billy//
I own a van. I own a pack of cigarettes. I own a hair tie. I own three packs of underwear and a bucketful of change. I own a book.
I own myself.
I hop out of the van and onto the gravel. It's night and chilly, the sound of crickets in my ear and street lights buzzing like bees. I take out a cigarette and hold it in between my fingers, just to feel close to something. I forgot my coat at Dairy Queen.
The night stretches across the sky. Stars litter the landscape and the moon casts a shy light along my van. A gentle breeze passes by and I'm almost consumed by the nothingness, but then a car speeds by. The highway, no longer an escape for Billy Dwight. I sigh and climb back into my precious blue van and get back on track towards the high school.
Once I get there, I park behind the health building and slip into the back seat, where my covers and pillow lounge. I make myself comfortable and take out my Nokia phone. Un-hackable, un-trackable. I dial the only number I've committed to memory and write my message. I press send and then set the phone on the floor of the van and close my eyes.
Tomorrow I have a Calculus test.
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From: 719-279-3718
To: 404-573-3729
Message:
I'm okay mom. Having fun living with Aunt Christa. Night, sleep tight.
Sent: 12:46 p.m.
[Message not received. The number you are trying to reach is disconnected. This is an automated message from Sprint.]
YOU ARE READING
lost.
Storie d'amoreBilly can't keep her head on straight. She keeps on rambling about this and that, disappearing, coming back, wandering around at night doing god knows what. Elaine has a boring life. Nothing in her life is interesting, everything so ordinary, so no...
