Explore. Dream. Discover.

Before

I woke up early the morning of the trip. It felt like a normal morning. It felt like everything was running the way that the universe had planned it to run: smoothly. I looked at my clock: 2:37 am. What had woken me up? I didn’t know. I laid there quietly, listening to the sound of my heart beat gently against my chest. The interesting thing about the skin, is that it covers up chaos, similar to the architecture of a house. Behind the skin of your body, you have roughly thirty-seven trillion individual cells working non-stop, so you can be you. Though organization might exist, it is still a lot of energy and power that most people don’t realize. Most people take that for granted. The architecture of a house, is similarly designed to hide chaos like the skin of your body. Just looking at a house will not tell you anything about the type of lives that exist within the walls. I want to believe God did this on purpose when designing the human body. We are allowed to hide our flaws and chaos within ourselves. For example, there is no shame in working tirelessly (like our bodies do), but there is shame in seeking attention for your fatigue. Are you working for the people around you, or are you working for yourself? That is why the skin exists, there is no reason to flaunt your hard work. You may be proud of it, but one shouldn’t seek to brag about how hard they work. Each of us have trillions of cells that keep our body running and each of us have problems that we must deal with. There should be no competition of stress or any intention of apathy for someone equally stressed or hard working.

The world is a body, and all of us, as humans, are individual cells, working tirelessly to make our world continually exist. The world takes us for granted, and sometimes does not treat us the best, but we trudge on, understanding the greater good. Our galaxy is a body, and all of the worlds and enormously massed bodies in space are individual cells, working tirelessly to make our galaxy continually exist. The universe is a body, and all of the galaxies are individual cells, working tirelessly to make our universe continually exist. What is the universe then? Who does the universe work for? Is it us? Is the entire fundamental fabric of existence just a complex paradox that starts and ends with us? If so, where is the line drawn?

William Shakespeare is credited with the quote: “’Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners.” I believe Shakespeare is telling the audience that what we are is up to us and how we use our bodies. How we use those trillions of cells is who we will become and eventually how people will see us. It’s important to master their technique and use them correctly.

I realize that this is not the typical thoughts of a teenager on a rainy summer break Friday morning. But I needed to plan. I needed to understand the significance of my actions before I performed said action. When I was younger my dad always said, “Think about what you say before you say it Blake!” Why is this rule ghettoized into speech? If we must think before we talk, why don’t we think before we do? As I continued to lay there, my phone rang. It was her.

“Ann? What are you doing, it is 2:40 in the morning. Why are y- “

“I’m so sorry to be calling so early. Is there any way you can come pick me up?”

“Wha-”

“I need to get out of here. I can’t keep this up.”

“Ann, I can’t go out into the night at 2:40 in the morning. What’s wrong?”

“I understand. Nevermind, I’m sorry for calling so early.

“Ann!”

The line was dead, and I was angry. I didn’t understand why I was angry really, she just had that impact on people. She was a complex girl, who wasn’t fond of succumbing to the normality that some people had authority over other people. For example, her parents were unable to control her that well despite their continuous neglect.

With her mom always at work and never usually in the picture, Ann spent all of her time with her dad. Mr. Paige, however, spent all of his time searching for the bottom of a bottle. There were rumors around Middleton that Mr. Paige took his anger out on Mrs. Paige and Ann which was a difficult reality to accept. Ann wasn’t mentally or emotionally disabled enough to have felt any lasting impact from that kind of upbringing. I just had to hope that the rumors were fictitious. Anytime, I passed Ann’s house or if I was picking her up from school, the house always seemed inviting and unabusive.

I was never quite sure if Ann did the things she did for attention or just pure pleasure. While kids at school smoked harmful toxins that gave them a few moments of high, Ann was reckless. She seemed to get her high from the sheer adrenaline of sticky situations. This was both (a) inspiring because who doesn’t want to live outside natural limitations, and (b) dangerous because at some point that high is going to cause you to become addicted to living outside your limits. Those limits are the reasons that people can exist in another set of limits: those limits are called life.

