I sighed. Stared down at the blank sheet of paper that was staring up at me. Pressed my pen against it gently in desperate hope that the words might just pour out. But of course, nothing happened. My mind was blank, just like the page. So, kicking my desk in angst, I laced up my black and white Nike's and left the apartment. Little did I know that if I had wrote that letter, my life would have turned out completely different.
I wanted to write a letter to my parents to tell them I wasn't happy with the life they had set up for me. But I didn't have the heart to. You see, ever since a young age, all I had ever wanted to do was work at The Red Crab; the chain of restaurants my family owns. After I took my college courses on business and finance, my life became bland. There was no high school, no friends. Not that there ever had been, but I thought I needed some, and I couldn't have been more right. So, I went from restaurant to restaurant, visiting different cities and countries. For many, I was living the dream. But I was also living in the shadow of my elder sister, Imogene. No wonder I never got a tan. Always my parents favourite, she had achieved great things in the business and opened our first restaurant in Europe when she was twenty. So my parents had very high expectations of me that I could never live up to. In my world, I was only just...existing. I wasn't living like every other girl my age. I was constantly wanting to become something more, to change the world. To make a difference.
Imogene and my parents wore Armani suits and dresses, and I wore skinny jeans, Nike's and frankly quite lame T-shirts. Looking at me, you would never have guessed that I was wealthy. Unlike my family, I didn't, and still don't, believe that wealth is a quality. They think it's just as important as the person's personality. Only mingle with the rich and famous. I went to a community college, much to their disappointment, and bought the clothes that I actually liked, not designer just because it was Armani or Channel. Friendship had never found me, and I had never found it. I was bullied in high school because they thought that I was unworthy and useless. This all happened because I went to an extremely strict Private School, and frankly everybody there was shallow and judged me just by what I wore. I'm glad I didn't mix with them though, because if I did, I fear I would have fallen into the same trap as my family. I was happy with myself, just not my life.
So I jumped in my car and decided to drive for a while. My vehicle was a pale blue open top pickup truck, and I drove around a lot. It helped me think, a sort of therapy. Not that my thinking actually came to any use, but I had this idea that if I just kept driving, the perfect life would just come to me. That if I thought about it enough, my confidence would build up to the max and I would go and tell my parents exactly what I thought about my life at The Red Crab. But one thing that always stopped me was the fact that I really had nothing else to do. I was that driven on working there, I hadn't really thought about anything else. I wasn't trained in any other field other than working there. And that nagged at me every hour of every day.
It was mid-afternoon in Bur Bank as I drove away from my apartment. I turned my music up loud and just watched everybody bustling around. I was an observer; always in the sidelines watching. Not a stalker by any means, but just an observer. I'd been driving for twenty minutes or so when I noticed my gas was low. If I had filled it the night before, I wouldn't be where I am just now. It's the little things in life that matter. The everyday choices we make. And so, I went for gas.
"Hey," the cashier greeted, looking up from her iPhone to give me the once-over. I smiled back at her, but not one that reached my eyes. They were saved for special occasions.
"Hi," I replied, grabbing a Hershey's. She didn't give me a second glance as she carelessly scanned my bar.
"That'll be fifty two dollars." I passed her the money and walked right on out. People like her seriously rub me up the wrong way. Just because I didn't show a lot of cleavage and wear tons of makeup and have bone straight or curled hair, I was inferior to her. Whoever made that law must have been an idiot.
YOU ARE READING
The Hitch Hiker.
Aventura19 year old Peyton didn't know what she wanted. With college waisted on a useless course to help her run the family business, she was constantly living in the shadow of her elder sister. No wonder she never got a tan. But then she picked up Delia; a...