writings of a introverted 18 year old: escape
It was a normal day. The sun wasn’t out, the sky was gray. Frye was wearing her standard garb: high-water jeans, army surplus boots, and her favorite bright green Kermit the Frog sweatshirt. Walking along the street, Frye kicked at the leaves that covered the ground. Bus fifty-two was late. It was supposed to be there five minutes ago, but late was normal. Frye had dyed her hair bright cerulean blue just last week, it had been green before that. The bus appeared a couple blocks down and began to slow for its stop. Frye pulled out her dollar and stepped up to the opening doors.
Middle aged, and over weight, the bus driver Joann (as her tag labeled her) traded Frye’s dollar for a two hour pass. The self proclaimed punky girl half-smiled and walked to the back of the bus and sat down in the middle seat. She slipped on her headphones, and out of her backpack she grabbed The Hobbit. She’d read it a couple of times already, but it was a good bus book, something very different from the world she would be sitting in the middle of. Frye calmly began to get lost in her fantasy as the scenery flashed by. Almost naked trees dropped their leaves on the soggy ground. The bright colors that had shown over the gray skies of weeks past now covered the pavement. Rundown businesses lined these decaying puddled streets. Cars that passed the bus were almost as dirty as the rest of this neglected part of town.
The bus turned. Frye kept reading, her CD player blaring the music of the Ethiopian Gigi, as the bus followed its normal route. Gigi’s lighthearted voice played to contrast what Frye’s surroundings. People got on and off. There was an old man who had to push his way to the back because no one would give up one of the priority seats. There was a young mother with two kids. The kids were loud, continuously asking, ”Can we have candy for dinner?“ The mother’s clothes were rumpled, her socks didn’t match, and her face sagged with the exhaustion someone her age shouldn’t know. There was a kid, about twelve, he was trying to look tough with his oversized clothes. There was a couple. They were probably near the end of high school. The boy laughed and poked at the girl’s side. She smiled and poked back.
They were all normal people. Frye tried to lose herself in the music that played in her head, but it didn’t help. She glanced up and saw the old man sitting two seats away, their eyes met, then she saw an old dirty apartment. She entered through the front door, number 5B. It was musty, hadn’t been cleaned in months. The grubby orange shag carpet matched the brown and brass furnishings that filled the room. There were newspapers heaped up against the walls along the front hall. Dirty dishes sat on the coffee table in front of the TV. Through a doorway she could see the mess that was piled in the kitchen. But that's not where this vision directed her. Frye turned, went past the open entrance to the bedroom, to the bathroom at the end of the hall. The door was just open. There was a linoleum floor. There was blood on the linoleum. And there was the old man with a cracked head on the linoleum.
Frye shook her head. Looking around bus fifty-two, she could see that the man had already left. Frye attempted to regain her concentration. Back to the dwarves and the hobbit. The treasure hunters were just ending the adventures of Misty Mountain. They were full of food and lying down for a pleasant rest. The mother and her two little kids got off at the next stop. A smartly dressed business man stepped on and took their place. There was a middle aged woman with a giant purple purse that had boarded behind him. They all seemed to be in their own little worlds, lost in thought. Frye was trying to be lost in the thoughts of Tolkien.
The bus bounced. Frye looked up. She saw the young couple. They saw into her eyes. She saw a street corner. The sky was a gorgeous blue, the sun was shining. There was a tall street sign that proclaimed it was Madison and Sixth. The young man was yelling.
“Why would you think that I wouldn’t care?!” he shouted.
“I don’t know. Okay? I just don’t know! I thought if you were leaving it wouldn’t matter.”
“I’m leaving, but I’m coming back.”
“How do I know that? You’ll probably just get shot.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course I trust you. I just don’t trust the other people around you. Besides, if I quit school and move it just means you’ll have a new address to write to, correct? It doesn't really affect you.” She turned. She had moved into the street. He yelled. He tried to grab her, but the red truck was moving too fast. She barely pivoted in time to see the red as it hit her.
Frye flashed again. She was someplace else. Her eyes flew along side a bullet as it skimmed through the air. The small piece of metal smashed into the skull of the young man in uniform. He wasn’t much older than when she’d seen him scream with the horn of the speeding red truck.