I laid back down after the phone call and attempted to go back to sleep. I must have been somewhat successful because I was awakened at 7:00 by my phone’s alarm clock. Frustrated by my lack of sleep and Ann’s night time interruption, I mustered enough strength to roll out of bed. I looked like pure and unadulterated beauty. My hair allowed for a nesting space to nearby birds. My breath was a great defense mechanism to anyone within twenty feet of me. I was ready to take on the world...right after a shower. The shower is a wonderful place to think. There is nothing to do in there but think (I guess one should attempt to cleanse themselves). Whilst cleansing, my mind wandered to school (of all things). Starting my senior year began stressing me out a couple of days prior. During my other three years of high school, I was so concerned about keeping my friends and passing classes that I didn’t get a chance to stop and enjoy high school. Growing up to the mature age of 18, everyone had told me that senior year was made for enjoyment. I hoped that was the case. I need a little bit of a break from the chaos and frustration that is high school. I thought.

I turned off the water and grabbed a towel to retain my dignity while I searched for a set of clean clothes. I proceeded from there, as I had done every morning that summer. Get dressed: Check. Pick up room: Check. Eat Breakfast: Check. Turn on the news: Check.

The news was and is the exact same thing every day, which (among other reasons) was the reason my mom never watched it. She hears the news about a week later than everybody else. This wasn’t really that big of a deal because it always consisted of a traffic accident, a sports team’s big upset, a celebrity flaunting their status, and the news of a death. That last one wasn’t heard every day in a place like Middleton, however. We, as a town, have had enough hospitality to not run around killing one another. It was a strange occurrence when something like this was on the news. I watched longer than I wanted to and continued to feel perturbed by familiarity. I shook off the uneasy feeling and headed off to work.

Of all the places that I could have worked at, I chose to work behind a desk. I worked at the Middleton driver’s license bureau. It obviously was not a prestigious job, but it gave me something to do on the weekends and after school. For the most part, I sat around in a tin building making copies of automobile information and filing the aforementioned information. It’s not a horrible job, it’s just boring.

I wouldn’t call myself a boring person. I’ve always wanted to go on crazy adventures, but it was not plausible for someone about to enter their senior year of high school. I was forced to rely on my acumen to keep me out of trouble because there was too much to be done during senior year. There was too much to worry about. I had to make sure I didn’t ruin everything I had worked for. I had to find a college to go to. I had to go to that college at a reasonable price that was affordable for myself and my mom. The scary part of that wasn’t about the money, it’s about leaving. Leaving will inevitably be the hardest thing that I could ever do. It’s a scary thought to know that the last eighteen years of your life would soon be just a memory. To start anew is terrifying. When a neighborhood undergoes gentrification, everything is torn down and rebuilt. Essentially, that is what I am doing with my life, and I’ve never been so scared. Now, I know that “an ending is just a new beginning” or whatever, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t afraid when an ending finally comes. In the case of beginnings and endings I prefer to follow the founder of Taoism, Lao Tzu’s philosophy. He said, “New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings.” I’m not a pessimistic person (nor am I a Taoist), but I’m also not an unrealistic person. I know what is attainable and what is not.

Note: This may actually fall under a few Taoist beliefs.

As I had suspected, the town was a little shaken up from the event that was on the news this morning. It sounded selfish, but I didn’t want to know any details until after work. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to focus on my job if I had heard what happened. So, when my boss came up to me asking me if I was okay, I acted like I couldn’t hear her over my audiobook that I was listening to via my earbuds. She was easily convinced and didn’t bother me the rest of the day. When I got off, I went to let her know that I was leaving. “Hey, I’m headed out, I’ll see you next week?” She got up from her desk and gave me a hug. “Let me know if you need anything.” I smiled, nodded, and headed out the door.

I got off work around 2:00 and, like usual, drove myself home. The drive back home felt incredibly off. In fact, the air around Middleton felt thicker. There was a clear sense of tension in the streets and through the neighborhoods that I drove through. It felt as if I had entered the aftermath of a battle field that ended in a surrender with the two sides continuing to stare each other down. It was only as I got closer to my house did I notice that there was not as many people bustling about as there usually were. Due to the incident on the news, people’s normal daily patterns were shattered.

The drive home from work usually took about ten minutes because of Garrett Morgan and his invention of stoplights. Had those stoplights never been invented the rate of my arrival would increase as well as the risk involved in me driving. That day, however, it would take much more than ten minutes to arrive back in the familiarity and comfort that was my home.

I was pulling onto my street when she ran out in front of my luxuriously garish Intrepid. I slammed on my brakes. The gaudy orange color of the car could not have been missed.

“Jesus Ann! Watch where you are going! What are you doing?” She motioned for me to pull over onto the curb and I did.

