Young Writers Society

The sun rises. My phone's obnoxious ringtone blares out. I worry it might wake some people even though it never does. I get up and go pee for about a minute straight. I then wander around and see if anyone else is up, even though they never are. Empty bottles, paper towels, lighters, and other various props lay all on the ground. I pick some up. Since I'm always the first to leave I always try to clean a little. I am somewhat surprised by who ends up sleeping together. I never get laid. My date always leaves. I feel like shit and am just ready to get to my own bed. I walk towards my truck, picking up a graham cracker box and a couple Hershey bar wrappers on my way. I pull out my contact case and put it on the back of the truck. I sloppily open it and put in my contacts while getting soultion all over me in the process. I dump the rest of the solution on the ground, close the contact case, and toss it in the truck. I'm so ready to get home. I switch my low battery phone to my music app and queue up a couple of songs; enough to make it home on. I struggle pulling out of the driveway, worried I'll get stuck in some mud or hit a tree. The ride home is cold, the heat hasn't quite got going yet and the feeling of the seat on my back gives me chills. My drive home always starts the same way: thinking about how happy I am to get to my own bed. But about 4 minutes in, when the car warms and the second song hits the chorus, I'll smile. I'll think back on little moments with my self from the night. The excitement of a dark stumble towards the fire after a piss. The feeling of satisfaction after I raise up off the girl I was making out with. The loneliness of laying down to sleep. Then the harsh smack of reality when my alarm clock goes off the next morning. When I start to think back, I'll start to sing to the chorus with a grin on my face that is as genuine as any I've ever had. Little parts from the night fly at me and I grab them with enthusiasm. Kissing, cussing, dancing, drinking. We may have been wasting time, but we were young. We were at a point where freedom came rarely. When we got a little bit of freedom instead of using it wisely, we'd do things like cuss, smoke, drink, and fuck. It was like giving a big middle finger to the people who refuted our freedom to begin with. By the time I get to my house I'm almost upset. The drive became so euphoric. Having the discomfort of being dirty, lacking sleep, and thirsty yet still being happy wasn't common. Returning home meant going back to my boring day to day routine. Leaving the dirty, trashy place to return to my bed meant leaving a lot of good memories there too. I reluctantly walk in the house, grab a bottle of water, chug the whole thing, get a stomach ache, and curl up in bed with another full bottle of water. Even though I removed my clothes, I still smell the bonfire and the memories flow in like a river as I drift off to sleep.

If someone asked me to sum up my youth in one moment, it'd be that drive home with my truck's cold seat against my back. My hair is a mess and I'm covered in contact solution. I have a huge grin on my face and am singing along to the songs I'm playing through my phone that has barely any life. I think everyone needs a drive home early in the morning like that every once in a while. They're under-appreciated. We need to miss our beds when we're 10 minutes away from them, at a person's house whom we barely know. It's much better than missing a person's house whom you barely know, while lying in your own bed. We need the memories that aren't easily remember because those are the best ones. They're back in the vault of your brain and it takes a certain key to get them out. The smell of a bonfire on your favorite leather jacket, the feeling of sinking a redemption shot in beer pong, the sound of a drunken choir of middle class white teens singing over a gangster rap song. These are the key to that vault of forgotten memories. They're the ones that won't make it in your stories you'll tell people years down the road, or the ones you'll reminisce about at you high school reunion. They're unspoken and personal. They're the ones that you think about on that drive home, even though you know you may never think of them after that. A drive home on a morning like that isn't just a drive home, it's a goodbye. A farewell to the memories that may not make it.