My Black Wallet

October 10, 2017
By griffin_g BRONZE, Lambertville, Michigan
griffin_g BRONZE, Lambertville, Michigan
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

I beamed with glee, I was ecstatic and could not be brought down from my cloud 9 of joy. I was now 16 and I had finally accomplished it; I could drive by myself in a car. I felt like a new person as I opened my jet black wallet and crammed my temporary license inside one of its narrow slots. The journey the wallet had taken was now complete. Now, it truly held almost my entire life with the addition of my license. I stepped into my mom’s silver minivan that had a slight squeak in the brakes and drove off to my home with my mother’s congratulations still dancing in the air. My mom was the perfect envisionment of a classical mother; she was proud, her short bangs and eager attitude were bounding through the air like a gazelle through tall grass. I was most pleased that she, of all people, was encouraging me that I would be, and that I had done,  amazing. I always loved her glowing smile and her wisdom about the topic at hand, giving me tips and suggestions just like a teacher of life.

 When I passed through the doorway of my home, I dove into a quite dreadful thought: my life was now basically entrusted into two pieces of leather with a polo stamp on one side, and that it determined who I was and what I did, no matter who I really was. I thought that because I recognized that my money, my i.d., my school i.d., my cards that counted for money, and even the ability to get a library book was all cornered into one alleyway, my wallet. My mind then wandered and then came the understanding that like my wallet, I too had an enormous responsibility and had cornered myself into an alley that I could not work out of. Then, I finally thought that like my life, my wallet was getting beaten up by what was coming at it and it, like me, was certainly not ready for what it was up for, yet was still adventuring ahead as I drove home, confident about my future to do well in my abilities.

Trouble was definitely brewing inside my own mind as those thoughts continued to seep into my forward thinking. After several hours of thinking, just simply thinking about life and my obligation to grow up, I had finally firmly grasped the little bird that was flying about my head and understanding layered over me like the morning dewfall. Something else joined the fresh dew however: a heavy snowstorm. The blizzard of responsibility had truly come to me and was pelting me full frontal, and I had nowhere to hide. I barged into my bedroom, the dark and comfortable place that it is, decorated with relics of my once so innocent past. Stuffed animals, tickets to movies and sporting events that have come and gone, and souvenirs from previous adventures lay strewn about the floor and furniture. Even the wall make me reminisce about what once was, with no responsibility with its 15-year-old baby blue paint scheme and matching light wood furniture. On the walls, old school photos and memorabilia decorate the sight, with stunning display. Not even in the cozy, cool, light blue striped sheets that lay on my once seemingly large, but now small, twin bed. It seems like I am not the only thing that longs to go to a time past, but my bedroom does as well. For once, not even my impenetrable fortress of my thick, grey blankets could stop the tsunami of what I knew I had to do for the rest of my days.

From the blank and uncomfortable look on my face as I looked in my mirror, even my grey and yet also sunburned body represented the realization my mind had made. What realization, thou might ask, this one: that for the remaining eternity as it seemed of my life, I would have to not only keep myself alive, safe, and well, but my loving family, my boisterous friends, and even those who were less than liked by me, as well. Before my wallet contained that piece of flimsy, crumpled paper of government approval, I was walking down the street, and now after, the piano had fallen off the rope, and was falling right where I was going to step.

I drove and drove the next time I was able to pull out onto the road, wanting to leave it all; leave the certain doom of my childhood behind and venture on into adulthood. The road was lighter, greyer, than its usual self and the yellow markings were faded into almost oblivion on the roads i rolled over. The sky was dotted with clouds, just enough to keep the sun hidden for a few minutes, and then back to its full frontal. With the window down, the heavy summer air was cool to my face, and kept my attention to my surroundings: a man mowing his luscious green lawn, an elderly cat sitting on a wooden porch, and the worried faces of other drivers passing me by. There was no doubt I would soon be one of them, always worried with no time to let loose, hang around, to hoot and holler and be a kid again.

The author's comments:

Growing up is a horrible part of life; leaving the comfort of no responsibility is quite petrifying, here is my take on it.

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