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50 Passing Trains

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“How can I live 50 , 60, 70 more years when I don’t even know how to make it past tomorrow?” She stared at me like I had grown a horn. I knew she wouldn’t understand, but I wanted her to; to feel like I did everyday.


“I just don’t know how people do it. Every day, repeating the same nonsensical circles over and over again. They are happy with these reiterating dramas and projects and people who do the same things and make the same mistakes over and over, but with different masks that hide it. And if they wanted to see beneath those masks they could, people choose not to. Its too much work and too much pain, and were such lazy bastards that we don’t even take the effort to get to know someone before we put our trust in them.” She laughs. She actually laughs, so I leave her and walk to my car. Maybe she had called me back, but my headphones were already back over my ears. The engine rumbles as Breaker rolls out of the driveway, away from Anna. Breaker is the name of my Jeep. I’ll let you guess why I named it that.


In the rearview mirror I see her standing, starring, as I speed away. It feels final in a way, like I wont see her again or if I do we won’t be friends. It doesn’t matter though because I don’t think we have been friends for a while. Besides, even after so many years, she, along with everyone else, thinks I’m crazy. Which isn’t the problem because maybe I am.


Maybe I’m crazy for punching Tina Jones in third period last year, but lets face it: even her name is revolting let alone her personality. And maybe I’m a little crazy for jumping off the cliff in Santa Cruz. I could be crazy for skipping every religion class since sophomore year, or for eating the same lunch for the past three months, or for sneaking out every Saturday night to roam the streets. Not go anywhere, just walk. I think I’m insane, because I am the only one I know of who is so unhappy they can't even disguise it under a mask of contentment.


I keep on driving until I run out of gas, then pull over and leave the car on the side of the road. I will call someone to pick it up later, probably. I walk down the road just to take up time before I go home, where my parents will yell and my sister will whine, where homework that I won’t do would be pilled on my desk, and college applications begging to be filled out will loom over my head. I sit by the train tracks and watch them pass, one two three, four times. One day maybe one of those trains will take me away, but not today. I still have things to do before i go.



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