Emma
I couldn't sleep. I never could that year, not with all those questions constantly floating around in puddles in my mind. I'd never thought that I'd be like this- so distant from reality. As a teenager, everything seemed so in the moment. I never thought that it would end. The past year or so, though, had been different. I'd lost touch of myself, and who I once was- I had no idea who I was anymore. My thoughts were always so incomplete- never intact, always so scuttled. It took me a while to do anything.
It was May. Another sleepless night had gone by, filled with distant thoughts and laxydasical dreams of what life could be like. The clock ticked past three, and I stared at the ceiling in the dark. It was illuminated by the passing cars outside, and every few seconds a sweeping motion of light would pass by the white walls.
My hands were sweating, still unsure about the phone I grasped.
"Hello?" the familiar voice sent a shiver through my spine, and suddenly I was nervous.
"Rick..."
"Who is this? It's what, four?"
"I need to stay with you," I said, my quivering voice hardly edging above a whisper.
"Emma?"
I started to cry. Sob, actually- my head was pounding with questions, and I still wasn't sure what I was doing.
"Please. I need you." My thoughts weren't making sense anymore, what was I doing?
"Calm down, Emma. What's it been, two years? Sheesh... Yeah, just calm down. Don't do anything stupid. Where are you?"
"Three hours," I said, and hung up the phone.
And I left.
Three hours later, I saw his appartment. What was I supposed to feel, elation? Fear? Wonder? Awe? That I was crazy and didn't know what I was doing?
I knocked on his door in a panic. It was perhaps a minute before anyone answered. As the time past I became more awkward, was I still the same person I was in high school? Did we still know eachother? Did he still smell like Axe?
The door opened slowly. As the hinges creaked, my breath became faster. Rick Parks. Did he still remember me?
Soon I came in veiw of him, and by his groggy face I could tell he hadn't slept. He hadn't shaved, either- the little stubbles of a three-day-old beard formed around his face.
“Tell me what's going on,” he demanded.
I wasn't quite sure what to do. Should I have stood there, or walked in, or burst out crying?
We both stood there in solitary silence until I finally caved.
“I don't know myself anymore,” I pleaded, asked, stated.
He caved when he saw the pain in my eyes, and ended up putting an arm across my back and dragging me inside.
“It's ok,” he said.
I was tired and hungry and wide awake and yet all I wanted to do was curl up and sleep. Rick gave me a pillow and a couch and we didn't talk until twelve.
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Gabe
It started in November. At first, it was just about college. Then, I really started wondering- about myself, about my future, about my friends. Who was I? Not physically, but on a basis that I wasn't really sure. Why did I do all the stupid things that I did?
I knew that I was a football player. I knew that I loved sunrises and girls and sleeping in. Then why did I always have this lurking feeling that I didn't know myself? There was alwas this feeling, always there, that was wondering what I should have been feeling. Why was I so empty all the time?
I don't exactly know when it was, but there was a certain point of time that I started this. No one could feel like I was feeling, no one saw what I did. Why? Why couldn't they feel me? Why did I have so many questions swarming in my head, all the time?
Why?
I guess I should start with introductions. I am 18 years old. I can play football. I can run. My name is Gabe.
Does that qualify as knowing me?
I don't know anymore. I don't know anything, especially not myself.
I skinned my knee on my 11th birthday. I broke my arm playing football. I have a sister I don't know other than she lives next door.
Does that qualify as knowing me?
I don't know if I love my girlfriend. I don't know if I love anyone.
I am afraid to die.
I want to do something with my life.
I am truly scared that no one will ever understand.
I.
Reality.
Maybe it was stupid, but standing outside the 7-11, it seemed like the only thing I could do.
And so I left.
Was it the pull of the sugar, or too much caffene and not enough sleep, or just an unknown force that made me leave? I didn't know.
I was fed up, most of all. I didn't want to wake up and smell the roses. I couldn't smell them even when shoved in my face. What was the point of trying to save me if you didn't know what you were trying to to save me from?
Why do I have so many unanswered questions?
It was sometime past eleven. I was sitting in my car, my torn up, useless thing. Greg was in the passenger seat.
“So you want to find a party?” he asked, even though he knew the answer. I'd gotten bored with beer chugging and stupid girls.
“Where do you see yourself in five years?”
“Huh? Well I'm headed off for school. I don't know, hanging out with you and Sophia? What's with the questions?”
“I was wondering... I just can't imagine what I'll be doing. Seems so far away.”
“Maybe you're not supposed to know,” he replied.
“Yeah. Maybe. But... have you ever wondered why we're doing this?”
“Doing what?”
Greg Smith would never get it. Maybe that's part of why I left.
“I don't want to go to school. I don't want to play. I don't know, I just...” And then it hit me. “What if I leave? Right here, right now, without a word to anyone.”
“That would be stupid.”
“Why? Because everything I do has to be like everyone else? I'm sick of it. I'm sick of everyone. I'm leaving now, and please don't tell Beth anything you'll regret.”
Greg sat motionless beside me, I wasn't too sure what he was thinking, or if he just thought I had finally lost my mind. I started the car and got on the road.
“Where are you going to go?”
“I don't know,” I whispered.
I droped Greg off at his place, then went back to where I called home. Did I have anything there that I was really attatched to?
After packing up an old suitcase, I left my parents a note. It was mostly because I didn't want them to call the cops looking for me. The scribble said something meaningless about being fed up with everyone. I told them not to call.
I left at midnight with nothing but a cell phone, a suitcase, and an old car. It was not my smartest idea.
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This isn't quite up to my standards, it was kind of prematurely written at 3 am for a deadline. It needs some editing, I know that...
You really make the characters seem very alive, and I like how they have their own unique personalities. With some work this could be excellent!
