Delilah

Delilah 

    Serendipity, meaning good fortune and good luck. What I understand from it is that though good fortune may befall you, that does not secure happiness. A beautiful word, I might add, but it is one much less used in my vocabulary. For you see, luck is not synonymous with contentment, you may have had good fortune to survive, but you still carry those memories that will forever haunt you. I tell my story, so that those who hear it will not confuse as someone who is content with what has happened.

    I love my red winter coat. It is so beautiful, with warm fur lining the inside, big brown buttons going down the center, and a stunningly bold red color. I wear it every day in the colder seasons. My mother bought it for me two years ago, it has been my loyal friend ever since. It is florescent in the dull December weather, sticking out vividly against the whites, grays and blacks. I peered into the old cracked mirror hanging on my closet door, my reflection is always the same, dull gray eyes that reflect the life outside, my hair is shoulder length and completely flat, somewhat of a pale straw color. I’ve always been rather trim. My coat hung on my shoulders, the buttons securing it around me. Ready, I said to myself.

    The stairs creaked under my feet, everything about this house is old. Every time I mention it to my mom she disagrees and says, ‘No, it’s not old. Its vintage.’ Vintage? Really? This house is old and she knows it, everything is dated and dingy. We have those awkward vertical blinds that were all over the place back in the fifties. The stairway leads right into the kitchen. It’s seven twenty two, my dad has already left for work. My mom leaves about the time I start my walk to the bus stop. I walk over to the corner of the breakfast area where I keep my bag. Just as I swing the weight over my shoulder, my mother walks in.

    “Good morning Delilah”, she said cheerfully.

    “Morning”, I replied. She walked over to the counter and grabbed her keys.

    “Ready to go?” she asked.

    I nodded in response. She walked ahead of me and opened the ripped screen door for me to go through. I felt a shiver run down my spine when the chilly wind hit me. Parked in the driveway was my mother’s paneled station wagon. What is it with my mom and old stuff? Or shall I say ‘vintage’. I turned around to say good bye to my mother when I caught sight of our neighbor, Mr. Carson, waving at us.

    “Hello Mr. Carson!” my mother called out as she waved back. Mr. Carson is always very friendly, but something about him always seemed a bit creepy to me. Sometimes, as children would play in front of his house I would catch his eyes lingering on them, maybe it’s just an unfulfilled desire to have kids of his own, but still, watching children play so intently is a little suspicious.

    My mother and Mr. Carson exchange a few words, when they were finished my mother turned back to me, “Good bye, I love you and have a great day at school”, she said. She briefly kissed me on the forehead, then got in her car and drove off.

    The walk to the bus stop is about a mile and a half, I usually take some short cuts through the woods. I like it more that way, because it means I am totally alone, besides all the animals of course. Although, the walk along the road can be just as deserted, aside from the occasional car speeding off because they are running late for work.  

    I’d been walking for about five minutes along the road when a car pulled up behind me. I had expected it to carry on driving, but it didn’t. The window of the passenger seat rolled down and the driver leaned over. I carried on walking without looking at them. 

    “Hey”, the driver said, “Delilah, right?” I stopped to see who it was, I swear I could feel my heart beating in my throat when I saw who it was.

    “Yes”, I replied. I started walking again, but he drove slowly next to me.

    “Aren’t you cold?” he asked, “I’m freezing. Say, why don’t I give you a ride to your bus stop?”

    “I’m fine”, I said in response, trying not to make eye contact.

    “Are you sure? It’s not a problem at all”, he said. I stopped and considered his offer. He is your next door neighbor and you have known him for years. Just relax. It’s only a mile away, why are you freaking out so much? Because, it’s Mr. Carson.

    “Alright”, I said. Then he smiled and opened the passenger door for me. The car smelled clean, like bleach. It was almost nauseating. So fresh it made me dizzy. It was almost completely empty besides the two of us and a large black bag sitting in the back seat. His radio was turned off, I looked at it for just a brief second, but he noticed, he must have been staring. 

    “Do you want to listen to the radio? But none of that rap music you kids listen to these days” he said. He flipped on the button that turned it on and off. He searched through the channels for just a minute when he stopped, “There”, he said. It sounded like Lana Del Rey, but I couldn’t tell. I felt so light headed from the fumes, and something else. I was almost too dazed to realize when he turned off onto a dirt road.

    “Mr. Carson”, I said a little more shakily than I had intended, “This isn’t the way to the bus stop.” I felt my heart beating up in my throat again, my hands began to shake and sweat. He slowly turned his head to me, smirking.

    “We’re not going to the bus stop” he said.