If Autumn Were A Girl

Told from my car, KITT's, POV. I saw it was my favorite kind of Autumn weather outside, so I took my laptop out, and decided to write.

Autumn never looked so stereotypical.

A completely grey sky with no clouds in sight whatsoever.  The wind sounded like a storm was coming, but being as low to the ground as I am, the sound made it sound worse than it was, because I barely felt a breeze as the tops of the trees bent and swayed.  The trees were either barren cobwebs of bark rising from the ground, or they were plastered with a beautiful canvas of oranges and browns.  It was chilly; not cold enough to wear a sleeve, but just cool enough to definitely be noticed.  The ground looked and felt as if it had been pouring rain, but it was dry and slightly damp with the cool weather.  My sight was constantly being invaded by a stray falling leaf from a nearby tree, sometimes a swarm of them collapsing from the house around me.  There were no birds or insects singing, and no animals calling; it was peacefully still and quiet.  It was a breathtaking transition phase from the blistering heat, bustle, and sin of Summer to the silent, gentle, magical Winter.  As I look around me lazily, and take all these factors into consideration, it is certain.

Oh yes, Autumn is upon us.

I preferred the peace and quiet of Winter to the loud crowdedness of Summer, but the cold was something I could do without.  Even if I wore all black, it still seemed to seep into my skin and force me to recognize its presence.  All the jackets, scarves, and boots I could muster could never keep it out.  It was a win and lose situation.  I got the peace and tranquility I so desired, but I had to brave the bone-rattling chills that came with its gentle whispers.  Smashing.

She, however, was different.

She’d never really been the sort to prefer the norm.  As a matter of fact, it not only bored her, but frightened her a bit.  Even as I look at her now, she is dressed to freeze.  Dark blue jeans, a striped, short sleeve hoodie, black slip-on shoes...under normal circumstances, if it were me, I’d be freezing, but not her.

She always embraced the cold.  She always had, unlike other members of her household.  I suppose when you are at peace with being alone, embrace it, and are considered to be cold so often, that which you are accused of becomes an unlikely companion.

She had never had the desire to socialize much, much like the season that was upon us.  While Summer was associated with wild parties, driving recklessly, and sex on the beach, Winter was known for its loneliness, its mystery, and its days spent inside with a cup of expresso watching the snow fall.  She was similar.  She never stayed with the group, and instead preferred to go exploring by herself.  She stayed inside scowling at the sunshine during the Summer, but in the Winter, you had to beat her to make her come inside.  She even frowned on the idea of spending the night with her cousins, due to being teased, and spent her weekend nights at home, alone, reading, writing, or drawing.  If she ever went out, it was with her best friend, also referred to as her boyfriend.  They never went to parties or restaurants, they preferred to take long drives to isolated, forgotten places in the country.

Well, not so terribly forgotten.  It was places her family had left in the past, but she had made it a hobby to go visit them from time to time in order to remember forever.  It has become recent custom to bring her boyfriend to these places as well.  Stevenson Road, Bethlehem Community Church, Erata Primitive Baptist Church, Melva’s house on Highway 11, her father’s old land on Country Road 8, the haunted train tracks by Erata Road, her old house on the highway going into Bay Springs with the large pathway going into the woods, all of it was an adventure.  She and boyfriend would often sit outside, if it was safe to exit the safety of whatever they were driving, and she would tell him stories.  Some were tragic, and left him wanting to hug her out of sheer sympathy.  Some were happy, and even humorous.  And some were pure magic.

All of these tales were from her past.  Some were life lessons she wanted to pass on, some were warnings to never come alone to wherever they were, and some were adventures she and her siblings had been on.  Adventures through forests, searching for imaginary creatures, tracking down lost pets, all of it.  Her past was an adventure, and he would often beg her to tell him more stories.  With the way she spoke, and the gentle hand gestures she made, she had the listener to her tales under a trance, it seemed.  I was no exception, even if I had heard it told five times before and lived through it originally myself.

