, but at least I can do something to make it less so.

I fear that I will not graduate high school, and I never do anything about it. It's as simple as actually doing my work, actually turning it in, but I never do, and I can't shake the feeling that I never will. Why? I'm not the right person to ask, no one is unfortunately. Maybe there's no answer, and I've simply accepted failure. It's a whole snowball thing. I still do what I can. As of now, graduating would be a surprise.

After the last class of the day, I rush to the bus to find a seat, as it fills almost instantly. With a new term comes new classes, and I'm closer to the bus than last term, and I can find a seat most of the time. No difference today. Sometimes I walk home, more so than I take the bus actually, but I didn't feel like it today. It's considerably louder now. Everyone hollering obscenities at one another, throwing balled up pieces of paper, denigrating pedestrians out the window. I guarantee if you brought an average bystander aboard without telling them it was a high school bus, they'd swear we were in middle school. Once again in a seat by myself, I take out the laptop to listen to music, and make it so that it doesn't turn off when I close the lid. Even after I get off, it's still a thirty minute walk home. The snow has stopped.

I think things were pretty okay, but it's not up to me. My mom had left for Oregon during the last month or so of my junior year of high school. I had to go eventually. I couldn't tell you how much I didn't want to. The week, or maybe two, leading up to my departure, I was living in the garage of someone I didn't know. The summer brought triple digit temperatures in there. We had one fan I think, my dad and I. A TV, a couch where he slept and a mattress for me. We had no shower, and no where to go for a shower. I hadn't bathed at all during that time. We had no bathroom, no refrigerator, no food to put in our non-existent refrigerator, and no access to the house we'd been hiding in the shadow of. All of my clothes were crammed in a garbage bag by my bed. I had incredibly vivid, extensive, and jarring pre-sleep experiences every night we were there. A notably terrifying moment occurred when the power had shut off, all lights that were on, all whirring and fan humming, shut off with a loud and instant pang. It was dark, my hypnagogic mind thought that everything had ceased at that precise moment, but I woke up soon after.

On the day that my grandparents came to take me to Redding, to get on a Greyhound to Portland, I packed about a month's supply of clothing into the sack that used to hold a sleeping bag, and threw some odd things in my backpack. A laptop, headphones...that may have been it, really. These were my dad's parents, in Oregon I'd stay with my mom and her parents.

There were complications I can't recall, my dad and I had stayed with his parents for three days, I think. Nothing doing over those days, it was hot. The Greyhound boarded at 11:30, it was a ten or so hour bus ride to Portland. My grandpa gave me two twenties before I left. That'll be of great use out in the middle of the woods, miles away from a town, going either direction on the highway. The night my grandparents would take me to the station, my dad was out with an old friend. We drove to the bar where he was to see if he'd like to see me off. He stumbled to my seat and slurred his goodbyes there. It would only be a month I think.

The bus left at midnight, and would reach Portland by eight, shorter than I thought. I didn't sleep at all during the ride. I had about two hours of battery on my computer, so I used it sparingly. Most of the time I'd just stare out the window, looking into an endless wall of black. After a while, I'd guess six hours, we made it to Medford. It was early morning, dark and chilly, but so nice compared to the daily triple digit heat in Redding. We were scheduled to stop here for a half hour. I spent some of the money I had on an energy drink and a donut. I stood outside in the brisk air, wishing I had an unhealthy amount of illicit substance to ingest. I got back on and sat back in my seat. My clothes bag had rolled off the overhead carrier earlier in the trip, and I had to keep that and my backpack with me in my lap and on legs.

I made it to the Greyhound station in Portland and met my mom and her's with hugs. My enthusiasm nowhere to be found, but that's expected when it comes to family affairs. We drove from there to my grandparent's house on the highway, 'bout another hundred miles. It was the same as I remember, a little neighborhood if you could call it that. My grandparent's house in the center, connected to another house where a family friend lived, on the far side another family friend, a Hulk Hogan looking fellow, and on the opposite, the small, no bedroom shack where my mom and I would stay. The kitchen would not be used, as we had all our meals next door. We had a large freezer, instead of a refrigerator. The whole place smelled like beeswax and honey, probably from all the beeswax and honey. There was a small stereo system borrowed from Hulk Hogan on the counter. A makeshift table held the smallest TV I had ever seen, I watched many movies on it. My “room” was filled to the brim with my grandma's books and art supplies, and in the center of the floor, a mattress. No door. The bathroom was solid. I didn't want to be here at all. The first thing I did after “settling in”, I took a walk deep into the wilderness away from my relatives, and reflected for a good while. I'd get back, take a shower, catch up, eat dinner, watch a tape on the TV (Now in my room), and go to sleep. End of day one.

