September 19, 2010
By Anonymous

I hadn’t seen the stars in months; the last time must have been before school began late last August. Even though it was cold out, dark as a midnight sky, all the windows were down, the sun roof open, and the only light in the car was the radio and the digital clock, its numbers glowing 10:53. It had been awhile since I’d been out so late, well out late with someone my parents didn’t approve of.
I turned my neck up to see the stars out the sun roof. They are like crystals, like specks of glitter scattered and floating high above us, each one a reminder of how much I had missed this feeling. I look back down face to face with the road again; as I watch the dotted yellow lines on the highway pass us by, each one a marker of the past we were leaving behind. I stick my hand out the open window and watch as it sways back and forth, playing, and arguing with the cold, restless wind. Each road sign passes us in a blink of an eye. That’s what it feels like, my time with you; everything’s passing like a blink of an eye.
The music on the radio happens to be a song we both know, then again, when isn’t it one? We both start singing but before long I stop to listen to you sing, the voice of an angel. Before long my happiness overcomes me, I can’t help myself, and I sing again. Our voices create a different kind of harmony, a kind that isn’t found in a church choir, or on the radio. Our kind of harmony can’t be broken, separated, or bought. I smile and breathe in another dose of fresh air, it’s the sweet smell of an almost summer, the end to another school year, the beginning of yet another chapter I can’t wait to discover.
He turns toward me, I turn towards him, and we share a smile, an everlasting bond that could never be broken between old friends. He looks down at my hand, and reaches toward it. I close my eyes and look away; his fingers are like a fork to an electrical outlet when he touches my finger.
I let my hair loose from its hold with my free hand. It whips around crazily as soon as the wind gets a hold of it. I look out to spot a bird in the distance. What’s it doing in the darkness like this? I watch it fly around, up into the never ending sky. Sometimes I wish I were a bird: not today.
I probably need to go home soon, but I pretend that I have no time limit, that I never have to leave this passenger seat, that the radio will never go to a commercial, that the stars will never disappear, that he won’t ever go.
For awhile, I can’t recognize the streets, they all looked so different but nothing could possibly scare or worry me; everything is invincible in this world. I know exactly where we are now, going back to the place that has grabbed a hold of both our hearts for years; its home to us, the strangest of all people. By now, there’s no one on the road, but him and I. I smile at the thought and look at him again. His calm blue eyes, his bushel of red hair, each freckle on his pale face, the lips of an angel.
The town we pass is empty, nothing but a faint light glowing in the distance. Each person is safe in their creamed colored houses, their white porch benches drift back and forth in the wind. I keep imagining them all tucked into bed, all cozy against a stuffed animal, a husband, a wife, or a friend, peaceful and content with the dreams they are dreaming; could this be better than any of their dreams? We’ve almost reached the end of another destination, the end of another day, the end of another moment I wished would never end.
As the car accelerates at a red light, at an empty intersection, he turns the knob on the radio down to the left, just so he can hear the sound of my voice.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks. I’m looking straight ahead, not being able to make out anything off in the darkness.

“How much I like this feeling,” I answer. I smile and look down at my left hand, intertwined with a vine of everlasting promises, and emotions I’ve tried everything to make disappear, to cover up, like a band-aid on an old wound. I know he knows exactly what I’m referring to, because he feels it too. I know he can feel it all on my finger tips, yet he’ll ask me what I’m thinking.

“What feeling?” He asks. I smile and look at him. He turns toward me and smiles; we’re both so unaware that the light had switched green again. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I watch him closely, looking for the right words to say but instead I’m so consumed, so hypnotized from the crystal blue eyes studying me. He looks down at our hands, our unbreakable vein, and starts to laugh.
“What?” I ask, slightly embarrassed. He looks up at me again and smiles, slightly squeezing my hand.
“Freedom,” he answers. “That’s exactly what I was thinking, darling.”

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This article has 1 comment.

on Sep. 21 2010 at 9:43 pm
DancerBabe SILVER, Tuscarawas, Ohio
9 articles 2 photos 55 comments

Favorite Quote:
"The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams." -Eleanor Roosevelt
"Bad writers plagerize, good writers steal!"

Are they breaking out of jail? or just from their houses? other then that question.. it was so cute!


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