This is a short story I wrote based on the song "Mine" by Taylor Swift. All rights of the song lyrics and theme are credited to Taylor Swift.
Tired. I'm so, so tired.
That's all. The sadness, the anger - it's all just kind of faded away. I'm numb now, not in pain like I once was every time my parents would fight. Just tired, tired of it all.
Dad's thundering yell booms through our ranch house, and I hear Mom's shuddering, shaking cries. Sometimes, I have the urge to just scream back, yell as loudly as I possibly can, but today I don't. I just need to leave.
I open my closet door and squeeze my hand into the glass jar that holds my stash of money. I pull out a twenty dollar bill, thinking that will be enough to last me until tonight. My flip flops clap against the hardwood stairs, and without even bothering to tell Mom and Dad where I'm going, I turn the brass knob of our ivory front door and leave.
My shiny blue bicycle gleams in the early September sun, and I ride at a smooth, steady pace. The air smells of saltwater and fried foods, and in the distance I hear waves crashing and seagulls squawking - classic Kennebunkport. For awhile, I even forget about my parents, forget about the tension and stress of my once peaceful home. But just as quickly, the thoughts flood back, and I force them out by humming softly to myself.
After biking down the bumpy asphalt for awhile, I finally reach Dolly and Rick's Diner downtown. When you think diner, you think Dolly and Rick's.
I park my bike in the rusting rack outside the door, not even bothering to lock it. The bell above the door jingles, light and shrill, as I enter. I am immediately engulfed in the greasy scent of french fries and burgers. I hear the happy chatter of beach-goers and 50's music playing through the round speakers overhead.
"Alison! How've you been, sweetheart? Don't you look pretty!" says round-faced Dolly, patting my arm gently. I smile, looking down at my favorite plaid sundress.
"I've been good, Dolly," I lie, smiling, as she sits me at a lipstick red booth. Her chubby fingers hand me a laminated menu, and she bends down and kisses my hair, whispering, "Whatever you want, sweetheart, it's on the house, alright?"
"Dolly--" I start.
"Don't you argue with me. You get whatever you'd like, you got that?"
Suddenly, my blue eyes sting with a pang of unexpected tears. I nod numbly as Dolly kisses my forehead again and walks into the kitchen.
I breathe in deep, wiping the tears from my eyes. The steel counter of the table catches my reflection, and I groan. Yesterday's eyeliner lies smudged at the inner corners of my eyes, and my blond curls hang in a messy bun on my head, looking matted and defeated. Now, the only redeeming thing about my appearance is my sundress. I distract myself by pretending to be very interested in the menu.
"Good afternoon, miss," says a soft, masculine voice above me.
Darn it, he's cute. Usually, I wouldn't mind this, but I'm such a mess today. I smooth my dress and give him a weak smile. He grins back. Probably just sympathy.
"I've seen you in here a lot, so I probably don't need to say, 'Welcome to Dolly and Rick's, home of the McRickey shake and the best burgers in Maine,'" he says in a dramatic voice. He noticed me? I giggle at his little sense of humor. I can tell he knows I've been crying, that he's trying to make me feel better. He kind of is.
"Yeah, I've heard that line, oh, maybe four billion times," I say. Now he's the one to chuckle.
"Hot day out there, huh? I definitely have to recommend the frosted lemonade to you - it's this new frozen drink we've got," he says.