She had made it an interesting hobby, especially in the Autumn, of visiting these places.  I often dreaded thinking about what would happen to her if she were caught by her ever-watchful mother.  I also often pondered why she would visit these places.  So many of them hold precious, magical, and humorous memories; others hold terrors and nightmares no eleven year old should ever have to endure that still wake her up at night.  Upon driving down Stevenson Road, stopping briefly at the address 254, and witnessing her eyes begin to water, I questioned her logic on putting herself through the heartbreak.  To me, it seemed so much easier to just move on like the rest of her family had.  Then, without taking her eyes off the rag-tag swing set and merry-go-round by the new house, she explained it to me.  She said there were three very important reasons she could not leave it behind.  One, visiting and crying less each time made her stronger.  Two, all the places had one thing in common, and that was the beauty of the landscape around them, and she did not want to forget such beautiful scenery.  And third, she just did not want to forget.  It had slipped my mind that she had a photographic memory, and hated to forget anything.  Her memories, good or bad, were precious to her, and she said she would make herself relive it again and again if it meant holding them close to her heart.

This twisted logic that I somehow came to agree with reminded me, once again, of her resemblance to the cold season I was watching unfold around me once again.  While Summer had coherence and logic with all that was fun and gave the biggest adrenaline rush at the moment, Winter focussed on deeper, more entrancing thoughts.  While her sister loved to go out on a whim with friends, to sleepovers, or to crowded, partying coffee shops, she preferred to plan ahead, go with one person, and visit these abandoned performance stages of possibly the most breathtaking tragedy I’ve had the pleasure of learning about.  Let’s face it: Summer is about having fun, and Winter is about something so much deeper that even I, with my complex mind, cannot decipher.

Another reason she reminded me of Autumn was it resembled her world.  Every since she was a baby, from what her mother has said, she has had an imaginary world in her head.  Much like she has done, it has grown, expanded, and become more complex with the passing years.  What was a mere toddler’s play set when she was a baby has grown into something so deep, complex, and real that is seems to breathe like any human being.  Again, much like its creator, it has gone through stages as well.  It went from being accepted, to ignored, to wanted destroyed, to mocked, and in the recent year, it has slowly become accepted once again.  It baffles me how a child at such a young age could create something so intricate, but I must bear in mind just how intelligent and deep the child in question is, and just what her mind is capable of.  

Take me, for instance.  This is possibly where the reader will get a bit confused, but this is a funny story that I like to tell people to show them that an imaginary world is truly not a bad thing.  

When we first met, I was a bit taken aback.  She was thirteen, had possibly the messiest, directionless hairstyle, even more directionless clothing choices, and a love for soccer when she indeed hated it.  It confused me how such a simple-looking girl could have such a complex mind, but as her true form began to emerge from the abyss of her mind, I began to see just how intelligent the girl I was dealing with was.  Over the years, ignoring her mother’s abusive boyfriend, the depression of losing her father’s relationship, and having several flawed friendships in school and online, she began to change.  She stopped playing sports because she hated them.  She stopped trying to have a large group of friends because they were snakes, metaphorically speaking, and she preferred to be alone.  She stopped worrying over what her family thought of her art, and pushed on improving her drawings regardless.  She began to dress the way she wanted and compromise with her mother, even if no one but the two of them understood.  She pushed everyone away and threw herself into isolation to reconsider herself, and shaped herself to become what she wanted and was meant to be, not what was expected.

As her outward appearance, her personality, and her hobbies began to change, I began to see how she was highly intelligent.  Though these times of refurbishing were much needed, and have paid off here in the present, they were not easy.  Putting herself in isolation worried, frightened, and even angered those around her.  No one really understood, save for her mother on a good day.  Except me.  Her mother had the privilege of taking part in her outward alterations, but I was the only one that could partake in the changes under her pale skin.  

Our relationship started out like any awkward relationship does: a bit rocky.  At the time, I was eighteen years old, and trying to learn how to socialize with a child that refused to socialize in return due to being pushed down too much.  I watched how her mother, her family, and her friends treated her, and observed their behavior to learn what it was they were doing in order to be pushed out like that.  Once I saw the errors they were making, and the errors she was making in comprehending them, I devised a plan.