When I made it back to the hotel room, I took off my shoes, sat down on my cushion, and opened up my laptop. All I ever did was sit on it all day and night, burning my eyes and frying my brain. Nothing else to do I guess. Hey, maybe I could do my homework? Maybe I already did. I don't take anything else out of my backpack. I'm speeding down the highway to societal banishment, a “loser” or a “burnout” in the eyes of my peers. You can't be successful if you don't graduate high school, they say, you'll wind up in a box or flipping burgers to go home to your parent's place and starve. I know very well that that is subjective, so it doesn't bother me too much. The highway patrol is awful, instead of telling me to pull over, they'll drive up beside me and push me off the road. They insist that I was doing something wrong, they won't tell me. I get a ticket. Each one tacks another day in front of the day marked “FREEDOM”. It doesn't help that I'm such a reckless driver. If I wasn't such a caring b***h, I'd run away and never look back. But all efforts have been thwarted, only by myself really. I always come back, even though every fiber of my being is against it. I have this obligation to graduate high school, under the care and supervision of my parents. I don't think I will, truthfully. So much for those last eleven and a half years.

But I mean...f**k school, and s**t. Right?

Graduate or not, I like to think I'm gone after the school year's over. Unfortunately, this isn't a movie or some coming of age novella (Wait, it's not?) where we follow the protagonist through their life...maybe they left it all behind and started anew? Let me try, I'll just conjure up the thousands of dollars necessary to start the life I'd like. I don't want to be a vagabond, or a train hopper, or anything like that, at least not full time. While I hold the utmost respect for people like that, I don't want it for myself. When I look into the future, it's not without travel and exploration, but I'd like a place to live, under a roof, food every day, appliances, electricity, all the goods. There goes all my punk rock cred. I never identified as one anyway. This is real life, a sometimes saddening fact. I'll have to work for the things I want. Either that, or say “f**k it” and leave. And never stop leaving. I don't want that to happen. I just want to be comfortable. I don't think I can reach it. Maybe I should plan for this to be a best-selling, world renowned publication.

It's been three days since arriving in Oregon. Today I found out that our neighbor on the far end has an internet connection he'd be willing to share. That's wonderful. I didn't really use it that much though. More reflection in the woods, movie watching, more solid nothing. I picked raspberries every day, and ate them all without hesitation whenever I'd finish. The blackberries haven't come in yet. I was alone most of the time. My grandma worked as a housekeeper, my mom would sometimes join, but she had her own job at a clothing store. They'd drive into Cannon Beach, the nearest town, for work. Grandpa was home a lot, but I never really visited, not a whole lot. Even when my mom was home, she'd spend most of her time with a neighbor. I'd like more than anything to leave. Right this second.

Soon I'm told I can start working with my grandpa, helping him paint and things like that. Ten dollars an hour. I enjoyed it while it lasted. It passed the time easily enough. He says I'm a natural. Maybe I could do that, yeah, that'd be great.

It was to be a one month thing, something like that. We left halfway through the third month. I met more relatives that I haven't seen in a while. Enjoyed, to an extent, some time on the beach, stuffed myself daily with raspberries. I spent all the money I had while I was in town for a day. Lunch and stuff. My grandparents didn't like my mom leaving me by myself so often, I didn't mind. Sometimes I fantasized about walking down the highway, just out of the sight of my little neighborhood, and sticking out my thumb, hoping to get picked up and taken somewhere far off. I have all the same things now as I did then, plus a few more articles of clothing.

You know, I wasn't too excited when I first arrived at my would-be Summer home. The house is very small, I don't even know if where I'm sleeping qualifies as a bedroom. I wasn't upset about there being no TV, because we had movies galore, but the television itself wasn't all that great. During the first few days, I couldn't get my laptop to play music through the stereo, and I've heard all the CDs we had so many times already. Eventually I figured it out, I just had to plug one of those input chords with the red, yellow, and white, you know, into the back and plug red and white both into my laptop, that made me a little happier. I was also happy when our neighbor let me use his wifi, he's a nice guy. I'm not dependent on these things, not at all, but you can only take so many walks in the woods. And I can't drive, so I can't just go on into town. The other day I bought a few books. The house I'm in was already jam-packed with books, but they weren't my thing. They were the kind of books you find at the front of a supermarket. Countless novels by James Patterson, Clive Cussler, and Dean Koontz. Anyway, I was a little more optimistic about things with these additions, that was the first week.

