Ok. Maybe I'm trying too hard. But this story is alluding me. I've been working on it all day. Now I'm tired and my head is on the verge of exploding. I'll give you a little. This is neither the beginning nor the end. In fact, I'm not quite sure where this goes but I like it. A little.
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They were nearing her house. Here came the trash tree, nearing her side on the left. She found herself thanking god it was on the passengers side and not on his. This way she wouldn’t even have to look in his direction. The trash tree, was not in fact, a tree that bloomed garbage. It was an affectionate nickname for the large magnolia tree in the Winfield’s yard. An inside joke between Lydia and her father in reference to the large white blossoms that always decayed in the ugliest fashion. Had they already come to her neighborhood? Time flies when you’re trying to ignore your boyfriend’s death threats. She had better start gathering her thoughts. Maybe she could invite him in, and not let him leave. She wondered if by not letting him be alone, she could stop him. Forget trying to change his mind, right now she just wanted to stop him. There was an idea in her head that if he could sleep on it, he’d feel better in the morning. Dad would help her. Although he had never really liked Robbie. If she had to lock the door, and call his paren-well, call the cops, she would. She found she didn’t really even care why he wanted out, and wondered if that made her a bad person.
Now they were rounding the last corner. Robbie turned the wheel slowly and cautiously, like an old man. She thought of what she would take with her to school in the fall and what she would leave behind. Now they were on her street. Could she set-up a studio in her dorm? Now they were pulling into her driveway. Sarasota was a long way from Baton Rouge. What if he was serious this time? Robbie put the car in park, and reached for the door handle. Lydia reached for him. He flinched at her touch. This startled her and she returned her hand to it’s previous position underneath her leg.
Robbie opened the door, reached down, popped the trunk open, got out, and shut the door behind him. She bowed her head and pressed the tips of her fingers to her eyes. It was blessedly cool and therapeutic. Black spots swarmed behind her eyelids, swam with the red shadows of her blood like a lava lamp. She pressed a little harder. The black engulfed her vision. It was nice and dark. She glanced up at her house. No one was home yet. The garage door was closed. Back when her mother was still alive, the garage door had stayed closed. Since she had passed though, it pretty much stayed open. Dad was too busy to worry about silly things such as burglars. Maybe he just couldn’t bear to be reminded. Lydia, thought maybe this was the case. She didn’t like the look of the garage door closed anyways. She didn’t want there to be one instant where she’d look at that door and see it closed and think her mom was still inside, cooking up something awful, television blaring, and chatting loudly into the phone. Lydia was relieved to realize that she could still daydream. There was a moment where she thought, maybe Robbie had ruined her favorite activity. Ha ha, Robert Loudin! And then she was instantly ashamed of herself for thinking that. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him. After all, he had helped her make it through the tragic and accidental death of her mother from an unexpected prescription drug reaction. She once valued him above all others. Teenage love. Her inner voice scoffed. No, it wasn’t just that. They understood and complimented each other. In the beginning, it was perfect. But then things had happened. Horrible things.
Now they were rounding the last corner. Robbie turned the wheel slowly and cautiously, like an old man. She thought of what she would take with her to school in the fall and what she would leave behind. Now they were on her street. Could she set-up a studio in her dorm? Now they were pulling into her driveway. Sarasota was a long way from Baton Rouge. What if he was serious this time? Robbie put the car in park, and reached for the door handle. Lydia reached for him. He flinched at her touch. This startled her and she returned her hand to it’s previous position underneath her leg.
Robbie opened the door, reached down, popped the trunk open, got out, and shut the door behind him. She bowed her head and pressed the tips of her fingers to her eyes. It was blessedly cool and therapeutic. Black spots swarmed behind her eyelids, swam with the red shadows of her blood like a lava lamp. She pressed a little harder. The black engulfed her vision. It was nice and dark. She glanced up at her house. No one was home yet. The garage door was closed. Back when her mother was still alive, the garage door had stayed closed. Since she had passed though, it pretty much stayed open. Dad was too busy to worry about silly things such as burglars. Maybe he just couldn’t bear to be reminded. Lydia, thought maybe this was the case. She didn’t like the look of the garage door closed anyways. She didn’t want there to be one instant where she’d look at that door and see it closed and think her mom was still inside, cooking up something awful, television blaring, and chatting loudly into the phone. Lydia was relieved to realize that she could still daydream. There was a moment where she thought, maybe Robbie had ruined her favorite activity. Ha ha, Robert Loudin! And then she was instantly ashamed of herself for thinking that. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him. After all, he had helped her make it through the tragic and accidental death of her mother from an unexpected prescription drug reaction. She once valued him above all others. Teenage love. Her inner voice scoffed. No, it wasn’t just that. They understood and complimented each other. In the beginning, it was perfect. But then things had happened. Horrible things.
******
Yep. That's it for now. Please and thank you.
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