"Mom, that policeman is definitely telling you to pull over." I turned around in my seat to check again and could barely make out the flashing lights between the mini fridge, a desk light and a green, plastic tote.
"I know, I know. I'm going to pull over up there," my mom switched on the blinker and sure enough the police car pulled up behind us.
"Steve, can you get the registration out of the dash?" My dad fumbled around in the dash and tossed me a bag of sunflower seeds that got in the way. "No, not that one. It's in the grey thing. It has that smooth feel. Yeah, that one." My dad handed my mom the registration and she tossed it on her lap.
I watched the officer walk up beside the car and tried to see if he was wearing a gun. I don't know why, I guess I just had the urge to know if he actually wore one. But I didn't see it. Maybe he kept it in his shoe and when something intense happened he reached down and did it western style. Two revolvers, an eye glint, and some tumble weed. It wasn't plausible, but I'm not going to lie, it would be awesome to see--from a distance.
My mom was already rolling down her window and I felt a wave of heat. That poor officer was probably sweating buckets. "Can I see your license and registration, Ma'am?" He asked and leaned over to see into the van. He spotted me and gave me a smile. I smiled awkwardly back and then quickly averted my gaze. He was pretty young, and good-looking with cropped brown hair and dark brown eyes. Actually he was probably average, but the uniform made everyone look better. So average guy here became quite handsome, and so I became quite nervous, and aborted. Don't-look-don't-look-don't-look-don't-look. Thus, my cowboy boots became very interesting to me. "You were going a little too fast. I'll write it as a warning for now."
"Thank you officer, I'll be sure to watch my speed." My mom said as the policeman handed the stuff back to her.
"What's all the stuff for? Are you moving?" He asked and leaned down again.
"We have a college girl ready to party it up at school in the backseat," my dad joked and turned to look at me with a grin.
"Her check-in is at three, so we are running a bit late," my mom piped in.
"Oh! Well congratulations on making it to college," I glanced at him and smiled shyly.
"Thank you," I said softly.
"Well, I won't hold you up." He wrote something on a paper and slipped it to my mom, "Have a good one."
"Same to you." My mom rolled up her window and merged back onto the highway.
"He was probably just nosy. He really just wanted to know what the stuff was for. Or maybe he knew we had a hot college girl in the back," Dad chuckled and I groaned.
"Dad, that's just weird." I grumbled and picked up my book to continue reading.
"Hey, it's better to be happy than in a bad mood. Or would you rather me be angry?" he inquired with furrowed brows.
"Alright, alright." I was defeated. My dad would keep complaining unless I threw in the white flag. I opened the Book of American Short Stories and chose to read a story by Hemingway. My dad fiddled with the radio station until he found a song he liked and started singing along, loud and tone-deaf.
"Steven, you sound awful. Can you stop," mom asked, annoyed. He grumbled about how he would just be miserable like us, but finally I could read my short stories in peace. The Hemingway story was short, and soon I moved onto Poe.
It really helped to read. I was so nervous about moving away and living in a new place surrounded by strangers. I mean, I was excited too. I could finally leave home, and get out of that racist, hick town in the middle of Nowhere, New Jersey. I was suffocating in that place of teen pregnancy, idle gossip, and pot heads. I remembered a conversation I had once with a guy I thought was cute, and magically, still had all of his teeth. But that didn't work out for obvious reasons: he didn't know a thing about anything related to education or further learning. Especially literature, something I lived and breathed. Nothing.
To test him I asked him something any sixth grader would know: 'do you know what Poe is?' and he scratched his head. After a few seconds he replied 'it kinda sounds like the stuff you put on your shoes'. Honestly I was flabbergasted. Yes, that is the only appropriate word that I could think of. Here I was, eleventh grade, looking at this guy that was definitely older than me, and he thought Poe was a shoe cleaner.
Edgar Allen Poe. A classic Gothic story teller. The creator of the Raven and one of the most well-known authors in modern American history. And Billy Bumpkin over here thought he was a shoe cleaner. And so from then on I avoided confronting any guy outside my high school. Well, I even avoided confronting guys outside my honors classes. Nowhere, New Jersey was a scary place.
I was pretty lonely there. The few friends I happened to make were very distant since I had moved to that dreary town from an even drearier town in Georgia. In Georgia all they talked about was beer, partying, and country music. So although the move to Nowhere, New Jersey was bad it was still probably twenty-three percent better than Godawful, Georgia. However, a fifty-three was still a failing grade.
So although I was nervous, my enthusiasm to leave the quagmire of loneliness and rednecks definitely weighed more on my scale of feelings.
I straightened in my seat as we started to ascend a hill, and marked my page with a bookmark. It was beautiful. I stared out the window and saw the oaks, everglades, maples all forming green hills in the distance, and squinted to see the small squares that were houses. In the distance I saw the hills grow into a mountain, and I wondered what it was named. I fell asleep looking at those mountains while I thought about hiking them sometime soon. I could do many new things that I wasn't allowed to do at home. There would be freedom in my new four year old home.