Another thing to keep me busy was working. I was getting paid higher than minimum wage, at least in Nevada. I put in forty hours on one house, we had to do the whole thing. I got paid after two days, a hundred dollars. We started another job, painting a deck, after we finished the first house. In total, I've got about eighty hours in two weeks working part-time, I haven't got the rest of my pay yet. This was my first job, and I found it rewarding and almost fun. The best part was getting finished, and taking a step back to see what you've done, I felt like I did a good job.

It wasn't too long, and all the negative thoughts I had about staying here were gone. I started to feel right at home, working, going to local shows in Cannon Beach, walking on the beach, and hanging around. I got to know everyone who worked in town, and many other people since it's such a small area. I ate my weight in freshly picked raspberries everyday, and stuffed myself with a glut of other fruits. My grandparents are great cooks, so dinner was always wonderful. When I first got here, my grandpa could see that I wasn't extremely happy, he told me "You just gotta learn to relax", and so I did.

I do however genuinely miss all my friends from Reno, and every day I wonder what kind of shenanigans they're getting into. But if I learned anything from Playtime Posse, it's that a lot of things change, but the game stays the same, nawmean? I know exactly what he means. Besides, it shouldn't be much longer before I'm on the move again, I'd say another two weeks at most and I'll be gone. I'm not moving back to Reno, though, I gotta adjust to another new area and start another new life, even go to a new school. I'll be moving to South Lake Tahoe, and I'll be staying there. It's what? A thirty minute drive to Reno from there? There's even a bus that could take me, I'll be seeing the old gang again pretty soon. We've got a special kind of bond, my friends and I. I know that's how everyone feels about their friends, but each relationship is personal. We have a tight group, about eightish people, probably more, and it doesn't grow apart, at least not yet. Though I honestly don't think it ever will. Sometimes people come and go, but at the core it's always the same.

I was thinking during school that this was finally gonna be an awesome summer, we had so many plans to do this and that, but of course, something like this happens.

We, my mom and I, would take a bus to Portland. I ended up losing ninety percent of the money I made in Oregon, being a dumbass. I'd get the rest back eventually. We were stuck at the station there for ten hours. I guess the train tickets would cost more than we had expected, and the bus was sold out until late at night. It was rough that day. We had to change our arrangements, instead we took that late bus to Redding to stay with my dad's parents again. We'd then take a train to Sacramento, and another bus to South Lake Tahoe. I may have that mixed up, because it seems bizarre and unnecessary. I went without sleep the last three days entirely, life had been moving in slow motion at that point.

I stepped off the bus to see my father, it's been a few months, and even longer for my mom. They share a long hug. The air is hazy from a huge fire that had happened earlier. He tells us his opinions on the new town, how great it is, how nice the people are compared to Reno. We're getting ready to take a city bus to our room. My dad tells us it's not big and it's not great, but it's all there is. Though before we left, my mom told me he had a surefire house to live in. I guess I wasn't upset because I've come to expect things like this in a family built on lies. At the bus station were two young girls, presumably my age, if not younger, dressed in skimpy outfits, smoking cigarettes, blaring some s****y rap music on a phone, and yelling obnoxiously. An old man stumbled by and fell down on the grass. Didn't seem much different to me.

After the bus ride, my dad led us a few feet to our motel room. Number eight at the Sky Lake Lodge. He unlocked the door and we went in and set down our bags. The first thing I noticed was a makeshift bed on the ground. A stack of couch cushions wrapped in a bed sheet with a pillow and blanket. A short, wood cabinet was beside it. It took some getting used to, but now I accept it for what it is. Less than one hundred square feet, terrible water pressure (It takes me twenty minutes to rinse my hair), dirty clothes strewn everywhere, and what have you.

I had a meeting with a counselor regarding my enrollment in South Tahoe High School on September eleventh. We talked about the classes I'd need to take in order to graduate, and what would otherwise be best for me. I started right after that meeting, second period business and finance, a class I have now come to abhor.

School was going fine, I suppose. Every day I think about my friends back home, my cat, my belongings, which really only consists of a guitar and some vinyls. I don't know how long I'd been staying here, a week, maybe? My parents were arguing, and my mom was threatening to leave (again). She seemed so sure of herself, she was making phone calls and everything. My dad said he was going to stop paying rent on the room if she left, and she wasn't going to take me. So if that's how it was going to be, what was I to do? I packed up what I had, which filled my backpack, and stuffed what little clothes I had into my sleeping bag sack. I wrote "RENO" in sharpie on a notepad and started walking East along the highway. No one stopped me.

