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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Teens
- Theme: Family & Friends
- Subject: Childhood / Youth
- Published: 01/13/2025
The sound of the car tires going over the ridges engraved in the road to help people from dozing off into sleep on long drives fills the car, the little shockwaves from the titanium 16-inch wheels sending vibrations through my body wake me up. The bright light shining through the barely tinted windows of the car seems to be focused directly on my eyelids, a warmth that only two things can bring you in life, with sudden shade presented by nature pressing against the paved road, almost cracking asphalt with the growth and maturation of these evergreens, the kind of maturity I hope to be perceived as by my family one day. Fluttering eyelids and gentle hands caress my leg at a slow pace, trying to ease my way out of the
I rub my eyes trying to adjust to the glow of the automated lights of the vehicle, brighter than what I know now. Parked in a driveway. My driveway. Dreary and almost comatose, the night almost seems like something you can’t quite remember. Hands fit my chest, with muffled scuffles between hard plastics and skin.
Click…
Click…
Clank.
The tightness went away, almost freeing, like a short-winged reptile, but not for long. Flashing in and out of drowsiness, I feel every movement, every inch. But I am not there. Suddenly lifted into the air and held tightly by the first thing that can equally provide the same warmth as does the sun. Leaving behind a parade of confetti-sized chips and crackers, embedded into the nylon ridges of the seat specifically for me. I fit my head between the collarbone and chin, with nothing more than being supported by an older arm, my parents’ arm.
A firm hit to the knee picks me up from the detailed storyline almost a version of my life that seems to have been aged and forged with time, such as the foliage among the roadways. My eyes shooting open to the front of the leather seat in front of me, reminding me of the constant sights before age 16. Before a piece of plastic labeled with my name allowed the recurring view to be obsolete, and the freedom of my own identification. There she was, my mom in the middle of reading her very crafty and extensive Facebook post, making sure that nothing was misspelled or too unemotional, since her 237 Facebook friends need to understand the grievances that today holds for her. I can make out the first line of text. “Today is the day I have dreading for 18 years, my baby is le…” Suddenly my dad interrupts hitting my knee again. With a tone of eagerness but also undertones of melancholy “Were almost there, get up and be ready”. As I fixated on the passing roadsigns going to fast for me to read entirely, I realized that these exit signs soon would be the normal for me, although not knowing right know, eventually, I would. A silence fell upon the vehicle except for the headphones I took out.
As I look to the other window a wide and tall brown box bound together by clear tape suppressed the view, with other objects of mine being compacted in the car alongside, a neat game of Tetris seemed to be played, like the one I used to spend hours playing during age 5 and constantly complaining to my parents that I always lost, but instead of the colorful blocks fitting together being my goal for the game, it was my needs and valuables who made me the person I am today, that needed to be fitted to the car. A sudden stop brings these overlooking memoirs to a close, a new chapter in my life. As I moved in valuable after valuable into the confined space of this room that I have only ever seen pictures of, I realized that the physical valuables were not the only thing being moved in with each trip. It was the realization that no longer am I bound as a person of others, but rather an individual. As my parents had heartfelt tears of goodbyes and lingering sniffles around the empty dorm room with my personality still tucked away in boxes ready to emerge. I fit my head between the collarbone and chin, with nothing more than being supported by an older arm, my parents’ arm. Understanding that the second feeling to the warmth of the sun is the feeling of looking back to a time when something once felt like a dream but it now serves as a reality.
Nostalgia(Jayden)
The sound of the car tires going over the ridges engraved in the road to help people from dozing off into sleep on long drives fills the car, the little shockwaves from the titanium 16-inch wheels sending vibrations through my body wake me up. The bright light shining through the barely tinted windows of the car seems to be focused directly on my eyelids, a warmth that only two things can bring you in life, with sudden shade presented by nature pressing against the paved road, almost cracking asphalt with the growth and maturation of these evergreens, the kind of maturity I hope to be perceived as by my family one day. Fluttering eyelids and gentle hands caress my leg at a slow pace, trying to ease my way out of the
I rub my eyes trying to adjust to the glow of the automated lights of the vehicle, brighter than what I know now. Parked in a driveway. My driveway. Dreary and almost comatose, the night almost seems like something you can’t quite remember. Hands fit my chest, with muffled scuffles between hard plastics and skin.
Click…
Click…
Clank.
The tightness went away, almost freeing, like a short-winged reptile, but not for long. Flashing in and out of drowsiness, I feel every movement, every inch. But I am not there. Suddenly lifted into the air and held tightly by the first thing that can equally provide the same warmth as does the sun. Leaving behind a parade of confetti-sized chips and crackers, embedded into the nylon ridges of the seat specifically for me. I fit my head between the collarbone and chin, with nothing more than being supported by an older arm, my parents’ arm.
A firm hit to the knee picks me up from the detailed storyline almost a version of my life that seems to have been aged and forged with time, such as the foliage among the roadways. My eyes shooting open to the front of the leather seat in front of me, reminding me of the constant sights before age 16. Before a piece of plastic labeled with my name allowed the recurring view to be obsolete, and the freedom of my own identification. There she was, my mom in the middle of reading her very crafty and extensive Facebook post, making sure that nothing was misspelled or too unemotional, since her 237 Facebook friends need to understand the grievances that today holds for her. I can make out the first line of text. “Today is the day I have dreading for 18 years, my baby is le…” Suddenly my dad interrupts hitting my knee again. With a tone of eagerness but also undertones of melancholy “Were almost there, get up and be ready”. As I fixated on the passing roadsigns going to fast for me to read entirely, I realized that these exit signs soon would be the normal for me, although not knowing right know, eventually, I would. A silence fell upon the vehicle except for the headphones I took out.
As I look to the other window a wide and tall brown box bound together by clear tape suppressed the view, with other objects of mine being compacted in the car alongside, a neat game of Tetris seemed to be played, like the one I used to spend hours playing during age 5 and constantly complaining to my parents that I always lost, but instead of the colorful blocks fitting together being my goal for the game, it was my needs and valuables who made me the person I am today, that needed to be fitted to the car. A sudden stop brings these overlooking memoirs to a close, a new chapter in my life. As I moved in valuable after valuable into the confined space of this room that I have only ever seen pictures of, I realized that the physical valuables were not the only thing being moved in with each trip. It was the realization that no longer am I bound as a person of others, but rather an individual. As my parents had heartfelt tears of goodbyes and lingering sniffles around the empty dorm room with my personality still tucked away in boxes ready to emerge. I fit my head between the collarbone and chin, with nothing more than being supported by an older arm, my parents’ arm. Understanding that the second feeling to the warmth of the sun is the feeling of looking back to a time when something once felt like a dream but it now serves as a reality.
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Denise Arnault
01/13/2025That was a very good story! You had me on the edge of my seat waiting to see if he was just moving out or had been in an accident and was about to discover the truth. Wow! You did a great job on this one.
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