The Makings: Chapter 2

        The road outside was a patchy mess of slush and water, the result of a cold front that moved through last night that left a little snow on the ground. Naturally, being Alabama, nothing stuck and by the time the sun rose it melted down to just the faded out remnants of the white rain. Not surprisingly, since snow is so rare in the Southeastern United States, most people have trouble trying to drive through any amount left. For me, however, navigating through the slush wasn’t really a problem with the Jeep my father had given me after he decided to get a shiny new Mercedes-Benz to match his job. It is relatively old, a black 85 version of the Wrangler, but it’s never caused me any serious problems in the two years I’ve had it so I can’t complain. The only things that stand out about it are the fact that the dash has a dent in it from where I punched it (I still have trouble moving my hand sometimes because of that) and the radio was stolen out of it three months ago. Dad has offered to replace it multiple times but since I never listened to it to begin with I assured him it would just be a waste of money.

         Another cause for why I didn’t want to get a radio is that driving around in the quiet solitude of my jeep is actually one of the most enjoyable experiences I ever have these days. I live near Mobile Bay so the view of the water can be very calming. Back when we were kids Jason and I would try to skip rocks in the water but neither of us could get it right so it always turned into throwing rocks in until someone, usually a tall, burly man in a uniform, came around and yelled at us to scram.

        On the sunniest days, if I roll down the windows, stick my hand out into the breeze, and close my eyes for just a moment, it’s almost as if I can imagine it isn’t the wind on my hand at all. Instead, it’s almost as if I can feel Jason’s hand in mine as we walk along the bank, the smell of the sand and water filling my senses and bringing me back to a time when I could breathe easier and take true pleasure in something as simple as the feel of the wind on my skin. Of course, a moment later I open my eyes only to realize that I’m still just driving along the same road he’ll never get the chance to drive along himself – the illusion long gone by then. But it’s those few precious seconds that make the idea of getting a radio in my jeep so abominable.

        If today had been sunny, I would have rolled down the window and tried to achieve that same feeling so I could gain some inner peace before walking back through the doors of Murphy High, but the rain and cold made a mockery of that idea. So, blasting up the heat as high as it could go, I shifted the car into reverse and ceased thinking altogether in favor of merely taking in the view of the water to my right as I made the drive to school.

         By the time I pulled into the parking lot it seemed as if only a moment had passed. The majority of days began and ended exactly like this – in a daze. Nothing spectacular or exciting ever happened anymore aside from a drive here and there, a walk along the Bay occasionally, and the ever growing diligence to apply for colleges and scholarships. Unlike my classmates, who were now settling in for their first class of the day, my days weren’t filled with wonder over if that certain someone felt the same way about me, what so-and-so was wearing, that big movie that just came out, or making sure all of my friends get together Friday night for that big party.

        No, my friends had long since abandoned me. I couldn’t blame them. In fact, I preferred it that way. It meant one less person to say goodbye to when I left for college in the fall. But, part of me, the part I’d lost almost three years ago, did miss my friends and the life I knew I could have had if things had happened differently on that fateful day. Jason was going to be on the JV Football Team and I was going to try out for a spot on Track and Field. But, things didn’t quite end up that way. This is real life, after all, and the past can’t be undone no matter how many times we wish it. If it could, I’m sure that by this time (number 2,486) it would have.

         Taking the key out of the ignition, I reminded myself of that very fact as I grabbed my schedule and few belongings and headed towards the door to school along with a few more stragglers, the slush underneath my feet sounding deafening in my ears as it crunched underneath the weight of my one good pair of boots. As expected, no one seemed to notice. I’d all but become a ghost at school anyway. But as I paused at the doorway to take a steadying breath to prepare myself for the day that lurked ahead, I suddenly felt the alarming sensation that someone’s eyes were on me. Startled, I turned to find that the only other people nearby were a group of three somewhat confused girls (obviously new freshman) walking into the next set of doors beside me, chatting to themselves about how huge the campus was and how they knew they were going to get lost.

         Perplexed, I shook the feeling off and turned back around to whisper, “Here we go, J” as I opened the door and walked into the warm blue and gold painted hallways of Murphy High.