Blog 11

It’s a Tuesday. The clock reads 10:31. It doesn’t feel that late to me. Summer nights always seem to go on forever with no clear time marking the difference between night and day. The sun may be down, but right now I’ve never felt more alive. Sitting in the car I can see the old Uni-Mart street.

As a kid my best friends Nolan, Chris, and I used to ride our bicycles there from home. We’d always get the same thing, a blue slushy from the fat lady behind the counter. I remember sitting on that old wooden bench out front with my two best friends, the wood smooth and warped from years of being sat on. Things were simpler back then, as kids you don’t understand what it means to be poor, to be lower class, what it means to live paycheck to paycheck.

A lot has changed since we were kids. Chris moved off to the west coast to try and become a musician. Nolan and I used to keep in touch with him but he stopped calling back. Nolan and I both started working in the car industry straight out of high school. But after the financial crisis back in ’08 the whole town seems to be dead. When the GM plant closed nearly the entire town fell apart, everyone was and still is looking for work, Nolan and myself included.

The Uni-Mart used to be such a happy place to be. Now it’s all dirty and dingy. This whole town is dirty now. I hate dirt. Half the neon lights on the outside are burnt out, the sidewalk cracks are filled with cigarette buds, and there’s even duct tape on two of the windows holding together broken glass. This town isn’t what it used to be.

I look over at Nolan in the driver’s seat. The look on his face tells me he’s thinking the same things I am. “You ready to do this?” I ask.

“Yeah.” Nolan never really had a way with words. The clock reads 10:34. We throw on our masks, grab our hand guns and slam the car doors behind us. The air is warm.

10:36. we jump back into the front seats of the old rusted Buick Lesabre. The reinforced hub caps on the side the only part of it not showing signs of rust and old age. This used to be a Sheriff’s car. Nolan floors it, smoke and the piercing sound of screeching tires fill the air. I take the bag of cash clutched in my left hand and shove it in the glove box. Driving off into the warm summer’s night I take a sip of the unnaturally blue slushy I hold in my right hand, I can’t help but think, some habits are hard to break.

Fiction Prompt

Shit. What the hell did they do now? Thoughts race through my mind as I fly down the four flights of stairs in my apartment building, almost tripping on the old red rubber mat lying outside the entrance door. God I hate that stupid old mat. Stumbling over my own two feet, I rapidly hit the unlock button on my car keys. One thing’s for sure, if my friends did something stupid, they did something really stupid.

Whipping my car around the corner onto Blue Course Drive, the back wheels start to squeal at me. My little Saturn Ion isn’t meant to be driven this fast. I look down at the clock, its 7:47; the sun’s starting to go down. Again, my mind starts to wonder what Stevie and Chase got into this time. This can’t be worse than the night back in September, it just can’t. I throw my car around another sharp left; the clock reads 7:50. Up ahead I see the familiar tattered wooden sign “Orchard Park”. Stevie and Chase are both sitting on the curb, their heads between their knees. Chase looks up as I slam on the brakes in the middle of the parking lot; I can tell from his eyes things are serious.

“What the hell happened to you two?”

“Uhhh… Stevie do you want to take this one?”

“Hell no dude this is your fault to begin with!”

“Guys just tell me what the hell happened!”

Stevie is the kind of kid who always takes things just a little too far. Even back in elementary school my Mom stopped letting him come over because every time we went outside to play one of us would come back bleeding. It usually wasn’t from fighting, more along the lines of Stevie convincing me I could jump 20 feet out of tree, that kind of stuff. Chase on the other hand just doesn’t know any better. The second he gets psyched up about an idea, there’s no telling him otherwise. Put the two together and you get a bad situation.

“Matt. You know all that shit we got in back in September?”

This is not good. This is really not good. “Of course I remember it dude, how could I not.”

“Well, it-“

Stevie cut in “-it happened again alright? There I said it.”

“WHAT! WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT HAPPENED AGAIN!”

“It’s all Stevie’s fault! He told me he’d back me up if I went in. “

Instantly my mind flashes back to that September night three years ago. I can see Chase, his back turned to us as he walked up the crumbling sidewalk towards the gas station. The same blue and red slushy sign hanging in the window. Chase glances back right before throwing his hood up over his head.

“Look Matt, things got out of hand real fast this time. You got us out of this mess before we need you to get us out of it again.” Stevie shoots a quick glance over to Chase, hoping I didn’t notice, but I did.

“How the hell am I supposed to get you out of this a second time?! My Dad only agreed to help us out before because the police station was looking for an excuse to come busting through the front door of that convenience store anyway.”

Chase’s eyes are starting to swell up a little bit. “Seriously, we need help if we have any chance of getting out of this.” His voice is shaking almost uncontrollably now. “We’ve only been g-gone maybe t-ten minutes since it happened. C-call your Dad-d now we still have a sh-shot-t.”

I cannot believe this. I honestly cannot believe this is happening to me again. This is why I made sure I went to a different college than these two. It’s the first week back from spring semester and I’m already wrapped up in something so bad I could end up spending the rest of my life in prison for it. I let out a deep sigh as I turn around to look at my two best friends; I’m their only shot at getting out of this. Every part of my soul is telling me not to as I reach into my pocket, my cell phone in my hand.

“Hello Dad? It’s Matt, listen I need some help. I’m with Stevie and Chase again.”

Concrete Writing Assignment

There are a total of 88 keys on my piano. Each one strikes a different note, as if talking back to me when struck. The black keys are as dark as charcoal, their shine polished to perfection like ball room shoes. The blacks contrast the whites, taking each note a half step higher or lower, half way to a new idea. The white keys look like the leather on an old baseball, tinged slightly yellow from age. The whites speak louder than the blacks. Each key a single note standing on its own, waiting to be paired with an accompanying key. To touch the keys is like trying to touch fog; so smooth you can barely feel them. It’s only when you hear them you know they’re there. Wood as dark and as brown as coffee beans wraps around the sides of the piano. The wood a hue lighter on one side, bleached by the sun to resemble a paler oak. A reminder of how long the piano has stood there, begging to be played, begging to be allowed to speak.