“Blake, I need you to do me a favor…” She seemed quite desperate, but she was not panicked. I was concerned but was also relieved to know she was safe. The unpredictability of the situation was offsetting but I shrugged it off because she always had a history of being unpredictable.

“What is going on Ann? What was with that phone call this morning?” She replied with a flustered tone.

“I need to know that I can trust you! Can I?” She looked at me, anxiously awaiting my response.

“Ann, I don’t kn-” She interrupted.

“Blake! Can. I. Trust. You? Yes, or no?” I didn’t know how to respond. I wanted to tell her no! I wanted to tell her to relax, to enjoy the peacefulness which she so quickly destroyed. However, I knew it was no use and I didn’t want to sound churlish, especially in front of her. So, I quickly and temporarily buried my combative attitude, took a deep breath, and carefully responded

“Of course, you can Ann. I haven’t stuck around you for this long if you couldn’t trust me. What’s going on?” I looked up at her and she smiled at me.

“You are in for a treat Blake Harper.”

After

I’m not exactly sure when I arrived home. As I collapsed onto my bed and let my sluggishness and hopelessness overtake me, I began to rethink the events that took place. When I said yes to her, I didn’t think this would be the result. If I did, I never would have said yes. I would have politely told her no and continued on with my life. Things would have made much more sense if I only did that. If only I said no.

Before

I watched her slowly get into the passenger seat of my car. She was wearing a red tank-top and jeans; my favorite of her limited outfits. Ann never tried to show off her fashion acumen because it was not something she believed in. You could never have looked at her and noticed the lack of fashion however, because you were too busy admiring her character. She was beautiful, in both personality and physicality. Her character, however was questionable if you didn’t know her well enough. She was very outgoing, and it was something that rubbed off on the people around her. Whoever encountered her felt their confidence flourish as they held onto her company. There was an obvious dichotomy between her and I. Ann was the sort of girl who would not care whether you are excited to be arriving home from a long day at work. She would make you agree to a mysterious adventure that could take God-knows-how-long. She was the sort of girl who made you question the lack of excitement in your life. She was the sort of girl who had impeccable timing and precise diction because she always cared about the little things, which continually made her a bigger part of my life. She was the sort of girl who was an inspiration to the simple and boring mind I call, Blake Harper. She was the sort of girl who was sitting in my car staring at me because I had been staring at her.

“You can start driving again, buddy.” She told me as if I were a small child who didn’t understand much of the language that I would one day speak fluently through many educational conversations. I awoke from my trance and put the car into gear. As I pressed my foot down on the gas, she spoke again.

“So, what were you planning on doing this fine evening before I rescued you?”

“I was actually going to research some more colleges and maybe go visit my dad, thank you very much. I want to be productive.”

“You wanted to be productive. Besides, your dad will still be there when you get back.”

“I still want to be productive.” I reminded her.

“Not until you find out what I have in store for you.”

“Which is what, exactly?” I asked cautiously.

“Shhh, I don’t want to spoil it for you.” She taunted. At the time, I hoped she was flirting with me.

After

“Blake!” My mom rushed into my room yanking me from my usual nightmare. She hugged me, and I longed for the cathartic comfort that she could consistently provide. I needed someone to feel my pain. I needed someone to know how much I was hurting and who better than my mom? After so much confusion and not knowing what was real, I knew she was and she would always be. I finally understood that my mother was someone I should never take for granted. She will always be there for me, even when no one else is.

“Has the date been decided yet?” I asked tentatively.

“No honey, the family is still grieving, and everything is being figured out. I am sure it will be sometime this week, but you don’t have to go if you don’t want -”

“No!” I interrupted her. “I need to go, it’s a final goodbye.” My mom shook her head as she hugged me again. “I need to go.” I repeated to myself.

Before

“Where to first your Highness?” I asked Ann, who was applying some makeup to herself via her phone’s reflection. This was an odd sight considering Ann’s apathy towards makeup.

“We need to pick up a friend.” She replied not amused at her royal title.

“Who? I thought it was just going to be us?” I was a little upset but definitely not jealous.

“Don’t worry Romeo, we need to pick up Ian.”

Ian was my best friend since early middle school and we hung out basically every day. However, once Sophomore year ended, his dad received a big promotion and they had to move to Nashville. Ann hung out with us on a frequent basis. We would play video games or watch movies together. When Ian moved, she wasn’t as upset as I was, but I could still see that she was saddened. She thought that the past was slowly fading into a distant memory. It turns out Ann was right because all that is left of those gatherings is the distant memory and recollection.