This endeavor proved entirely unsuccessful, especially considering it was getting late. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I had expected not to be picked up. After about an hour, I stopped at a gas station and held my sign up. An old man walking past noticed it and talked to me. He told no one could see it here, and that I'd have better luck at the liquor store a block away. I thanked him and walked to it. When I got there, I noticed much less traffic and it was significantly less bright. I don't know what he was talking about. I was only there for about ten minutes, then continued. After another hour I stopped and sat outside a weekly motel. It was completely dark now, and I was just resting. A woman who worked at the motel came out and asked if I was hungry, I said yes, and she handed me a salad kit. I hadn't eaten that day, and I devoured it quickly. Now just walking, until I felt it necessary to give up for the night. I occasionally stopped at a fast food restaurant for a glass of water. I walked for about five hours total, I passed Stateline and made my way into Nevada. After a bit further, I came to what appeared to be the end of the urban area. Ahead was complete darkness, no sidewalk or lights. And it was late, so no traffic. I tried my hand at the sidewalk's end, holding out my sign under a streetlight whenever I saw a car coming. No hope. So I sat down, and checked to see if there was any wifi I could exploit (I had my laptop). No use. I was sitting in a grassy area, pretty much unseen to passers by. I was going to sleep here. But I saw the headlights of an oncoming vehicle, and got up once more with my sign. The car was slowing down, and as it passed I saw the word POLICE printed across the side. Great. He got out, did his little "interrogation" thing. This was actually a nice cop. I explained what had been going on, and initially he was trying to figure out a way to get me to Reno. I had no money, so the shuttle was out of the question, and it was too late to call any friends to pick me up. He called another cop, and they tried to figure this out. The other cop was very nice as well, both were quite considerate of me and my situation. We couldn't figure out a way to get me home, so the final decision was to take me back to my motel. They asked if they could search my bags, I said "Go for it", but they never did.

It was about a thirty minute drive back. He dropped me off and wanted to talk to my parents, but they were asleep. He left, and my parents and I discussed the situation the next day. I just wanted to sleep.

It's weird, things continued on somewhat smoothly after that. I mean, no one was employed and food was scarce, but I can't really remember a time when it wasn't like that. I hadn't made any true friends at my new school yet, there's a couple people I talk to occasionally, but that's it. I mostly spend my lunches by myself, doing whatever. I don't really care about making a ton of friends here, to be honest. I've made it to Reno a few weekends, and seen old friends. At least my parents have started to look for jobs, as have I. But up until just this week, we've had absolutely no luck.

I'm going to try my best to address another s****y night, but I don't remember all too much of it. It was late, my dad was sitting up drunk listening to our radio. My mom was doing some beading on the corner of their bed. My dad had been mumbling gibberish to himself for about an hour, and when he decided to use real words, his statements were completely nonsensical. It was about midnight, and I had school the next day. All lights were on and he had the music as loud as it would go. I was considerably tired. My dad said something along the lines of "...they can sit there and suck their own dicks and maybe they'll realize how bad it feels to know someone so much better than them." I don't know, I can't quote anything correctly he said that night, but I've never heard anyone talk about how much better they are than everyone else. Whatever he said was in obvious reference to me, even though he acted like it wasn't. I acknowledged it, I said something like "Yeah man, that's the way it is." He blew his lid from that point. Once again, I can't remember any statements 100%, but I remember the highlights of that night. There was me, throwing a full glass of water against the wall and shattering it, him, taking our garbage bag full of cans and tossing it across the room, littering the floor with them. Me, ripping a lamp unplugged and smashing it against the floor, and then doing the same with our radio.

I can't really just document the whole thing. I would have killed my dad that night if that was at all possible. After our little disagreement, I passed out for a few minutes from the subsequent adrenaline rush. I woke up and the lights were off, my mom was sobbing outside, and I don't know where my dad went. I cried the hardest I've ever cried that night as I tried to go to sleep. I've cried almost every day since that night as well, but I always hid it.

Leaving home sucks. I wrote all about it.

We weren't even living in our new house for four months when I came home late one day to my dad sitting alone in the living room. "You'd better start packing your s**t," he said, "we've got till the end of this week." Things haven't worked out in a while.

