After my long day, I couldn’t fight it anymore, so I let my mother mock my terror. I ate my dinner, did my homework, and went to bed. While I lay there ready to fall asleep, I ran a quick recap of my day and realized that even though I had a bad day, the worst part was that, despite everything that happened, I still didn’t get my hot shower.

After a long day anyone could understand the need to go home and relax, perhaps even enjoy something sweet, but when life goes off the track and everything falls apart, we all may respond in an inappropriate manner. It started off on a beautiful winter morning of my junior year with a sky like a clean slate and a wind with a bite to it, and, of course, my waking up late for school. I missed out on breakfast and was left without any of my bitter coffee, leaving me bitter instead.

I rushed to school in hopes that I’d make it there on time, and I was so close to making it. After I smashed my fingers in the front door of my first period class, I mended my crippled fingers as well as my pride and showed up late for class. I missed lunch because of a project that I still didn’t quite finish. Then, I participated in one of the hottest and most grueling wrestling practices of the year. When my sentence in prison was served, I was exhausted. I didn’t want to move; I told myself, “Travis, get yourself together. It’s almost over.” Honestly, I really needed to go home, eat a big meal, take a nice, hot shower, and go to bed. I went out to my car, a dark, forest green 1994 Honda Accord that has half a bumper missing, and then left my personal hell thinking everything would be all right, but that’s not how the universe treats unsuspecting people who have had bad day, is it?

I live across from an abandoned factory. This drab factory closed for mysterious reasons, and is protected from outsiders by a jungle of junk and plant life. The lights outside my house flicker as strangers and thugs stroll past the rusted fences that line the view outside of my window. My street seems to have a chill in the air and a scent of ever-present danger. My house possesses a garage with two different driveways leading up to it, the first directly pointing to it like a tongue rolling out of a mouth and the second running perpendicular to the first. I park my car in the perpendicular driveway, so my mom can pull out in the morning. In order to reach this driveway, I must first go through a stop sign and turn left onto an adjacent road and then into the driveway. On this particular day, I figured I could just pull into my driveway without a problem like any other person would, but the universe said, “Screw that!”

I pulled up to the stop sign. As I heard my door creak open, I understandably began to panic. A sweetly, sick smell of perfume invaded my car. Someone slipped into my passenger side seat. As every nerve in my body began to burn, time seemed to slow down. I was not okay with this. I clenched the wheel in panic and a swarm of butterflies fluttered in my stomach. I finally came out of my impaired state. I desperately thought to myself, “Pick yourself up,” and immediately knew that this person, this threat, needed to get out of my car. I had little time to respond. I threw my fist into the center console and stared this woman right in her deep eyes, deep into her soul. I drank in every detail of her, in case it would become dire information for later. I yelled as loudly and authoritatively as I could: “Get the hell out of my car!” The words hung in the air, and the woman wore a mask of confusion and bewilderment. While still searching my face, she pillaged for the handle. As soon as her pale, slender fingers grasped the the metal, she yanked it and flew out of my car like a bat out of a cave. My gaze didn’t leave her until she was out in the clear. I whipped my car into my gravel driveway, barely twenty feet away from where the incident just happened. Next to the woman who shattered my sense of security stood a tall blonde woman. They stared me down as I locked my car and walked into my house.

After I locked my front door and felt safe inside my home, I told the entire story to my mother sputtering, “A random woman just got in my car.” When I finally finished the story, she laughed in my face and jokingly said, “At least some girl wants to get in your car.”