Frye was back on bus fifty-two. The young couple was sitting where they had been before. The girl was resting her head on the boy’s shoulder, her eyes closed. Frye breathed deeply, slowing her racing heart. She breathed another long breath, asking herself again why she rode the bus. Frye’s thoughts slipped back to when her eyes were always puffy from crying, to the many desperate trips she made to the police station, reporting crimes that hadn’t happened, and to the times she had to soak her clothes to erase the spattered blood of those that died in her head and in front of her eyes. Frye composed her thoughts and went back to Tolkien’s world. Gigi’s repetition of ‘zomaye’ and the consistent beat of the drum played in her head. Joann, the bus driver, turned left onto Twenty Eighth. The city blurred outside the dingy windows. The smartly dressed business man checked his watch. The twelve year old kid shifted in his seat. The middle aged woman reached in her purple purse for a sandwich. The young couple still sat peacefully.
The bus stopped again. A rush of people got on and sat down. There was a group of teenagers and within their group there were six distinct conversations. A twenty-something woman all in black, carrying a Starbucks apron, sat down across from them. There was another woman in her early twenties. She had an overstuffed backpack and a textbook in her lap. There was a very tall man. He sat staring out the window. The din of the conversations reached past the beats Gigi sang. Frye tried not to listen. Gandalf, Bilbo and the dwarves were entering Mirkwood.
Frye looked up to see the twelve-year old kid looking at her. She looked back and saw him much older, lying in a bed, not moving. There was a pill bottle tipped over on the bedside table. It was empty. A woman was sobbing on his chest. Frye turned away. The middle-aged woman with the giant purple purse met her gaze. Frye tried not to see it, but she couldn’t stop. She saw the woman on the pavement. There were red and blue lights circling, reflecting in the growing puddle of blood that had formed under the woman’s chest. Frye closed her eyes. She shook her head. Her hand rose to pull the wire. As Joann pulled the bus to its next stop, Frye put her book away and stood up. It wasn’t worth it. The visions were too much today.
Frye stepped off the bus. The doors closed and the people pulled away. Her image came pouring back as the silence around her formed. Frye flashed to an empty street. It was night. There were no stars in the sky. The moon was also dark. There was a sidewalk next to the brick wall of a building. Around the corner there was an alley. Almost no light reached in, but Frye saw down the long aisle. There she was. Her hair was cut short and dyed black. She lay still on the wet pavement. Her clothes were torn. There were big purple welts on her exposed skin. A large gash was on her forehead. The blood had dripped down onto her favorite bright green Kermit the Frog sweatshirt. Frye blinked and kept walking. She couldn’t shake it.
Middle aged, and over weight, the bus driver Joann (as her tag labeled her) traded Frye’s dollar for a two hour pass. The self proclaimed punky girl half-smiled and walked to the back of the bus and sat down in the middle seat. She slipped on her headphones, and out of her backpack she grabbed The Hobbit. She’d read it a couple of times already, but it was a good bus book, something very different from the world she would be sitting in the middle of. Frye calmly began to get lost in her fantasy as the scenery flashed by. Almost naked trees dropped their leaves on the soggy ground. The bright colors that had shown over the gray skies of weeks past now covered the pavement. Rundown businesses lined these decaying puddled streets. Cars that passed the bus were almost as dirty as the rest of this neglected part of town.
The bus turned. Frye kept reading, her CD player blaring the music of the Ethiopian Gigi, as the bus followed its normal route. Gigi’s lighthearted voice played to contrast what Frye’s surroundings. People got on and off. There was an old man who had to push his way to the back because no one would give up one of the priority seats. There was a young mother with two kids. The kids were loud, continuously asking, ”Can we have candy for dinner?“ The mother’s clothes were rumpled, her socks didn’t match, and her face sagged with the exhaustion someone her age shouldn’t know. There was a kid, about twelve, he was trying to look tough with his oversized clothes. There was a couple. They were probably near the end of high school. The boy laughed and poked at the girl’s side. She smiled and poked back.
They were all normal people. Frye tried to lose herself in the music that played in her head, but it didn’t help. She glanced up and saw the old man sitting two seats away, their eyes met, then she saw an old dirty apartment. She entered through the front door, number 5B. It was musty, hadn’t been cleaned in months. The grubby orange shag carpet matched the brown and brass furnishings that filled the room. There were newspapers heaped up against the walls along the front hall. Dirty dishes sat on the coffee table in front of the TV. Through a doorway she could see the mess that was piled in the kitchen. But that's not where this vision directed her. Frye turned, went past the open entrance to the bedroom, to the bathroom at the end of the hall. The door was just open. There was a linoleum floor. There was blood on the linoleum. And there was the old man with a cracked head on the linoleum.
