everything i never said
[a short story]
I couldn’t do this anymore. I had enough of this small town I was living in. Everyone knew who I was, and that annoyed me. They thought they knew me. But the only people who knew me was myself.
Exhaling deeply, I cast one last glance at my bag. I had fit everything that didn’t remind me of the stupid place in my backpack. Some clothing, my wallet and phone, camera, battered laptop, and my trusted notebook. On second thought, I should probably add something to write with.
There was no turning back from here. It was out the door and good-bye forever. Should I leave a note behind for Mom, Dad, and Ben? Probably. But notes were writing and my writing was depressing.
Even though my English teacher- Mr. Penderwick- told me I was a natural born writer, I knew it was all lies. Lies like my whole life.
Picking up my backpack, I locked my bedroom door and turned off the lights. Looking around my dark room for the last time, it felt reassuring to runaway.
Sliding the window open, I gently tossed the backpack into the hostas. I climbed through the window with the grace of a Russian gymnast.
Closing the window, I made sure to hear it click shut. Fishing my bag out of the bushes, I swatted away the pesky gnats. Alright, Seth, you can do this, I told myself.
Who are you kidding? You’ll never make it in the city. To many things could go wrong.
Of course you can! Are you going to listen to your anxious self tearing you down?
I was torn between the two raging voices in my head. One voice would encourage me, tell me to try harder. The other voice was angerier, always beating me up. It was one that I usually listened to.
Unlocking my car, I threw my bag into the passenger seat. Turning the key in the ignition, I was about to back out when my phone buzzed. My mom’s warnings echoed through my head. “Don’t text and drive Seth. That’s how Grandma died.”
I put the car back in park and fished my phone out of my jeans pocket. The bright phone lit up my entire car as I swiped to view the message. It was from Amanda.
Amanda was the only person I opened up to. I was constantly pushing people away from me, fearing that they might hurt me. Until I met Amanda, I was friendless.
We gradually started to hang out together and formed a rare bond which I called friendship. The two of us would stay up late talking, laughing, and generally fooling around. That was before Grandma died.
Her death was like getting stabbed. Not that I knew what getting stabbed was like. It was quick and painful, but left everlasting scars. I went straight to my default mode. Curling up in my mind, squeezing my eyes closed in crowds, and praying that no one notices me.
That’s when I cracked out the old notebook to a fresh page and started crying my feelings out in words. I filled up half the book with my thoughts. Then I clicked the pen off and started to cry.
I shut my phone off without bothering to read it. I could predict that the message was one of these two options. A) You suck at being a friend. I’m going to spill all your secrets if you don’t reply. Or B) I’m sorry if I did something that hurt you. But I’m always here for you. Just give me a call before you do something irreversible.
I suspected it was the latter.
Driving down Main Street brought back so many memories. Bad memories. I was glad to finally be getting out of here. The overpass and highway was right up ahead. Once I was on the interstate, I would finally be gone and somewhere where nobody knew my name.
My phone buzzed several times before a facetime request popped up. Amanda.
I drove up onto the overpass and turned right onto the highway. Something nudged inside of me that caused me to pull over and roll to a stop. I pulled up Amanda’s texts and started from the top.
By the time I was finished, tears were rolling down my cheeks. Sobs rang through the empty highway. What was I doing here? What have I done to deserve such a wonderful friend?
I stumbled out of my car to breath in the fresh air. My headlights shone out into the dark night. Sinking to my knees, I leaned against the cool metal of my car. Holding my head, warm tears slowly dripped down my face. My light brown hair flopped in front of my eyes, the tips getting wet from my tears.
I don’t know how long I sat on the dirt crying. Once my eyes were dried up and I could no longer feel the moisture left on my cheeks, I hopped into my car and pulled a U-turn.
Driving back into town, I turned into one of the sidestreets and parked in the driveway of a modest, 2-story building. Unzipping my backpack, I took out my coveted notebook containing my mind and sanity. I uncapped a marker and scrawled on the front, this is everything i never said.
Silently, I placed the notebook underneath Amanda’s window. Knocking gently on the window twice, I walked back to my car. Throwing it in reverse, I backed out of the driveway and made my way to the highway.
I’ve never published stories that I wrote to the world, except for one fairytale retelling. And that story was so confusing and mixed up, I surprised people liked it.
If you have any advice for my writing, please let me know. Also there might be grammar errors, I apologize.
Have a great day everyone!