“Middleton to Nashville is about a 3-hour drive,” I reminded Ann softly.

“You better start driving then.” She chortled. I could have not driven. I could have told her I didn’t want to play her game. I could have told her I wanted to go home and stay safe in my bed. As I opened my mouth to decline her non-existing offer, I looked into her piercing blue eyes.

“Please don’t be using me.” I told her gently.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” She smiled. That smile was the only assurance I needed that nothing would go wrong. That I would not regret the next several hours of my puny existence, or that this wasn’t just a fatuous act of chicanery. I needed a little fun, and she was my one-way ticket to adventure. The opportunity I had been waiting for had finally appeared and I was not going to let it escape.

It wasn’t an easy task being Ann’s friend. In fact, it grew to be exhausting many times. She always seemed to be running on energy enough for two people, whereas I never felt like I had enough energy for myself. For example, a few years ago Ann called Ian and I very late one night to go off on a spontaneous trip with her and her mom.

“My mom and I are just trying to get away for a little while. Would you and Ian want to come with us?” She pleaded with us. We were both fairly taken aback, not to mention tired from day we had just had. We jointly decided that if she were to give us a little bit more notice next time, we would be willing to go. Much to Ann’s dismay, she and her mom ended up cancelling the trip and she seemed disgruntled about it for the next few days. It wasn’t our fault; we are just not energized the same way she is.

I pulled out onto North Main Street and passed the library and the post office. I remembered going to the library with my dad on the rare weekends that he was home. I always went straight for the kid’s section and would pick out something like Clifford or a Scooby Doo action book. I know I don’t seem like the type of kid who would read Clifford the Big Red Dog, but there was something about having a giant red dog that seemed cool to me. Apparently, I liked cool dogs because Clifford was rideable and Scooby solved mysteries. It doesn’t get more kick-ass than that. It also doesn’t get much simpler than that. Little kids are so innocent, and they don’t have to worry about anything. They just have fun and enjoy themselves. Why can’t that always be the case with me? Why are the children learning from the adults? The adults should actually be learning from the children. They definitely seem to enjoy themselves much more.

As I continued to follow North Main Street and as it turned into State Highway 125, Ann situated herself in my passenger seat like she had always done. She took off her shoes, pulled her feet up in a yoga position on the seat, and reached for the radio. She had set all of my presets the first day I got my car, so she knew which radio stations where which. It was a familiar sight and seeing her in my passenger seat comforted me and made me excited for the trip ahead of us.

Ann turned to me as she continued to flip through different radio stations and said, “What’s your deal Blake?”

“My deal?” I asked, a little offended while taking back control of the radio station via the steering wheel controls.

“You are about to be a senior in high school. Don’t you just want to let loose? Don’t you want to try and have fun and be spontaneous?” She responded looking at me as if I insulted her by taking away her radio privileges.

“I could ask you the same question.” I shot at her, still a little hurt by her comment.

“You could ask me the same question. If you did that though, we would both laugh at the ridiculousness of the statement that I, Ann Paige, am boring or unspontaneous.” She clicked through a few more presets, even though I kept turning down the volume. We went on like this, back and forth until finally I accepted defeat and allowed her to take full control of her usual musical terrain. I felt like a fool for even suggesting the fact that Ann Paige is boring or unspontaneous. I thought to myself, I am on my way to Nashville, Tennessee because Ann is so good at not being boring. Wait, I’m on my way to Nashville, Tennessee. It finally struck me. Ever since Ian had left, I had contemplated visiting him but never had the courage. That was the thing, Ann was courageous enough for the both of us.

The first thirty minutes of the drive was not as exciting as I had always dreamed it would be. Yes, I had dreamed about going on a daring adventure and throwing caution to the wind. In all reality, however, the adventure I was hoping for was just a vast state highway. I’m not talking about a metaphorical state highway that symbolized the “stop and go traffic” that was my life. I’m not talking about metaphorical brake lights. I’m not talking about metaphorical flat tires that symbolize my failures. I am talking about a literal highway, with literal brake lights, and no flat tires.

