Past vs. Present

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I grunt, picking up the box with my shoes in it. These things are extremely heavy. I put them in the back of the moving truck and shut the back. That’s the last of my boxes. I’m now about to make the 3 hour drive from Cheshire to London. If you’re wondering why I’m moving I’ve got a good reasoning actually. The accident was about a month ago. I’ve been sober for a month. Someone in the car I hit got a good look at my face. They got a drawing of me out there, people looking for me to find that drunken girl. All they’ve got is a face though. Thankfully no one turned in my name. I’m moving to start a new life. A life where I won’t be known as an alcoholic. A life where I won’t be at the mercy of a bottle. A life where I can get a new start, become someone useful, be progressive. I know I’ll have trouble getting a professional job, I mean my arms are inked to the full extent, I’ve got my nose and lip pierced, and I recently died my hair teal and purple. It’s in streaks all throughout my hair, practically none of my natural blonde left. Just because I’m starting over doesn’t mean I’m going to change who I am, and how I look, that’s who I am. Every drop of ink –mostly gotten under the influence of alcohol- has some meaning. The piercings, make me feel tough, even if I am truly weak to have slipped that far. Even my hair, I got it done two days after the accident, the bright colors showing that I’m starting a bright future for myself. If someone doesn’t approve, it’s not my issue. I hop into the front seat and start the truck. I’m making this journey alone. Some people would be scared to go so far, and not have anyone. But I want to go just for that reason. I don’t want to be around anyone who knows my past, who knows who I used to be. The old Jay is gone. The partying, drunk, sex addicted Jay is gone, and will never make a reappearance. I didn’t tell my friends where I was going, not that they’d care. It’s just one less person to have to keep track of when going to clubs. I pull the truck out if the small driveway of my house, that one house. You’d never suspect that in such a perfect neighborhood there was a girl who partied every night, a girl who went home with another guy about 5 days a week, a girl who would come stumbling home every night at 3 in the morning, drunken and alone. A girl who didn’t know how to deal with stress, with regret, with the fear of being like that for the rest of her life. But she was there, with the married couple with twins on the way to the left, and the old woman who lost her husband to cancer years ago. And as much as I hate to think, that girl was me. I can remember once when I was still in school, I came in with a massive hangover, I yelled at everyone for making sounds, ran out of first period to get all of that alcohol out of my system. It was one of the most embarrassing days of my life as I think back to it, but at the time I didn’t think twice about it. I can remember kids saying things like “I don’t want to end up like her” because I was the one people frowned upon, the one nobody wanted to be like. I hate myself for being like that. But now as I get on to the highway, I make a vow to never be like that again, to get a good future, to grow old and happy with a husband who I love and who loves me. He’ll know of my past, and he’ll still love me. We’ll have beautiful children, who will grow up uninformed of their mother’s awful history. That can wait until they are older, and more mature. I know I can make this fantasy a reality. I won’t be alone and hammered as I would be if I didn’t pull myself out of how I was. I never turned myself in, nor do I plan on it. Yes, the guilt haunts me every minute of every day, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. I feel awful about it. I haven’t watched the news lately because I don’t think I could live with myself if I found out I killed someone. But now, I’m a new person. The accident never happened in my eyes, that was the old Jay, and everything that happened before then, never happened. This is the new Jay, the happy, put together girl who will never have an alcoholic substance in her hands again. After about an hour of driving, I stop at a McDonalds to grab a burger or something to eat. I step in and go to line. I get a Big Mac and a vanilla milkshake. I go sit in a small table in the back corner, made for just two, yet I’m here as just one. I get several glances, but I can’t blame them. If I saw a girl with tattoos and piercings and brightly colored hair sitting in the back of a fast food restaurant alone, I would probably steal a few glances too. It’s definatly not something you see every day. I choose to ignore the looks and finish my food in solitude. Once I finish I simply throw away my trash and leave. Not making eye contact with any of the pairs of eyes on me. I get back into the truck and continue on my journey to London. I’ve got about two hours left and shouldn’t have to make any more stops. I turn the volume knob on the small radio system and am disappointed by the sound of static that fills my ears. I try changing the station but they all seem to play the same song, the song of static scratching. I turn it back off and put my full attention to the road. After about 20 minutes of driving I feel a tire flatten. I just can’t get a break. I pull into the shoulder of the road and get out to inspect it, the chilly October air piercing through my teal skinny jeans. I had left my white jumper in the front seat of the moving truck, so my white v-neck is not doing me any help for protecting me from the autumn breeze. The tire is completely ruined. I don’t know what it hit, but what ever it is messed it up. I look under the truck to see if there is a spare tire anywhere. No tire, but a tire jack. The tire jack would be helpful if I had a tire. I sigh, getting ready to grab my phone and call a tow truck when a car pulls into the shoulder as well. I look up at it to why they stopped right behind me, when someone gets out of the car. I nearly laugh at the person’s appearance. It’s a man, probably a year older than my 19 year old self. His brown hair gelled back, big clunky glasses that belonged on television covering his eyes. He was dressed in a beige sweater vest with a white dress shirt beneath it and in khaki dress pants. He had on brown loafers and he just looked like someone straight out of a 90’s movie. The nerd more specifically. I can see the uncertainty in his steps, as if he’s unsure whether or not if he should be approaching me. I can understand considering I’ve got my arms uncovered and my piercings in. We’re exact opposites on the outside. I can only imagine the differences internally. Once he’s about three feet away he slows to a stop. “Can I help you?” I ask. “Erm well I saw your tire and I well I mean I guess I thought I could help you” he stutters out. “Okay. Do you have a spare tire I could use?” I ask. He nods and leads me to his car. He grabs the tire out of a compartment in the trunk of his white SUV and we head back to the truck, each of us holding an end. Who knew these things were so heavy? “Okay so I guess we just put the tire jack in first and lift it up?” I say. He just nods and we set down the tire. I guess he’s a bit embarrassed from his stuttering earlier. After about twenty minutes of silence and tire changing the tire is changed. “I guess you can out the old tire where I had the spare and I’ll switch them up once I get to a shop” he says smoothly. “Alright. Thanks for the help. I’m Jay” I say extending my hand for him to shake. “No problem, and I’m Marcel” he shakes my hand lightly and we go our separate ways. Poor guy. Nerdy clothes, nerdy name, he couldn’t have grown up easily. I get back into the truck and take a look at him in the mirror, he was just putting the tire into his car and as he walked back to his car he stumbled over his feet. Once he caught his balance I drove off. The rest of the ride was uneventful and I finally got to my new London flat. I have to have the moving truck at the storage place here tomorrow so I unpack my boxes. By the time my boxes are in the house it’s 6:30. I unpack the necessities and eat a sandwich. After that I’m beat so I go and head to sleep early.  

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How was it my lovlies? I feel like this story has a much more serious approach than Tough Love, but hey not everything can be lighthearted. Anyway I hope you like it, I really like this story. And if you haven't yet, read my other story Tough Love. 

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