Frye shook her head. Looking around bus fifty-two, she could see that the man had already left. Frye attempted to regain her concentration. Back to the dwarves and the hobbit. The treasure hunters were just ending the adventures of Misty Mountain. They were full of food and lying down for a pleasant rest. The mother and her two little kids got off at the next stop. A smartly dressed business man stepped on and took their place. There was a middle aged woman with a giant purple purse that had boarded behind him. They all seemed to be in their own little worlds, lost in thought. Frye was trying to be lost in the thoughts of Tolkien.
The bus bounced. Frye looked up. She saw the young couple. They saw into her eyes. She saw a street corner. The sky was a gorgeous blue, the sun was shining. There was a tall street sign that proclaimed it was Madison and Sixth. The young man was yelling.
“Why would you think that I wouldn’t care?!” he shouted.
“I don’t know. Okay? I just don’t know! I thought if you were leaving it wouldn’t matter.”
“I’m leaving, but I’m coming back.”
“How do I know that? You’ll probably just get shot.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course I trust you. I just don’t trust the other people around you. Besides, if I quit school and move it just means you’ll have a new address to write to, correct? It doesn't really affect you.” She turned. She had moved into the street. He yelled. He tried to grab her, but the red truck was moving too fast. She barely pivoted in time to see the red as it hit her.
Frye flashed again. She was someplace else. Her eyes flew along side a bullet as it skimmed through the air. The small piece of metal smashed into the skull of the young man in uniform. He wasn’t much older than when she’d seen him scream with the horn of the speeding red truck.
Frye was back on bus fifty-two. The young couple was sitting where they had been before. The girl was resting her head on the boy’s shoulder, her eyes closed. Frye breathed deeply, slowing her racing heart. She breathed another long breath, asking herself again why she rode the bus. Frye’s thoughts slipped back to when her eyes were always puffy from crying, to the many desperate trips she made to the police station, reporting crimes that hadn’t happened, and to the times she had to soak her clothes to erase the spattered blood of those that died in her head and in front of her eyes. Frye composed her thoughts and went back to Tolkien’s world. Gigi’s repetition of ‘zomaye’ and the consistent beat of the drum played in her head. Joann, the bus driver, turned left onto Twenty Eighth. The city blurred outside the dingy windows. The smartly dressed business man checked his watch. The twelve year old kid shifted in his seat. The middle aged woman reached in her purple purse for a sandwich. The young couple still sat peacefully.
The bus stopped again. A rush of people got on and sat down. There was a group of teenagers and within their group there were six distinct conversations. A twenty-something woman all in black, carrying a Starbucks apron, sat down across from them. There was another woman in her early twenties. She had an overstuffed backpack and a textbook in her lap. There was a very tall man. He sat staring out the window. The din of the conversations reached past the beats Gigi sang. Frye tried not to listen. Gandalf, Bilbo and the dwarves were entering Mirkwood.
Frye looked up to see the twelve-year old kid looking at her. She looked back and saw him much older, lying in a bed, not moving. There was a pill bottle tipped over on the bedside table. It was empty. A woman was sobbing on his chest. Frye turned away. The middle-aged woman with the giant purple purse met her gaze. Frye tried not to see it, but she couldn’t stop. She saw the woman on the pavement. There were red and blue lights circling, reflecting in the growing puddle of blood that had formed under the woman’s chest. Frye closed her eyes. She shook her head. Her hand rose to pull the wire. As Joann pulled the bus to its next stop, Frye put her book away and stood up. It wasn’t worth it. The visions were too much today.
Frye stepped off the bus. The doors closed and the people pulled away. Her image came pouring back as the silence around her formed. Frye flashed to an empty street. It was night. There were no stars in the sky. The moon was also dark. There was a sidewalk next to the brick wall of a building. Around the corner there was an alley. Almost no light reached in, but Frye saw down the long aisle. There she was. Her hair was cut short and dyed black. She lay still on the wet pavement. Her clothes were torn. There were big purple welts on her exposed skin. A large gash was on her forehead. The blood had dripped down onto her favorite bright green Kermit the Frog sweatshirt. Frye blinked and kept walking. She couldn’t shake it.
posted by rizu desu at 12:53 PM
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