Sunsets and Back roads

A Story by Samantha Lynn

I am pushing sixty Mph, driving to a friend’s house in the back roads of this tiny hometown in which I used to occupy. The road is empty and so are the depths of fully-grown trees and fields that follow on along both my left and my right. The part I love most about this drive to this particular house is the curves of the road, my car seamlessly moving as the turns shape themselves quick and short. Everything is a blur as I drive. I acknowledge the few houses that pass me at this great speed. There aren’t many houses back here, maybe one every ten, fifteen minutes. Immediately following the few houses is a gut wrenching smell that hits my nose, that of a field of cows and the smell of the manure along with them all grazing under the sunset. As soon as the smell comes, it’s gone. I come up to a cross roads, a protestant church to my left, and a turn leading into a tiny suburb along my right. I turn right at this crossroads, running up on the raised curb just slightly and coming back down, the sound of the back bumper grazing the ground just so, vibrating my seat for the split second it falls back to the asphalt.

I guess that is another dent to the collection.

The dents were there when I got this car, one being at the rear, right- hand side, above the wheel, and one along the left- hand side of the front bumper. I am wondering how the imperfections of this car could have happened at all, imagining all the different scenarios in my head, and spreading my curiosity even further as I do. I feel that the previous owner was one of a careless nature. He just pulled out too soon from the drive way of his home and a truck came flying around the blind corner, ramming right into that back, right-hand side of the bumper. It is an accident bound to happen to any owner of a motor vehicle. Weeks later, he’s at a stop light, awaiting the glorious color of green to allow him to go along with his day. After a minute of wait that seems like forever, the light changes to green and he accelerates just slightly, not realizing the crimson red car zooming up along his side. The car hits him in the front.

I never really got around to fixing these dents. They give the car a more familiar feeling, cozy, and I don't know how that could be because I had never met the previous owner before.

My dad gave me with this car, so I never got the chance to meet the person. The car smells of faint, dead smoke from that of a cigar. The smell never goes away. Be it from my father, or from the previous owner, I can’t help but have this feeling of comfort from the smell that circles my being while I drive. It almost feels as if the lingering smells and new air mixed in are hugging me. The weightless bodies manage to sooth the cold skin of my fingers that grip the wheel, drawing the hidden warmth from inside my center outward.

I don't really know what made me think of this as I drive in the first place, so I attempt to distract myself from this randomness, replaying the past hours of my day in my head which only results in a throbbing at the back of my upper neck.

I’ve been up for a couple days now actually, packing my things, making sure my apartment gets leased to someone new, and working to save up some money for the drive back here to get settled into my previous home. The thought that I’ve graduated from college actually gives me chills, because I don’t really know what to do now.

I glance into my rearview mirror and I see all the things that pile my back seat. I faintly smile to myself, and many memories flood my vision.

I notice the emptiness in the trees as they begin to disperse with more houses filling in the gaps and I see the sunset that pours out in my view. The many shades of oranges and purples intertwine with each other as if clinging for their lives, reaching for something to tie them down with the Earth as if they know their togetherness is only temporary.

I am at the front door now, not realizing I have arrived so suddenly. I look over at the drive way to notice that only my car occupies the pavement.

Her mom must still be at work, I think to myself, as I open the door with a twist of the knob, without even knocking because I know no one here would care if I did or didn’t. My first few steps seem hard to accomplish as the nerves begin to fill my body, starting from my toes upward.

“Hey,” I shout. My slightly shaky voice echoes in all the rooms. She doesn’t answer, but I can hear the television from her bedroom still on.

Or maybe she went to the store then.

“I see nobody has bothered to clean up yet today,” I say aloud, more to myself, as I make my way through the house, stepping over piles of empty medicine bottles, medical bills that are overdue, and empty plastic wraps from way to many saltine crackers. I stop once I hit the doorway, a coldness filling my whole body and destroying the warmth I had forced myself to build up the whole drive here. My feet act as if nailed to the ground, unable to move, and I just stand there staring at her sickly state. The only sound from her is the faint breathing that manages a way out of her slightly parted, cracked lips. I could feel my hands were starting to shake, so I balled my fingers up as tightly as I could manage, and I press my the knuckles of my hands into the sides of my legs with these tight fists, urging myself to stay calm. For her.

