Andrew sped along the racetrack, his little red, turbo-charged, ten-cylinder, super sports car hugging the curves and pushing him down the straight-aways. He laughed into the wind, daring the trailing blue car to pass him. The other car closed quickly and Andrew gave a sly smile to the rearview mirror as he pushed the button which spread tons of gooey-slippery oil behind him. The blue car spun wildly out of control and flipped ten times before coming to a stop in a pile of wreckage.
Andrew was curled up tightly on an oval-shaped woven rug in front of the fireplace in the living room. In front of him were two miniature cars that he had been busy manipulating only a moment before. Andrew had retreated from this scene, though, opting to embrace the warm refuge of his imagination, a perfect place where empires were built and destroyed, trophies were won, bad guys were beaten and friends were saved.
Then, an adult entered....
The first thing Andrew noticed was that he could see the two little cars on the rug, could hear the rain beating on the windows and could feel the arm that had propped up his head while he played was tingling and numb. Then he felt the cool chill of an adult's world scare his world into hiding, like the elves and fairies who will hide in the forests tonight, away from the icy thing called reality. He looked up and saw his mother's face smiling down at him and thought, I can't race my car with Mommy standing on the racetrack. n
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.