Our own kind of freedom [youngwritersshortstory]

(word count: 1,547)

Our own kind of freedom

It was a Monday.

The reason I remember that? I was bored to tears and nearly falling asleep in my seat. I would have done too, if it hadn’t been for the chill of the window pressed against my face in an attempt to cool down. Well, that and the fact that there was a constant hum from a guy’s headphones a few rows in front. I’d had to run for the bus- again. The heavens had it out for me that morning, as did my Dad, wailing out the door behind me.

Raindrops chased each other down the windowsill, racing the trickles of water that fell from my mop of brown hair. Should have put my hood up; should have glued it to my head. The hurricane force gusts that were howling just a pane of glass away were enough to make anyone fear getting their brolly out in case of being carried away with it.

I silently cursed the bus driver; a particularly grumpy and devious man who I swore sped up as he rounded the corner, having seen me haplessly flailing down in the torrents of rain. To say I’d given him a look of pure hatred would have been an understatement. Nevertheless, I plucked up whatever remaining dignity I had left, paid and then unceremoniously fell into a seat. My gloves were glued to my fingers and my coat was equally drenched so there was a flattering squish as I did so.

I heaved out a sigh as the bus faltered and creaked to a stop, only half an hour to go… but the thought of school looming ever closer was something that filled me with dread and I didn’t even want to consider going home- if you could call it that. I didn’t want to have to deal with the questions; where have you been? Why weren’t you in at all last week?

I could just get off at the next stop, drift into the rain and get lost for the day.

A flash of lightning illuminated the meaningless swirls I’d drawn in the condensation, making the hairs on my arms stand on end.  As if instinctively, my hand flitted to the bell. I didn’t know what I was doing, but it wasn’t going to school.

I tried to ignore the eyes that followed me off the bus, but the guilt that chased me only got to the doors. School would probably be cancelled anyway, I tried to convince myself. I was allowed a day.

I had to jump off the bus in order to avoid the puddle that awaited me; nevertheless my shoes still got the brunt of it, squelching as I headed out into the unknown.

I rounded corner after corner with only a vague idea of where I was going. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d wandered around these parts of town- it wasn’t exactly the most welcoming. Nevertheless, it was the lesser of two evils in my mind, plodding along through the dreary rain seemed a much more welcoming idea.

I let my hood fall back and tilted my head up towards the sky, letting the rain trail down my skin and run through my hair. With it, it washed away the images that flitted to my mind, of similarly gloomy days spent shut up in my room with its creaky window and rusty door hinges.

Freedom. I sighed up into the abys of grey.

I only saw the flash of a lighter and black hair before I ploughed straight in to a wall of leather and aftershave. A curse left my mouth, drawing the attention of an elderly lady who was crossing the street. I didn’t spare her a glance; I was too busy trying not to run over a stranger.

Had my life been a fairy tale, I would not have unceremoniously landed on my arse but as I toppled to the ground my hands met concrete and the water hit my jeans. I knew this day wasn’t going to get any better. That was of course until I realised, the wall I’d hit had in fact been a person, and while I’d all but rebounded off them, they were otherwise unaffected.

“You alright down there?” My gaze drew up from the biker boots, past the baggy jeans and to the smug grin of a faceI found all too familiar.

“Yeah, just-” I staggered to my feet with a groan, “peachy.” My sarcasm cut to the bone.

I tried to avoid the mocking gaze of my human obstacle, sure he looked particularly handsome and charming but from my experience, he was anything but. In that one moment, I deeply regretted my moment of spontaneity.

I fleetingly met his stare before taking a great interest in my shoes, “Sorry… about,” I gestured to his shoulder in some attempt to cut the awkward apology short, “that.” Not that he’d even budged.

His only reply was a shrug and a puff of smoke to the face. I tried not to grimace as my lungs burned, deciding that this conversation had gone on too long for comfort.

I began to turn away as I hunkered down into my coat and willed myself to forget everything that had just happened. I thought I’d managed to get away with it too, but before I’d gone two fast paced steps, his voice caught me.

“You got a light?”

I should have just kept going, gone to wherever on earth I thought I was headed and ignored him, but my feet had other ideas. His voice had wrapped around me, filled with a silent challenge. The average looking goody-goody-two-shoes wouldn’t have a lighter; she was too pristine to corrupt herself like that.

I halted and half turned towards him, taking in his form from the corner of my eye as he leaned casually against the wall of an off licence, hair tousled and mouth quirked, with an air of nonchalance that had begun to annoy me. I had half a mind to just keep walking, but as if sensing my hesitation his voice became softer.

“Knocked my fag to the floor when you ran into me,” I was surprised he didn’t snigger, “besides my lighter’s on the blink.”

I could almost feel the shape of my lighter through my pocket, and before I could stop myself I’d swiftly delved into it and produced the sleek black zippo.

Stepping back into the relative shelter of the ratty plastic veranda, his only sign of appreciation was a grunt as the flame flickered and a long trail of smoke left his lips, joining the rain. Before I could get back the lighter and be on my way though, he began to inspect it. It was as if he knew prolonging our proximity to each other would set me on edge.

“Nice,” was all the approval I got and I was slightly disappointed not to observe any surprise in the green depths of his eyes. By this point though I’d about had enough of his monotonous conversation and almost snatched the lighter from his hand.

“No problem.” The annoyance was laced through my words.

His eyes took me in, with my shifty feet and sopping hair. “Sorry about,” he gestured similarly to the state of my clothes, “that.” He reached into his pocket and produced another cigarette, “Here, as an apology for being an obstacle on your way to… not school,” Again with that unspoken challenge. He let his words hang there. Had it been anyone else I would have seen it as a threat; he knew I was supposed to be at school, knew I had no intention of going that way any time soon. But we were both in the same position; miles from school and we both understood he didn’t really give a rat’s arse about what I did.

“Thanks,” I took the peace offering and slouched beside him, lighting it and taking in the easiest breath I’d had all day. I hardly ever smoked, had only ever tried it once or twice at parties, but the bundle of leather beside me didn’t need to know that.

For the first time I took him in, the ragged exterior and the ‘devil could care’ attitude. I’d heard the stories, everyone had, but at that moment those didn’t seem to matter. He was just as broken as I was.

“The idea of sitting in a classroom didn’t sit well with me.” I knew I didn’t really have to explain, I didn’t owe him anything but the idle chitchat was filling in the silences.

The only response was a nod.

Had it been any other situation, any other time, we never would have acknowledged each other’s presence, let alone stood and smoked together. But there was an implicit understanding, we both had nowhere else better to be and had no aspiration to venture out into the rain. So we stood and stared. Even when he produced a bottle, concealed in a brown paper bag, without a second glance I took it and swigged.

No one need ever know about our own little rebellion under a leaky shelter surrounded by dingy streets, the smell of smoke and rain.

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