Chapter 1

            Weep for yourself, my man, you'll never be what is in your heart

            Weak little lion man you're not as brave as you were at the start.

 

            These words seep in through my ears and tug at my consciousness, encouraging me to pull myself out of the deep ocean that is sleep. My ears turn the volume up in my brain, until Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons is taking over my every atom, and it's too much for my newly awaken form of mind. My well practiced hand reaches over out of habit, grabs my phone, and presses the top button to let the alarm know that it has done it's job and it can go back to being its quiet self. I wrap my left leg up in my comforter and my right leg shifts to help the left move the comforter to reveal my whole figure in a big light blue and white tie dye shirt, my pale legs that nearly match the white on my shirt, and my drop dead gorgeous face and hair. Not. Some people can pull off that just-got-out-of-bed supermodel look, or they think they can, but I neither can nor think I can. I count to three and pull myself out of bed, trip over my feet, catch myself, and stumble into the bathroom. I drink some water directly out of the tap then turn to my closet and stare at my clothes for a few minutes, attempting to telepathically transfer the information of today's weather into my head before actually checking the weather. 82 degrees. But apparently its now 70 degrees outside. Right, it's 70 degrees at 6:30 in the morning. I open my window and wiggle my fingers as if that will give me an exact reading. Surprise: it doesn't. But it does give me enough information to know that it is certainly not 70 degrees outside. Lies. We depend on these "sources of information", but they are rarely ever reliable.

            I choose to go with a pair of old high-waisted denim shorts and my favorite American Authors tank. I grab my keys, throw them in my bag, grab some gum, throw that in my bag, and reach for my wallet. That goes in my bag, too. I lift my hardcover book off my bed, and throw my white toms on, quietly walk down the hall, and out the door. 35, 25, 30, 25. Speed limits, speed limits, speed limits, and more speed limits. A cop passes me in a 30. Ironic.

            Coffee shop now admitting me through its door, I slip into a seat by the window and let my book fall open to page 108 by its own accord. Someone walks up to the counter, and the attendant turns around and starts to make a drink.

            "12 oz. vanilla latte, one dash of cinnamon" the attendant recites in a detatched voice, a smile visible on his lips.

            "Oh, you know me so well" the customer says.

            False. False, false, false. The attendant neither knows the customer well at all nor does he actually feel how the smile suggests. Lies, lies, more lies.

            The bell to the coffee shop dings, but I keep my head bent down, enthralled in my book, and I don't really process it. My phone vibrates, moving a little on the table, a disruption to my reading. I ignore the message notification, but glance at the time. 7:02. I have SAT tutoring in forty-three minutes, so I decide to leave. After all, I have read 50 pages, and I don't want to finish the book too quickly. I get up, and turn around to start walking towards the door, but, being the complete klutz that I am, walk straight into some person that happened to be standing behind my chair. I mumble a sorry, look apologetically at the stranger, then make my way towards the door.

            The bell on the door sings me a goodbye, and my car beeps a greeting as I press the open lock button on my keys. Climbing into the car, I see the customer, who I now realize is my same age, walking out of the coffee shop. He smiles at me and waves. I offer a return smile, but nature denies it when he turns his head away before he can see it. I shrug and back out of my parking spot.

 

********

            "You just have to add in some studies, you know, statistics. It doesn't matter if they're actually true, just as long as it supports your argument."

            Great, I think, nobody actually

            I sit across the desk from my SAT tutor. She is older, around sixty, and sits straight up in her chair with her hands on the same place on her desk as the many other times I have been here. She is always stiff as a board, with only a couple of varying phrases that come out of her mouth.

            I finish my practice essay two minutes before the timer goes off, and drop the pencil on the test and high tail it out of the office, casting a goodbye and thank you behind me, refusing to acknowledge the fact that I hated every minute of it.

*********

            In the car. 5:03 pm. I take a deep breath in, then let it out, puffing my cheeks and letting the air deflate my mouth like a balloon. Car into reverse, right hand on the passenger seat, eyes on the curb behind me. Car into drive, right hand back on the wheel, eyes on the road in front of me.

            Stop, tap on the steering wheel as a grandma crawls across the street, accelerate. 10, 23, 30, 45, 60. Woah, slow down Sam, not to the freeway yet. 

Author's Note

not done yet! bear with me!