Oh, the reviving of an old blog. It's like a new year of school, new friends, a new environment, and so many new things to be learned. For example, I should probably learn a new word for "new".
First off, I have deleted my other blog. There really wasn't a point to keeping it. If you want to know what's going on with me or what I think of something, ask. A blog isn't needed for that. This one, however, is more likely to hold my interest longer, if I do decide to keep up with it for once.
I have obviously written a lot since my last post here, and that NaNo post is only the first page or so of about 10 pages. Plus, I haven't looked at my 2010 NaNo writings in a long time. So many things to post, so little time. We shall see how this goes.
To begin, here is the next portion of my 2009 National Novel Writing Month expedition. Enjoy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Where to?”
“Um… I don’t know yet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I haven’t quite figured out where I want to be.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me, Lady. You got 2 minutes to figure it out.”
“I’m sorry. Uhhh okay. Can you take me to 400 Mason Street, New Brighton?”
“Sure. Buckle up.” I think the cab driver could somehow feel my fear as I scrambled to find my old address among the papers. He made some attempts at small talk, as I assumed most cabbies did, and eventually left me alone.
I haven’t seen anyone from PA or talked to them for almost five years. I’m an only child and my parents died in a car wreck in 2000. That was another reason I wanted to leave. I had 3 years to deal with it, but I just wanted to escape the continuous awkward conversations that always ended with “So how’s your family doing? Oh, wait. I’m sorry.” Even 3 years later, I had to hold back tears when I heard that. Now I’m fine. I guess after the separation, I eventually forgot. That part of me must’ve died or something because I just don’t feel it.
Anyway, after the accident, I lived with some very close friends. All of my family was on the other side of the country (my parents preferred the colder winters opposed to living on a beach) and the last thing I wanted was to move out there around crying aunts and uncles and grandparents and people I’ve never met that call themselves “relatives”. The last thing I wanted was to believe they were actually gone.
15 days after graduation, I packed up everything I owned and left. I loved my life and couldn’t have asked for more, but I was tired of the repetition. I’ve never been one for sappy goodbyes so I left without talking to many people. They all found out I was leaving through the one or two friends I did tell. And before I had to answer their phone calls, I was on a plane headed south.
I bought an apartment near DeVry online before I got down there. One of the perks: no roommate. I didn’t want to have that pressure so soon. I had a savings account and all the money my parents left behind so living without a job was pretty easy. I wanted to be by myself for a while. I figured it would be easier to get settled if I didn’t have too many friends. So I lived by myself, didn’t work, and didn’t own a car for the first three years. I got rides when I absolutely needed them, but for the most part, I stayed out of people’s lives and they stayed out of mine.
It wasn’t a split-second decision to come back to PA. It kind of started as a suggestion I made to myself a while back. I mean, I always thought about going back someday, but I kind of had a reputation in Dallas and my obligation to the people I met there kept my mind off of the past for the most part. But after that suggestion, I thought about it more and more for months until I couldn’t not think about it. Then it was almost like if I didn’t go, I’d go crazy. So I went.
“This you?” the cabbie said, bringing me back to reality.
“Yeah. Thanks.” I said as I looked at the meter and handed him the money. I stepped out of the cab and grabbed my bags from the trunk. I didn’t know quite what to do with them, but it was still raining so I walked up to the door and unlocked it. I never ended up selling the house I lived in before Mom and Dad died. I cleaned it out, but as long as no one was living there, I didn’t have any payments to make, and I just happen to still have a key. The only furniture left is an old bed, a dining room table, some chairs, and a couch. The rest was taken by relatives or given away. Everything is still hooked up, but the electricity was turned off along with the plumbing. All of the walls are off-white except for the two bedrooms and the bathroom.
I walked through the front room, the living room, the dining room, the hallway… It’s all just the same. This made me both happy and sad. Happy because it was the first time I felt like I might have a chance to pull this off. Sad because nothing had changed and it made me think if everything else would be the same as well.
At the end of the hallway was my parents’ old room. I opened the door that to my knowledge hadn’t been opened in five years. I peeked in to see deep red walls and a large tan square of carpet. Only they would go as far as deep red. But I couldn’t let myself stay there long enough for the tears to catch up. I slammed the door and walked back to the dining room. I sat down and lifted my laptop bag to the table. I yanked out the large manila folder and centered it in front of me. Do you really want to do this? What’s it for in the long run anyway? What do you think you’re gonna find? The voices in my head were practically yelling at me at this point. I needed to occupy my mind with something louder than my thoughts. I had plenty of time, so I fished a small iPod out of my coat pocket and hooked it up to the strongest speakers I owned. Muse, Linkin Park, and Tenth Avenue North took up an entire 109 song playlist that I used only when I wanted to drown something out.
I stared at the folder a minute longer then slowly opened it. The first page was a list of phone numbers that I almost threw away upon arriving in Dallas. I was finally thankful I didn’t. This page wasn’t the most important; it mainly had friends of friends and family members. I tossed it to the side. The second page was a Facebook profile I made a few years back but never used. That was mainly for my own entertainment … a way to remember the good times. I also tossed that one aside. Page 3 was where it got interesting. On this page was a list that I made for my senior year of my best friends and their phone numbers. It was stapled to a photocopy of the front page of my high school yearbook where everyone had signed. I was reminiscent for a moment, but quickly remembered why I was doing this in the first place.
One of them has to have the same phone number. One of them has to still live here. I turned the music down and started dialing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It's definitely not my best, but it's darn good for a first draft (if you've ever seen one of my first drafts, you know what I mean).
Title is from a Coldplay song on their next album, Mylo Xyloto, coming out in October. It's an amazing song. Check it out.
~Allison