Lately life has been so stressful. I can't recall the last time I was truly happy or at ease. I've wanted to find solace in companionship, but my brain is forcing me to think that my friends don't want me around. I don't know how they feel about me sometimes. I've always felt removed from the group. I'd still like one more chance to hang out before I leave. After my overwhelming surge of emotion and loss of control last Saturday, (it may very well have been a mental breakdown) I've grown more and more depressed. I'm not looking forward to moving to a new town at all. My whole life is here.

I feel like I'm losing it. I can't sleep too well, my mood is shifting rapidly. Each day has been interweaved with moments of extreme depression, severe anxiety, and violent anger. I have no one to turn to. I'd wish to go back in time, but I'd always know that this is the future.

I was hoping for a better summer. WHY THE F**K DOES SHIIT HAVE TO SUCK. maybe moving will be good, no one will know me in a new town.

People care more than I think...........why is my brain a piece of s**t? why won't you let me be happy? Deep down somewhere I know that my friends care about me, but stupid things make you push those thoughts away.

I told a friend I would be leaving, and he said they all were gonna throw me a party

...

I'm living in a garage, f**k yeah! I haven't taken a shower in a week and a half, and I just can't get enough stale bread. THINGS ARE SOOOO GREAT. At least I'm leaving soon.

I'm leaving tomorrow, so today I went up to my friends' neighborhood for one last day. I took a shower first, because I desperately needed one. We just sat around talking that afternoon, I left before it got dark.

Right now, and I mean RIGHT NOW, the second that I'm writing this, no flashbacks here, I am not going to graduate high school. It's a given. I'm not exaggerating, or saying that I might not graduate, because it's one hundred percent that I won't. I think I should be more upset than I am.

It feels like life is becoming a work of fiction....

The strand of old Christmas lights strewn about the top of our makeshift wall is switched on. It wakes me up. My mom shuffles slowly around the wall to the foot of the discarded couch cushion that I sleep on. “Do you want to get yourself some cereal?” I say sure, and act on it. After using the restroom, I pour some Life cereal into a bowl, the cleanest one available, and open up a carton of milk to add. Shards of broken glass cover the ground, glad I'm already wearing my shoes. Every single thing in the room is broken. TV shattered, my mom's beads flung every which way across the room. My dad is nowhere to be found again, but the car is still parked outside. After giving me a premature goodbye, my mom goes back to sleep. I've never seen such a mess. I've got a solid twenty-five minutes before I have to leave, so I think some things over. I pack everything I have besides clothes into my backpack. Leave the binders and school material here. To save space. I was taking the laptop the school gave me for myself, f**k' em. After that I somehow managed to fit almost every article of clothing, at least the ones that really matter, into my backpack. The others I layered on myself. Seven shirts total. I'm thankful for this cold weather. I'd find a bag eventually. My backpack bulged and some things were hanging out, but nothing would fall out. Shoved some odd things into my pockets, grabbed the notepad with “RENO” written on it, and ripped off that first page, I didn't write anything else. Instead I used the back of that ripped sheet to leave here. I wrote “This time I mean it” across, and left it beside my mom in her bed. I picked up a smallish pocketknife that would always stay on my cabinet, shed a tear, then walked out the door. I flipped open the knife and violently slashed the tires of my dad's car. It didn't make a sound. I put that in a side pocket of my backpack, turned the opposite way down the highway, east, away from my bus stop, and slipped on the gloves I'd been holding.

Tell me, is there really a point to continue with the last two months of school when it's guaranteed you're not going to graduate? I didn't think so, myself. Should've done something about it, should've fixed it, stayed on track, everything. At a loss, I pulled the sharpie from my pocket and decided to scribble my go-to destination on the notepad. Under it, I wrote “Or change for the bus”. After walking past Stateline again, past the bus station, I scratched that part out. Another five hours, and I reached the place I stopped last time. Not nearly as intimidating in the daytime, I pressed on. A few hundred feet with my sign held out, visible to drivers, a police car rolls by. I get nervous a bit, but it just keeps going. Not too long after that, I stop before I lose room for cars to pull over. A jeep comes to stop in front of me, and I do a half-run up to the back door, I open it. It's occupied by an empty children's seat. The driver tells me to hop up front. I get in and take off my gloves and hat. “It's cold out here today.” The man says.

“It was a lot colder when I left.”

“Yeah,” He nodded. “I can take you to Carson City, hey, that's halfway right?”