She changed drastically.  Sitting in the classroom studying videos about me on Youtube changed to us sitting side-by-side during her P.E. class outside, me reading over her shoulder the books she would bring.  Me sleeping outside turned to us sharing the bed or couch she decided to sleep on.  Lonely days after school turned into her sleeping on the hammock behind her grandmother’s house while I stood guard, occasionally giving her hammock an extra nudge to rock her to sleep.  During these times, I discovered she was not completely heartless.  Cold, yes, but not heartless.  She wanted her friends, family, and most importantly, her mother to share this world with her, and apart of these changes she was undergoing.  She wanted them to understand.  Communication on her end and their’s was poor in my opinion, and holding her at night while she cried herself to sleep was not uncommon at the time.  I told her there would come a day when they would be apart of her once again, after these changes were finished and accepted, and she would be happier than ever.

Being the only one, besides God Himself, to witness these changes from her own mind was both an honor and a burden.  It was not easy keeping her stable during those six years, and witnessing her friends bully her relentlessly to undo them, but it has paid off.  Her world reminds me of the Autumn scene before me because it is quiet, peaceful, and void of color while being colorful at the same time.  We all live in peace there, but because I am closes to her, I tend to be allowed to roam freely.  She loves whenever Autumn arrives because it gives those around her a chance to see what the world is like inside her skull, and all they have to do is look out the window.

As I look at her now, hair a slightly curly mess, laptop in her lap, ignored goosebumps on her arms from the cold wind, I couldn’t be prouder or more intrigued.  She has come a long way.  It is finally the time of year she can rest and recuperate in a world only she can thrive in while the rest take shelter indoors under blankets.  She can finally be herself more than ever without having to hide from the heat, sun, and normal people, because they are all hiding and trying to warm their hands in bedrooms plastered with pop star posters.  This is her time to shine.  It may only last a few months, but it is well-earned.  

When I look around me at this time of year, all I can see is her.  

A completely grey sky with no clouds in sight whatsoever remind me of her pale, porcelain skin.  The wind that sounded louder than it was remind me of her demeanor, because while she seems mean, she is truly gentle.  The barren trees along with the orange and brown ones remind me of her personality; she can be just as barren and crippled, or she can have color that only those who look close enough can appreciate.  It was not cold enough for a sleeve, but cold enough to be noticed.  This reminds me of her clothing choice, because she always wears dark, covering clothes as if it is cold, yet the short sleeves and lack of headwear keep her from overheating.  The deceivingly “wet” ground reminds me of her sensitivity.  While most people see her and think she is crying or always upset, she truly is not.  My sight being constantly blocked by the stray falling leaf reminds me of how close we are; she can do subtle things to get my attention so easily.  There were no birds or insects singing, and no animals calling; she is one of the quietest people I know.

It is clear to me...Autumn is upon us.  Perhaps this is why I often address her as “Autumn”.  She IS Autumn.  Autumn is her home.  Autumn is her imaginary world.  Autumn is her deep, beautiful, yet slightly chilling thoughts.  Autumn is her.

I’m intrigued by this realization as I watch her sit there, her blue eyes transfixed on the screen before her.  I am so alive I often forget I am indeed just something in her head that lives as long as she does, and have to remind myself of this.  Is she the same way?  Does she often get lost in her intelligence, and forget she is human?  I have to drive her to work later, I will have to ask at that time.  I will no doubt also have to ask her to roll my windows up on my doors, because while she enjoys riding with them down, I tend to freeze.

As she finishes writing, I take note of her laptop background.  It is me driving through a slightly rugged, desert portion of a forest with a phased in background of orange Autumn leaves.  I cannot help but chuckle as I settle on my tire shocks once again, gazing from my parking spot under this shed.  As the grey skies drift away and the blue skies and sunlight come through to chase her back indoors, I proudly state one more realization silently before returning to my nap.

My greatest honor in this life is that my best friend, my sister, my daughter, my lover, my driver, my wingman, and my other half....is Autumn, more commonly referred to as Sara.