Creative Non-Fiction Collection

Ol' Fateful and his Rider

Days gone by, with the same old routine. To be stuck in repetition day by day. My only faithful companion is my Ol' Fateful. For which is known by the masses as my longboard. I have explored the city with him. We have traveled to the outskirts of this small city, known by most as the town of Oakdale, to the prison known as high school. For which I lock him up, at a rack. Not for his safety but for the safety of others. As far as I know, he's ok with it. Doesn't talk much, his actions speak for themselves. I use him to travel as much as he uses me.

For such a routine, requires a start of the day. Before I'm out and about. We all have rituals. Mine start with being awakened by my mother. I stay in bed however, trying to get a few more winks in, before I start my day. I always jump out of bed to the sound of my mother telling me to get up once more. Bones popping as I do so. The stretching pops more. I shower in scalding hot water, it feels pleasant on my fair skin. 'It hurts so good,' one might say. After 10-20 minutes of wasting water, I get out. Dry myself, get dressed. I don't have an appetite in the morning so I don't eat. I brush my teeth twice, once in the shower and the second time before I leave as if to convince my mom that I have eaten. I say my farewells and goodbyes to her and the dogs. I grab Ol' Fateful and put on my music and it fills my ears with illustrious divine melodies. From Indie, Rock, Pop, to classics such as Bach. I'm off with the beat of the music, stepping out of the door with Ol' Fateful. I make my way to a child's prison, I see the automobiles, and the pedestrians race or walk past me, as I go by. I have seen many people, and listened to many more songs.

Ol' Fateful and I are observers of the natural world. From the onlookers that gawk, they might think that we are just merely a man riding a board, who just go and not see. To me, we are two step-brothers forced to love each other. Him being made out of wood and me, out of flesh and blood. Two adventurers that help each other on a journey. A mutual understanding that was agreed upon by my purchase of him. But he is not some slave that I use for my own betterment. He symbolizes my high school experience. He was once beautiful, unmarked by the world. Fresh, innocent. His neon green coat was vibrant and caught the eyes of everyone. He is now battered, beaten and feels old, but is young and full of life.

He shows no signs of ever wearing the coat of neon green. One would only know that he was such a color if you saw him in his prime. What was under the green was his naked wooden skin. That too has become dirty and uncleanable. Permanent scarring on his belly. He's chipped from the long journeys that we have taken together. Everything gives him a sense of character though. It shows that he is not new to this world, neither am I, I suppose. Every blemish and scar tells a story of a commute. He isn't broken by any means. He's well worn and lived a life and still has more living to do. Driven to the point of an ultimatum. To live or to die. Like all of us with light still burning bright we choose to live. To hold back death for years to come. He fights and holds on to the light, that I know is still burning bright within his wooden center.

He resides in my room. For that is a place where we both lay ourselves to rest. The curse set upon him by his name, I know he'll betray me one day by sending me flying. For he has tried. I can't blame him, for that is his purpose in life. To destroy or to be destroyed.

The journey is never over until it's over. I'm still at the first leg of this great race, and I'm taking my time. Ol' Fateful joined me but he won't be leaving with me, when I take the final step. We are all commuters trying to reach our place. The journey of the commute is always the best part. Ol' Fateful and I will not arrived at the end together, in the grand scheme of things. I know this.

Life is a commute.