“Oh that'd be perfect anyway.” I say, and thank the man a second time, the first before I even sat down. He's wearing a dress shirt and tie. The last bit of “Endless, Nameless” by Nirvana comes to a close on the stereo. After some silence, he ejects the CD, observes it, and places it back in the player, Nevermind begins, presumably a second time for him. The ride is silent for the most part. Once the driver made a call on his phone, and said he was on his way to Carson City along with some adult-y tax type jargon. So when we reach Carson, he stops in a parking lot and says “This is where I'm going, can you make it from here?” I nod, and thank him a third time.

Firstly, I walk to a Safeway to help myself to a drink from the fountain, and I decide it's too late to turn back. Not that I wanted to. Afterward, I cross to the other side of the street, so I'm walking the same way the cars are driving. I stop at what I think is a good area, fair traffic, a space in front of me for cars to stop if they choose to. I stay here, instead of walking forward. Eventually, it's not too long, a man in a busted up sedan in need of a new paint job stops. He's pulling out of the parking lot where I am. “You need a ride?” He calls out. No, I'm just holding out this sign so everyone knows what town they'll reach if they keep going. I walk up to the passenger side door, it's locked. “Hang on, lemme unlock this.” I get in and sit down, first things first, we introduce ourselves. The last guy didn't care. I can't recall this one's name. It reeks of cigarettes and the ashtray is overflowing with butts. The man has thinning, long scraggly hair, a pair of mirrored sunglasses, and a jean jacket. The radio is playing more static than music.

We're driving fast down the highway, literally 100 mph. Now he had put in a Slayer CD and cranked the volume. It was the only one in the car that I could see. Sometimes he'd ask me something, and turn it down. “You in school?” He'd ask.

“No, I graduated early.” I lie. “Right now I'm taking a break, looking for a job, visiting friends in Carson.” More lies.

“Right on, man.” He says, turns the CD louder and smokes a fresh cigarette.

While closer to Reno, he starts talking about his job. He’s a courier of some sorts, says he drives between towns all day. “But it’s great being your own boss, ya know? You get to listen to your own music, drive however fast you want, and get high on your own terms.” He asks me where I’d like to be dropped off, I say anywhere’s fine. He’s stopping at a Walmart, very far away from anything I know. “Here fine?”

“Sure.” I say, and get out, thanking him. So I’ve made it here. What should I do now? I guess I could go up to my friend’s house, at least for the time being. I don’t know what to do. This is another example of me never thinking before I act. I take my sign and shove it into my backpack. Without bus money, it’s a solid two hour walk to where I’d like to go. But that’s never stopped me before. I make my way to Fourth Street and starting walking forward. About halfway to being halfway, a man stops and offers me some change. I say “Sure, why not?” and take it. Do I really look the part that much? Must just be the severely ripped backpack, overflowing with dirty clothes, the three t-shirts, three hawaiian shirts over them, huge jacket, gloves and knit hat in 70 degree weather. Seventy cents. I use it at a supermarket, buy myself a thirty-five cent orange soda, and drink it quickly.

This walk ravaged me. I was drenched in sweat from the mass of clothing I’d been wearing. I knocked on my friend’s door and met with them inside. Upstairs, I stripped each layer besides one, and let out a grateful sigh. We’d need to figure out this situation, if I’m to stay.

Was I at ease with being here? It felt weird within seconds of relaxing with my friends, but to be honest, it usually does. Even when I’m here with my friends, the ones I love the most…it all seems bizarre when you don’t know what to do. Without reason or direction, not even a single, slight idea. But it’s easy to push that away, relax. Especially with your friends, they always want to help, and want what’s best for you. But f**k all these weird feelings and f**k all the uncertainties, right now I’ll just rip a bowl to the dome.

The week was somewhat uneventful, I think. As I expected, I went back on Thursday, I left on Monday, some real commitment huh?  

We’re living in an apartment now, with rooms and all that. The couch pulls out into a bed, and it’d be the first time I’ve had a bed in almost a year. There were no words of the slashed car tires, or anything. I missed a week of school, I was behind, and only continued to move further back since returning. Why do I even bother going anymore? There’s absolutely no chance of graduating, which I’ve told my parents many times, I think they’re in denial.

After some months of not doing my schoolwork, not doing anything to improve, I may have stopped completely. I don’t do a single thing anymore in any class. I’ve stayed up many nights only wishing for the future not to come. So far they’re not coming true. I’m a grade a fuckup and I can’t see change in my future.

Author's Note

It's very unorganized. I was trying to do the whole flashback between real time thing, but that obviously doesn't work too well in a non-book format. You need chapters.