I looked over at Ann and saw her laid back in the passenger seat reading a book that I had read a numerous amount of times: Life’s Little Instruction Book by H. Jackson Brown Jr. The book itself, I had to admit was cheesy. I’m usually not really into those types of “life lesson” books. For some reason, however, this one spoke to me. It is full of inspirational quotes and ideas on how to live an optimistic and fulfilling life. In fact, these quotes stemmed a vast interest of mine in other quotes by other famous or infamous people. One of Brown’s quotes says, “Wear the most audacious underwear under the most solemn business attire.” This is a fairly interesting quote. I think it means to look conformed, but underneath the conformity, hide your own bold being. I guess one of the reasons that I liked this quote so much was because it is who I am not. I look conformed on the outside and, on the inside, I look no different. Ann is a lot like me in that comparison. Her emotional and physical being are parallel. Unlike mine however, she is non-conformed on the outside and on the inside. Neither of us are listening to Brown’s advice though. He suggests that we don’t draw too much attention to ourselves but at the same time don’t be afraid to live. I haven’t quite decided whose way I like better, Ann’s or Brown’s.

Brown also is credited with the quote: “Remember that everyone you meet is afraid of something, loves something and has lost something.” This is a quote that reminds me that everyone is human, including Ann and including Brown. I was curious, however, as to what it was that Ann had lost? More importantly, I was curious as to what Ann had loved? I, of course, hoped it was me. After all, “Life is slippery. We all need a loving hand to hold onto.” (Another H. J. Brown quote.) I subconsciously opened the palm of my hand, hoping she would hold onto it.

“This book is a waste of my time.” Ann declared, throwing the publication behind her seat instead of grabbing onto my offering hand. Instinctively, I reached back to grab the book so as not to damage it but was unable procure it through the air. This book was something I treasured, and I did not want my treasure to be tarnished. I decided it was best not to argue with her and leave my passion for H. Jackson Brown Jr. private. I reached for the radio and turned down the music. Ann didn’t argue or defend her territory. (A victory.)

“You know what isn’t a waste of time?” “Food!” She finished my thought for me. “What are you hungry for?” I asked.

“I’m good with whatever you want!” She replied. This greatly annoyed me. I asked the question for a reason: to get her input on what we were planning to eat. If I was going to get whatever I wanted, why would I have asked her? My mom and dad used to do the same thing. It would be like eight o’clock at night and my dad would get hungry and report to my mom the status of his hunger. My mom would ask him what he wanted to eat, and my dad wouldn’t ever care. They’d babble back and forth until it’s finally time for me to go to bed. I would announce that I was going to bed and they’d decide, it’s too late to eat and they will just eat some other day. I assume it’s a common event that occurs in most households. We ended up going through the Drive Thru at McDonalds. I ordered enough food for two, paid with my credit card and got back on the road. We ate on the road and I asked her if she wanted to drive. She surprisingly rejected.

By then we had been on the road for about an hour and twenty minutes.

“How much longer do we have?” I inquired. She pulled out her phone and began to type and quickly announced that we had about two hours left on our trip. I started to worry about my mom and how I had left with little notice. I worried about work and whether my boss would be mad. What if this trip took longer than the weekend? I worried about whether Iain’s family would even be home. Amidst my anxiety, I made the mistake of expressing my feelings out loud.

Me: “This was a mistake.”

Her: “Are you kidding?”

Me: “Yes?”

Her: “No you aren’t!”

Me: “How do you know?”

Her: “I know! We already had this conversation Blake!”

Me: “I know, I know.”

Her: “This is not a mistake Blake.”

That last part echoed in my thoughts. This was not a mistake Blake. This was not a mistake. “Okay,” I quietly said to her. “Okay?” She asked again. “Yes, I won’t regret this and this is not a mistake.” “Good.” She sounded pleased when she said this. She continued, “Come on Blake! You love this, admit it! You need this adventure. You want this adventure! This is what you have always been dreaming about.” I simply nodded. If I was being honest with myself, it was not just the adventure that I wanted.

After

I just laid in bed for most of the next day. I had already called in sick to work. My boss seemed to understand before I was able to come up with an excuse on why I was calling in. Why didn’t I just tell her the truth? I was completely broken; physically, mentally, and emotionally. I wasn’t able to sleep after the few hours I got the night before, because images of the previous day kept swimming in my mind every time I closed my eyes. I thought of the doctors standing there and telling my mom what had happened. I remember waiting to go home. I remembered previous days as well, like the car ride to Nashville that felt like an eternity. How idiotic of me to compare those few hours in the car as an eternity. The true eternity was the few minutes that I spent awake the previous night in between nightmares. But I couldn’t just stop living. I wouldn’t allow my nightmares to become reality, I would continue to live and continue to be the new me: The me I was introduced to by her.