I take a step through the door, one small step. She’s sleeping.

“My mom said she couldn’t meet for dinner. My first day back, and yet, I’m still surprised that she had to bail.” I scoff at my comment quietly. My hands reach the end of the bed, gripping the metal, and I stare at her state, eyeing all her features. He skin is white, eggshell white, and I am sure that is how fragile her body as a whole is, as breakable as an eggshell. Her hair is continuing to fall out I see. I’ve been wanting to ask her if she wanted to just shave it all away, but I know she would have done that by now if she wanted that. All that black, just slowly fading away, falling to the ground around her. I glance to the ground and see all these dead strands of hair that no one has thought to clean up yet.

I let out a heavy sigh, one heavier than usual. The sigh lets out a few tears I’ve been holding back, and once I realize the wetness growing upon my cheeks, I whip them away and speak to distract myself.

“Why hasn’t anyone thought to clean up anything yet?” I grab the broom that lays adjacent to the wall across the room, right next to the window, and I begin to sweep. I push all the dirt and debris towards to door. As I am sweeping, there is silence, the only sound being the bristles of the broom scraping the hardwood floor, and her slow breathing sounding in my ear as I make sure to listen.

“Do you remember that summer job we got that a couple years ago?” I recall on, as the memory comes to me due to the sweeping. I look over at her for a quick second as if she were suppose to answer me, though forgetting that she is asleep, so I go back to my sweeping as I head to the corner of the room where she lay.

“It was so hot that year. That job we got housesitting Ms. Jones’ house while she was off at some conference. Do you remember?” I chuckle at the memory. Ms. Jones’ lives down the street from here actually, just a few houses down. She’s single. No pets, no children, no spouse. Though her house is big enough for all three, she is never the one for commitments from what I have observed from her.

“We just watched TV, and ordered pizza with the money she paid us with in advance, and tanned by the lake. Why did she even need us there?” I start to laugh, finishing my sweeping as I sweep all the last bit of dirt out the door. I’ll clean the rest up later.

“That was the year I really knew you were my best friend,” I whisper to myself.

When I look back over at her, she starts to shift in her bed sheets, and I freeze in the spot I currently stand, just beyond the open door frame.

“Hey?” I question her sleeping state. My voice shakes slightly. Is she awake? Please wake up. I can feel my lip tremble as watch her lay there.

Don’t do that, don’t, I think to myself.

A part of me didn’t want her to wake up, to just keep sleeping, because a part of me wasn’t ready to face the possible reality for the both of us, though the more my mind wandered to those possibilities, the more I seemed to fight them away from me.

I begin to pick up the trash that scatters across the room, stuffing it all in a trash bag I find sticking out slightly from underneath the metal framed bed.

“You’ve always been a messy one, I have to say,” I chuckled quietly to myself, “and I am always there to clean up after you.” I say aloud, and a shuffling in the bed sheets sounds in response, probably just the movement of her feet through the cotton.

“Don’t worry though. We both know I’m the biggest neat freak of them all.” I nod to myself, knowing that this is true about my character. I pick up the last piece of trash, a tiny balled up piece of paper, though I notice that it happens to be an expired medical bill, and I lay it on the nightstand over by the bed.

The room was clean. I had nothing else to clean, nothing to distract me, and I just stood there, staring at her deathly still state. I could just feel the awkwardness of my own stillness seeping out of my being and fill the room. I could’ve just sat down, could’ve watched something on the TV that continues to play from the other room. I didn’t want to leave though. I wasn’t going to, not until she wakes up and relieves me. Even then I may not leave.

I sat myself along the edge part of the bed that she didn’t reside herself. I take her cold, almost lifeless hand into mine, gripping her fingers tighter in a way to warm her cold skin. I can feel the adrenaline slowly leaving my mind as if I have an open wound and this leak is pouring it all right onto the floor. It leaves me wanting to collapse right there and scoop up all that courage to stay strong here.

