Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Temporary License

By
The first time really wasn’t my fault. Well, maybe it was, but the second and third times were completely unavoidable on my part.

Maybe it’s a sign, I mused. Maybe it’s not meant to be. Maybe I just need more time. Time is a curious thing. Sometimes it’s like a train we’re constantly trying to catch, while other times it’s a weight -- dragging us down as we watch the world go by.

It’s me versus myself, and the fierce game of tug-o-war shows no signs of letting up. My first attempt, swimming in a pool of naïveté, I forgot to check the office hours. This led to a two-week hiatus of any plausible endeavors. The second try, in my continuing streak of absentmindedness, the culprit was a nonexistent social security card. After my week in purgatory, a third effort proved the most intriguing. Sticking my face into some sort of medieval torture device, I found myself face to face with the terror of all terrorists; blocked letters. I strained my eyes, squinting until the letters became enshrouded with a blurry fog. My mother was right; computers really do ruin your eyesight.

It seems I’m losing to myself 3-0.

The second round begins. I glare at my new pointed nemesis, refusing to surrender in this grudge match of wits. Needless to say, I make the first move, edging up slowly to the peak. After about five seconds, the chalk-white lines begin to blur together, one of the numerous underhanded tactics of the spineless orange cones. The white lines twist and turn, morphing into conics in my disconcerted mind. 2 o’clock, 6 o’clock, then 3 o’clock. Or is it 12 o’clock, 3 o’clock, then 9 o’clock? A sudden jerk and thud tells me it was the latter.

Fooled once again, I bow down to the superior player.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback