Sunshine City (Petekey)

III.

A/n: wow I am never writing in first person again jfc. Also, have this crappy drawing I did in like five mins, lmao.

~

The first thing I noticed, was that Pete wasn't next to me. I gasped and looked up, blinking heavily. I looked around in a bit of a panic before realizing he was sitting on the hood of the car, blanket wrapped tightly around his body. He stared up at the sky with a look of awe. I jammed my glasses on my nose before standing on the side of the truck's edge to hoist myself on top of the hood.

"Pete? What are you-?"

Pete shushed me, quickly, and pulled me down so I was sitting cross-legged. The sun's rays were just barely poking out from the horizon, and I let out a small smile. I could see what he was so happy about. Half the sky was lit up with the early morning rays of dawn; but if you turned around, you could see the dark sky with stars still twinkling bright. The stars blinked down at us, proud of themselves for being noticed.

"Wow..." I let out a long breath. "It's gorgeous."  I allowed myself to relax a little bit and enjoy the soft wind that swept around us.

"You don't know when to be quiet, my friend," Pete pouted, nudging me with his shoulder. "Just enjoy the peace for a little bit."

I nodded and let out an 'oof' as I changed position so I was lying on my back to watch the sunrise. I had to admit, the tranquility was sweet. Whoever said that sunsets were the most beautiful thing to be seen on earth, had clearly never seen sunrises over New York.

Finally, the sun had risen all the way, and the night would not be seen for a while. Pete stretched and yawned, blinking, sleepily. He moved to slide off he hood of the truck and landed with a thump back into the back of the truck. The truck rocked, dangerously, and I gasped, placing my hand on the metal to steady myself. I followed him, quickly, and jumped onto the grass. We packed up the sleeping-bags and put them in the back-seat, along with our other stuff.

"Ready to go, my friend? In a few hours we'll be in New York City. It'll be absolutely gorgeous. Better than anything our innocent, New Jersey eyes will have ever seen," Pete grinned, giggling on the last sentence.

"I'm very ready," I nodded. I climbed into the passenger seat next to Pete, who turned on his CDs, almost immediately.

"Remind me to get gas soon," Pete mumbled as soon as we'd driven a few miles. "I forgot to get some yesterday and we're running a bit low," he added. I nodded and sat in silence. I closed my eyes and  just let the music just take me over, and listened to Pete humming to it.

Finally, Pete pulled over, and I opened my eyes. We were at a gas station, still in a rural part of New York.

"Storm, go grab something from the gas station. A few snacks for breakfast. I'll get someone to fill up the car," he smiled. He tossed me his wallet and I nodded, walking into the gas station. I grabbed a few trail-mixes from the shelves, as well as a few bottles of water. I quickly paid for them and walked back out to the car. Pete was leaning on the side of the car as a guy filled the car up. His smile brightened as he saw me, and I grinned back at him.

"Are these okay?" I held up the snacks and he nodded.

"Perfect, Mikey," he replied. I tossed him his wallet and Pete handed the guy his credit-card. The guy swiped his card and handed it back to him.

"Have a nice day, Pete," the guy grinned. Pete nodded to him and climbed back in to the car. I followed him and got into the passenger seat.

"Don't tell me you already made friends with that guy," I grinned. Pete beamed in reply.

"Don't get jealous, Storm. It doesn't matter. I'll never see him again, anyway," he shrugged. He pulled out of the gas station and I pulled out the trail mix.

"Please tell me there's M&Ms in there," Pete's eyes flickered over to the pack. I turned it around to read the ingredients.

"Almonds, Raisins, Cashews, M&Ms," I read out. I heard Pete's small squeal of delight, and I shook my head at him. I ripped it open and pulled out a handful of mix. He held his hand out and. I poured it into his hands and he shoved it into his mouth, not taking his eyes off the road.

"Mmm, thank you, Mikey," he grinned. We quickly finished the snack and drinks off and Pete, leaning back into the seat, smiled, contently. "Think about it Storm. The Big Apple. Isn't that crazy?" He beamed, wildly.

"We have so many places to go!" I agreed, excitedly. "Central Park! Can we go there?" I beamed. "I really want to," I added.

"Of course we can go, Mikey," he laughed. "I'm planning to do as much as I can."

We sat, silently, for about half an hour until Pete reached over and turned the music off.

"Storm," he prompted me.

"Pete," I replied.

"Tell me a story," he murmured. I looked over at him.

"What?" I asked him, confused. Tell him a story? What did that mean?

"Tell me a story," he repeated his words. "Just make it up on the spot. Like the ones I tell you, at night."

"Pete," I murmured. "You're the storyteller. I... I have no imagination whatsoever," I murmured.

"Yes, you do!" He replied. "You're one of the smartest people I know! Why do you think I choose to tell you all my stories?" He asked. "You have the potential, Storm. I can feel it. You're smart, and inventive, and brilliant!" He said, firmly.

I was taken-aback. I didn't know that that's what Pete thought of me.

"You're important, Storm. You think of yourself as just a listener, correct?" He asked. "You just listen to my stories and marvel at them."

"I-I think your stories are some of the best I've ever heard..." I stammered. "I listen to them and-"

"Exactly," he interrupted me. "You listen. That's the best thing an author or a storyteller can ask for," he explained. "You give me hope, Mikey. You help my imagination and I make those stories for you because finally I have someone to listen to me. You think my parents cared about my love for stories? Or fictional words that I could escape to? Of course not! The only thing that mattered was how well I did in school!" His voice went high pitched as to imitate his mother. "Peter! Did you get an A in that English test today? No? Well, maybe if you weren't so distracted by that damn notepad..." He trailed off and his voice went back to normal. "I don't like being told what stories to create,' he murmured.

I stared at him in shock. I'd never really thought of it that way before. Then it sort of hit me. Why do we do anything, really? We want approval. We want someone to tell us that we're good at things and that they're proud of our accomplishments. That's basically what I'd been doing for Pete. I'd never known that he'd created the stories for me  because I was encouraging him.

"Thank you," I said, quietly.

"No, thank you, Mikey Way. You've given me the courage to keep creating stories even when I was told I couldn't, and shouldn't," he nodded his head to me.

Pete had opened my eyes to this way of thinking, and I internally thanked him for giving that to me.

He turned the music back up and kept his eyes on the road in front of him. I pulled my legs up and pulled them into my chest, and rested my head against the seat-belt that was across my chest.

-

If any of you are confused about the gas-station part, and are from the South or West, or not from New Jersey, you aren't allowed to fill up your own car. You have to have an attendant fill it up for you.