My breath quickens as the room fills with silence and my lungs feel as if they are close to breaking, which then causes a declining effect within me. My throat tightens to the point where my quickening breath feels blocked, nowhere to go, trapped. My face burns up from the blockage of air and the cold skin of my fingers feels soothing in a way when I take them and press them against my face. My burning eyes are somewhat soothed my cold fingertips press firmly into my eyes.

“My mouth is so dry,” I hear a faint, crackly voice say to my right, and at that instant, it feel as if I were given the oxygen and self-control I needed.

“Hey, how are you feeling today?” I say with slight happiness she is awake.

“Thirsty,” she replies, still waking herself up. I run over to the kitchen that second, and return with a glass of water containing ice and a bendy straw, also making sure to grab some saltine crackers as well. I hold the glass as she drinks, and set the saltine crackers along the other side of the bed that remains unoccupied.

“But really, how are you feeling?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“How are you feeling?” She counters my question, though it leaves me a bit confused because I am not the one who’s sick.

“I’m not the one I’m worried about.”

“I worry about you.”

“Well, I’m worried about you. Don’t worry about me.” I see in her face that she’s holding something back, something stuck in her throat, so I hand her a few crackers. She pushes them away and I realize she doesn’t need something to stop the nausea.

“I wasn’t going to come today. You know, give you a break from my face.”

“Yeah, I’m real tired of it myself.” We laugh at the sarcasm in her tone.

“Shut up,” I say, giggling slightly, as I playfully push her shoulder.

“I feel good today, actually. I don’t know why I would, you know? For some reason I just feel… good.” I can see the truth behind her words. It is weird, to feel so great as a physical illness eats away at her body, slowly and painfully.

“Yeah, that is weird.” We both smile at each other once again.

“I like it though,”

“Yeah. Yeah me too.”

“Is my mom here?” She asks me.

“No, the car is gone, but she let the TV on again so she must be somewhere close.” She rolls her eyes, knowing that her mother does this often, wasting energy. The room goes silent until she brings up some more small talk.

“So, how’s it feel to be a college graduate? I told my mom to make a cake; it’s probably in the kitchen”

“Thanks,” I laugh, “It doesn’t feel much different, really. Just feels like my life ended in a way.”

“I can understand that, but hey, now you get to decide where you go from here.” She smiles at me again. Her smiles always make me feel at peace, no matter the situation. I don’t know what it is about it, but the true compassion in her eyes makes me feel like everything will be ok. Whatever is meant to happen will happen, and I will always be ok with that just as long as she is in my life.

We talk for hours before I actually get up the courage to leave for the night. Leaving is the hardest part. It hurts to not know when the last time you see someone will be, so I try to make every moment worth it, but there is only so much I can do really. I smile, give her a warming hug, kiss her forehead, and I just leave, making sure to grab the cake before I exit through the front door, and head for my car.

I notice it’s dark outside now. I must’ve been there longer than expected. I look up and I can see the stars glistening towards me, almost reaching out for me to notice them. While looking up at these stars, I can feel the pain aching inside my chest go away. Everything will be ok. I can feel it.

I am at the stoplight now, headed to my parent’s house to crash for a couple days before I decide to start up my life again. I’m in a neutral state, not worried about my pass that may come back to haunt me, yet not worried about my future I face. I feel truly ok. The wait for this light seems to take forever, though only a minute seems to pass before it turns a glorious shade of green. I accelerate, only to just make the middle of the road before I saw a flash of crimson red right before everything went black.

-S.L.S.

© 2014 Samantha Lynn

Author's Note

Ok, I am working on my short story for my creative writing class and I am just so stressed with my life right now that I am so sure every word of this sucks so, Please tell me what you think of this, so I would really love every bit of honest feed back from this! Please. Thoughts on the title? Any grammar issues? How is the story line? Plot good? Anything? please...

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Coyote Poetry

The story held my attention. I like the strong description of location and the situations. The ending left me with questions. I like the ending.Made me want to read more. A very entertaining story so far,
Coyote