We drove in silence Eastbound towards the city in the chilly, late November weather. The sky was a threatening kind of overcast, but the forecast predicted that snow flakes would not fall until nearly two hours after takeoff. Joe drove like he was alone on the highway and no one but God would object to his behavior. He was doing eighty miles an hour as he shifted lane to lane, cutting off family cars full of holiday spirit. His wild driving was matched by Nick, who manned the auxiliary chord as a passenger seat privilege. A mix of rock, punk, and alternative shook the car at full blast through the speakers, almost every song was cut off by another, and each time the quality of the tune declined. I'm not even sure if Joe remembered I was with him, sitting a bubbling nervous wreck behind his headbanging, pom pom winter hat wearing brother. He should, as he was always aware of where Demi was, who sat slouched behind him with her knees resting against the back of his seat, but I know he's pissed at her. Apparently there was an argument between her house and mine about why they were taking his piece of shit car into the city to sit in snowbanks for five days when she had a perfectly purring car collecting dust in her garage. I don't see why it matters, but it's all about the little things with them.
There was another fight, Nick told me later, about Demi introducing herself as Stephanie to my parents. Joe tried to force her to do it but Demi threatened to cut his alcohol supply. She couldn't stand the thought of meeting my family, it made her angry. I understood. She already lived enough of a lie to the public, and another in her own house, she didn't need to add an identity when those important to her already knew who she was. Joe was the one that took my suitcase. Joe was the one that hugged my mom. Joe was the one that shook my father's hand. He was the one to promise my safety, responsibility, and well being. He didn't know he was a liar, I do not blame him. He shouldn't have been the one to lie, the welcome mat is misleading. Those things are on me, though. If I had the balls to ask Demi to meet my family myself, face to face, eyes on eyes, I bet she would have done it. She'd give it three heartbeats, realize it wouldn't kill her, and suck it up for me.
As we passed a dip along the side of the road, a sign read Green Bay 14 miles and I had hope that I could make it. Not with my companions to make our flight in two hours, but I had a personal goal to reach the parking lot with my eyes closed and my mouth shut because I felt sick to my stomach. Demi noticed my queasiness when she looked over at me and shot a a sentimental look, patting her thigh gently. I adjusted my seatbelt and immediately got comfortable, lying my head on her, letting her comb my hair through her fingertips and closing my eyes so the unsteady rock of the car seemed less life threatening. If I couldn't see the blurred trees and the sprinting pavement, my mind couldn't run so wild. My last move to try and ease my insides was to plug my exposed ear with my finger. It didn't work and didn't last long because I watched Demi check on the boys attention focus before she removed my finger and leaned down, hovering over me and blocking everything out by humming in my ear. It was not loud enough to block out the music around us, but the tingle on my cheek of a stay lock and the warm air against my ear drove me wild and robbed everything else of my attention.
Even though I was convinced her hands and her voice could cure any illness, her magic was not enough. After a moment of scrunching my eyes, I gently turned my head to her and pecked her cheek before raising myself with my hand on my head. "Joe, can you slow down?" I shouted as I leaned between my boyfriend and his brother's seats for him to hear me over the music.
"No," Joe hollered back, continuing to floor it.
"I feel like I'm going to be sick, Babe. Please? For me?"
Joe huffed and shook his head, ignoring me. I don't know what his problem is, but he's going to pay a heavy price for it if he doesn't ease up on the gas. Instead, I felt the car lurk forward as he cut off an eighteen-wheeler at nearly eighty five and then a beat up pickup immediately afterwards. Sliding back and forth under my minor restriction and watching my life flash before my eyes was all it took.
YOU ARE READING
The Storms Of August
أدب المراهقينIf I had known what the result would be I would have said something, everything I left unspoken during those late nights filled with smoke and conversations confined in our heads. But I wouldn't have changed a damn thing, not a single freckle on he...
