DAZED AND CONFUSED | VANCE HOPPER

.Chapter 02.

THE WILDWOOD POLICE STATION was dead silent as I kicked my feet giddily, scraping the bottoms of my P.F. Flyers on the concrete flooring of the holding cell. The metal bed cooled my quads where the shorts I wore didn't cover, and my palms where I rested them on the surface.

"Vivian Elizabeth Wiley!" I heard my mother's voice shriek as she ran to the bars.

The officer that was guarding the cell unlocked it, and I ran straight through, hugging my mother. "I'm sorry, Ma, truly."

She hugged me back and scruffed my hair. "I'm sorry too. I'm sorry I let you become your father's daughter."

I froze in place. That was the most hurful thing she has ever said to me. "You-... you think I'm like him? You think I'm cruel, you think I'm terrible?"

She pulled back from me, genuine hurt and fear in her eyes. "I hope you aren't. That's why I'm getting you away from here. I've convinced Maverick's parents to not press charges against you, by the grace of God, Vivian."

I nodded and stayed silent for a minute more. "Where's Emma?"

"In the car. We're leaving for Colorado now. I can't stand to be in New Jersey a second more. All of your things are in the truck already, and Officer Marx was kind enough to  drive the piece of junk over for you, so you don't have to go back to all those... memories." She fumbled over her words, grabbing my hand tightly.

I rolled my eyes and allowed her to drag me out of the station. "For the last time, mom, her name is Penny Lane!"

Penny Lane was my 1970 Volkswagen Beetle, complete with a matte-black finish and a broken tail light. She was my pride and joy, everything I could ever love, wrapped into a compact vehicle.

"Whatever, Vivi! Let's go!" My mother was hysteric as she crawled into the driver's seat of her truck I nicknamed Little Red, Emmaline staring at me with wide, terrified eyes in the passenger seat.

I shrugged at her and climbed into my Beetle, starting it up.

○●○●○●○●

We reached Colorado two days later, after fourteen hours of driving, a hotel stop, then another fourteen hours of driving. My new home was quaint, an old fashioned downtown district, and a small school. We drove all the way through town, and I didn't see a single arcade. This was going to be Hell.

I followed Little Red as mom pulled her into a small drive, in front of an even smaller house. Couldn't be more than six rooms, maybe five.

"Ma," I got out of the car and took in the overgrown grass. "What is this shit?"

She smiled a wide, toothy smile at me. "Home!"

"Great." I mumbled, slamming my car door.

I made my way over to Little Red and grabbed my biggest dufflebag from the bed of it, and dropped it on the ground.

I was starting to reach for the rest of my belongings, when I caught a blur of blonde curls whiz by on a bike. I had to step out into the road to take a double-take. I could've sworn that was Robert Plant on a bicycle.

What is wrong with me? I thought, as I nearly ripped Emmaline's bike off of the back of the truck and followed the mysterious boy. I refrained, though, and continued to pile all of my bags on the sidewalk.

"Oh, I know that look." My mom was beside me, giving me a playful shove. "See something you like?"

I shook my head and laughed. "No, Ma. I don't."

She shrugged. "I thought he looked like, uh, what's his name? Arthur- no- Taylor Planter?"

"Ma," I groaned. "It's Robert Plant. Ra-ber-t Pl-ant." I sounded it out for her, hoping to get it in her head.

"Oh, I'm just teasing, you know that." Mom made her way up to the front steps and unlocked the door, pushing it open. I peered in from where I was standing at the edge of the driveway, unimpressed.

Emmaline, however, was already bounding in, signing how excited she was on her hands. Mom waved her hands back, signing the words "Welcome home,"

To which Emmaline motioned back. "I love you."

They hugged. Emma and Ma were closer than I was with either of my parents. I've been the outcast child since Emmaline was born, with good cause, though. Emma is deaf, she can't hear or speak, so the whole family learned sign language for her. Though, as the years progressed, and as dad got worse with alcohol, he seemed to forget her disability, and would get mad at her for not being able to communicate the same way you and I could.

I continued to haul my bags into the house, finding the room all the way at the end of the hall, claiming it as my own. It was a small, open space, with two windows, one that overlooked to the neighbor's yard, and one to the back yard, overrun with weeds and roots. The walls were a plain grey, the ceiling popcorn. The floor was painted in white carpet, and the bed pressed against the backyard window was a simple twinsize.

Yeah, I thought to myself, I can work with this. Without waiting another second, I began hanging my clothes in the closet, separated by type and color, which didn't take very long, as I primarily own band shirts and bell bottoms, along with the occasional dress or pair of shorts. Next, I set up my record player and began to decorate my dresser, my nightstand, and bookshelves. Instead of books, the shelves were lined with boxes of records, eight-tracks, and cassettes. I covered my walls, too, in movie and concert posters, polaroids from home.

It was dinnertime, by the time I finished making myself at home, and I heard my mother call my name from somewhere else in the house, but I ignored it, collapsing on my new bed in an exhausted heap, passing out with the light on, jeans warming my legs, and shoes covering my feet.