Velocity Part 1

A Story by Kimberlee

Willow Peterson is your average typical angsty guy. He enjoys drinking, and partying with the cool kids. That is until she meets Jesskia and her friend Andrean, two rebel artists who give life meaning

I thought I would never change. Never get old. Never get better.

I was mistaken.

Reizen

A list of things Jessika wants to do:

Travel with the Peace Corps

Teach Small Foreign Children English

Rid the world of HIV, suffering, poverty, and starvation

Climb every mountain

Sail Every Sea

Enjoy French Cuisine

Watch the Sunset on every continent

Save the World

Most importantly: Never need a man

That’s why we call her Reizen. Never held down, and always free.

Things I want to do:

Kiss Jessika Regalo

A Poem (Or Kind of a Rap) for Jessika:

Hey Reizen,

I want to hold your hand,

And watch the light on the horizon

Rise

And float like the stars in your eyes

I cannot help but be mesmerized

Cause every time I hold your smooth

Hand in mine,

I get this feeling on the inside that makes me swim

And float to infinity.

I would do anything,

To press your soft lips,

To caress your neck with my fingertips.

To press myself between soft fleshy hips.

Look at me Im falling for you.

“Boy that is the most sing-song, dictionary written poem I’ve ever read. Look at you, you pervert talking about fleshy hips” crackles Sam as he lights up another cigarette.

“You know you’re going to die by the time your fifty right?” I reply

“Oh well, I lived a good,”-coughs “…a good life. Besides what’s so special about this chick anyways. I thought you liked younger chicks. Aren’t you looking for someone your own age?”

“She’s different. She’s absolutely gorgeous.”

“Yeah if you find gingers who wear a pound of eyeliner, and doc martins attractive, then she’s one foxy lady I’d say.”

It was because of Sam that I even met her in the first place. She pretends to be hard, because she’s two years older than me, and yet still younger than Sam. Her black clothes and white beanie give her this mean demeanor, but she’s really kind. I met Jessika two months ago at Erick’s art studio. It was the first day after spring break and it goes like this:

Ericks Art Studio

Sam is the only one who can pick up beer because he’s 21, so we all have to wait for him to get out of work at 8:30. Then we drive to the beer distributer, all the way down in South Side.

Its bring your own booze man " Sam

He says it in his radio-talk show host from the 70’s. Which is really just his voice. Sometimes that’s all people call him " the talk show guy or the short guy with a beard.

By 9 we are on our way out to Bloomfield which has all sorts of hipster and deadbeats way past their prime stumbling the streets hammered. Not to mention the lack of parking. We find a spot only to see it is occupied by a plastic lawn chair.

“Man I hate this town!” Sam yells, pounding his fists on the steering wheel.

When we finally find a spot it’s a walk from the place, so we get there around 9:30.

A poster plastered on the door reads:

Erick’s Art Studios Presents

SIK N TWIZTED

April 5, 2012

Bloomfield

The door itself is impossible to get through. You have to squat and lower your head to get inside the massive studio. Degenerates are everywhere. Young and old. Small and tall. Thin and Fat. Black and White. All of them in dozen come together, shrouded in cigarette smoke, to listen to the band.

By the way it’s very loud, and I distinctly remembered the cops being called at least twice. "Me

Sam briefly introduces me to Erick who is glad to have me over and calls me dude.

“Just come like, chill any time you want dude” he says. After that he walks off with Sam to check out the band.

I make through the crowd to a couch up against the wall, where I plop down next to some kid, who is also smoking. Through his blond- white bangs he looks at me with a set of glossy green eyes. He hands me a vodka bottle and says:

“Quack”

This is how I met kloud, who has hair the color of clouds and chain smokes so hes constantly surrounded by them. It’s pretty self-explanatory. But if you want the name on his certificate it reads:

Andréan Jeremy Quartz

He said Kloud was a cooler name. He wore a black Radio Head tee and didn’t talk much, but he drank a lot.

Finally he opened up and said that he was an artist.

“Like a musician?” I asked

“No, like a graffiti artist or wheat paste. On occasion I do paint.”

He sounded sophisticated and pretentious, but he was still a pretty cool kid.

“How old are you?” I asked

“Eighteen”

“Oh sweet same here. Where do you go?”

“Seneca” he said

“Far ways”

“Na man I dropped out and came here. That place blows”

He seemed eccentric, though I really couldn’t judge. He also contradicted himself a lot, but no one was paying any attention.

“Hey, I’ve have never done graffiti before” I shouted over the music.

“Really man?” he replied, “you should totally come with me and Jessika tonight. We’re heading going out decorate the bridge.”

“Who’s Jessika?”

He pointed to a girl five feet away with a solo cup in hanging loosely from one hand and a cigarette in the other. I can describe her as nothing short of a vision. Her hair flowed to her waist. She was short with a little chub, but nothing to bark about. She had the most beautiful blue eyes- dark, not pale like mine. She turned majestically, and then made a face like a baby eating a lemon.

“Oh god I don’t think she likes me” I said

“She’s fine, she just thinks you’re staring at her like a creep. Haha you kind of are.”

She walks over and stands in front of me hands on hips, and looks to Kloud.

“Who’s this short little s**t?”

Kloud replies, “Uh, actually I didn’t get his name. But, he’s really cool so don’t kill him. I invited him out with us tonight and"“

“"you what?” she interjects. “You don’t even know his name.”

“Listen Jess-“

“-Reizen”

“Listen Reizen, he’s chill, he smokes, and he’s got the look. Dark hair, dark clothes…”

“he looks like an emo stoner”

“emos aren’t even a thing anymore, besides we need him.”

She gives him this stern look and agrees with a fiiiiiiiinnnnne theeen.

“But I don’t smoke.” I said

“Well you do now” says Jessika, throwing me a pack or Winston reds, “and whats your name?”

“Willow Peterson”

They both snort.

“Isnt Willow… isn’t that like a chicks name man?” Kloud laughs.

“wow you really are an emo s**t aren’t you? Well Will, I’m calling you Will in this moment, but you have a new name and it is…”

Velocity

Hi my name is Willow Peterson. I’m 5 foot 8 150lbs of straight edge- no sex, no drugs, no rock n roll-until now. Now I am velocity.

The

Heights

You

Climb

Define

How

Hard

You

Fall

Here I am staring at my ceiling thinking two things.

1) Oreos are bae

2) Jessika

I’m obsessed. I have been for months.

I’m trying to decide how to give break it to her this poem, or if I should give it at all.

I’m falling in love.

I’m a hopeless romantic, and

I’m romantically hopeless.

There is something about the way that she looks at me. Like she understands me. Even when she calls me a little s**t. Even when she jokes about my clothes or my hair-though she really has no right to. Deep inside, I think Jessika really does like me. And I like her too. Even when she assigns to me an alter ego as an artist.

I am secondly obsessed with art. It all started that night when we went out to the bridge and spray painted the walls with neon colors. Some call it vandalism, I call it transformation. We take something ordinary and make it extraordinarily beautiful. I had to pass initiation first, which was just spraying my new tag name across the wall. Reizen was written in red, kloud in white, so I initially chose blue.

“This isn’t the f*****g American flag man, be original.” Kloud said. So I changed it to yellow.