When the day met the night

Chapter 7

Ashton

       It takes me about six hours of planning, walking around my room, and google searching everything (related and non-related to traveling), but I finally get the plan done. I have us taking a longer route to Miami, but it's a pretty long drive anyways. I'll take pictures of stops that I would have to make on the way to my parents' home, but then I'm free. They won't know where I am, or who to ask about it. They don't know about Emily and River, and they are the only ones that know where I am going, other than Kennedy and Ben.

       I take out my phone and send a text to Kennedy, telling her that I've finished it. I send her a link to the Google doc I made. It's nice and organized, color coordinated to the max. I don't really apply all this to real life, but you best believe my online presence is clean and pristine. 

       I start packing my things. I'll tell Kennedy that I have just decided that moving back home would be for the better, hence the large amount of bags. I start with all the things I can't live without: My note books, my favorite pens, the blanket my grandma made me, all the clothing that my grandpa gave me, and the Divergent series. 

       Next comes my best summer clothes. All my pretty dresses, my ripped shorts, my tank tops, my crop tops, and my teeshirts of bands that I no longer listen to. In between my rolled-up shirts, I stick bottles of perfume, nail polish, and a tiny ceramic jewelry bowl with yellow flowers painted on the side. In a zip lock bag I place all of my jewelry and then slide it into a small zipper.

       I start thinking of all the things I'll do when I get to Miami. I will have to get a job of course, but I decide that it will have to be on or near a beach. I'll have to save up to get a car, and then I can travel. Maybe even go camping.

       My dad and I used to go camping all the time together. He said that it was just for us because my mom would rather die than sleep outside on the ground. We had the best time though, and most of the time we weren't sleeping on the ground. My dad bought us cots for our sleeping bags to go on. The year after he bought them, he bought mattress pads. We never told my mom because we liked it being our thing.

       Eventually he started booking us cabins and renting trailers, and we stopped flying kites and fishing, and started getting pedicures and facials. My dad told me a lot during those times. He would tell me stories about before he met my mom, and what he would have done differently. 

       Some people might think that their dad telling them they would have rather stayed with their high school boyfriend then met their mom is a bit tough, but I didn't care. I loved hearing about his swoon worthy boyfriend and their trips to the gas station at lunch. I would listen to him for hours, telling me about how mad his mom was when he came out, and then him just packing up and leaving. Him, moving in with his boyfriend at 16. Him, applying for colleges at such an early age.

       Then his stories would take a turn. Him, getting accepted to three in-state colleges. Him, crying as his boyfriend packed up because he had to leave. Him, getting the call that night, telling him what he couldn't bare to hear. Him, meeting my mom and making the worst decision of his life. Me, being born and forcing him into a life he never wanted. 

       Even though it would hurt me so much to hear at some parts, it was always, at its core, a story. A story being told by its main character. I never wanted to think of it as something that I was in. Like, when he told me about when I was born, I imagined a baby. One with my name and parents, but not me. When my dad accidentally knocked up my mom, that wasn't really my mom. It was someone with the same name and life. The parts that hurt were when his voice would break, trying to tell me what the man on the call told him. How his life came crashing down.