created by : deviatedspectrum, monsterofNone, lapietra, bealeblues

Rules: one sentence at a time, no consecutive posts

It was time. The car was packed. The usual last minute chaos, punctuated with only a few irritated expletives when we discovered something we'd almost forgotten, and a final mad dash back in the house to check whether the iron was unplugged, was finally over, and we piled in. It looked like the next twelve hours was going to be the typical Thompson family traveling nightmare show. We already had the typical threats of "don't make me turn this car around", all of which we ignored, as usual. But we all wanted to get the hell out of Omaha, so we pretended to listen long enough to cross the state line.

After a couple hours, we got tired of the road games... counting black cows... blue VW bugs... twenty questions. We sat, bored, quiet, for awhile, just watching the fields at the side of the road, flat, now green, now yellow. I wanted a cigarette, but fourteen year olds must smoke covertly, secretly, so i was a good day away from feeding that particular monkey. Instead I popped some Bubble Yum in my mouth. Mmmmmm... sugary goodness. My brother kicked my leg. I glared at him for a minute, then saw what he was looking at. I gave him a piece. The car quickly filled with the scent of the gum and small wet chewing sounds.

i closed my eyes and tried to turn off the slient bickering of my parents; i pressed my hand into the car door, feeling the road rush by us, whispering to me in slight vibrations. i watched as the fields rolled by, taking me farther away from those things i cared no more to see, from the people that i cared no more to pretend to ignore, hopefully from the thoughts i cared no more to think.

it was then that my little sister, Shawna, decided it would be clever to stick a slimy, saliva covered finger in my ear. i didn't give her the satisifying "QUIT IT!" she desired, instead i pulled my bandana over my face, turned towards the window and left my mind by the side of the road.

The dream always begins with a feeling of loss. I'm sitting at the kitchen table in our old house in Kansas City, drinking tea from my mother's antique china set. There's a knock at the door. From far away, I hear two voices, one calm, warm, compassionate, one rising in pitch; a cry of denial, of despair; the sound of someone collapsing, sobbing desperately. The sun falls beneath the shade and I am temporarily blinded; I drop the cup from my hands. She finally succeeded; in the car, in the garage, the glass of red wine in her hand spilled onto a note written on white, bluelined paper torn from a spiral-bound notebook, the words trailing to nothing. I bend over the broken shards of my mother's ancestry and try to gather up the pieces in my hands, but the sharp edges keep cutting into my skin.

I awoke to find Shawna's wet green eyes inches from mine, "Aren't you going to wake up and take me to the bathroom?" Momentarily disoriented, I gathered myself up and sit back, relief finally filling my chest, forcing out the tight ball of pain that had gathered there. My spilled slowly out of the car and stretched up to see my family, painted with gritted happiness, walking up to the public rest area. As we headed for the redwood trimmed facilities, Shawna's wet hand in mine, I had the misfortune of reacting naturally to my environment, "It's hot as fuck!"

"MOOOOMMMMMMYYYYYYY!!!!!" hollered Shawna. But it didn't matter, my mother's back had stiffened already.

I gripped Shawna tight around the arm, enough to make her aware of my obvious disapproval. She, however, knew all ears were on her and that, while I could hurt her, it would only serve to tack decades to my sentence in the station wagon gulag. She drew in her breath to holler again, but I knew what to do; under my breath, I uttered the one word I knew would keep her silent and loyal. Her mouth tightened and, with a look of fear in her eyes, she exhaled her tiny puff into the muggy air and smiled at our mother, turning her back towards her business with Dad.

i could always feel the void between them, even when i wasn't paying attention, which was all the time. the silence between them was louder than shawna's chocolate giggles or my brother's incessant gum popping. those things i could stand. their silence i couldn't. i felt like i wanted them to say something, anything. But now they were off for a rest at a picnic table, Shawna was on her way to join them and Patrick was off torturing the various wildlife in the brush; the time seemed right for me to sneak off and have that cigarette I had so patiently waited for.

I headed behind the restrooms; there was fence bordering a cornfield... and someone had ripped a hole in it, probably for the very purpose I was intending. Skittering through unmolested took some care but once on the otherside I was rewarded with a perfect hiding place. There, blanketed by the stalks' stealth, I lit up and slowly inhaled the first true breath i'd had all during this trip, taking great care to savor every moment because i'd not likely find such a place again. I turned my ear to listen for footsteps or mother's voice calling above the corn, but heard nothing. One drag, two, three, four, could I risk five before i had to get back?

"Hey," I heard behind me. I turned to see Patrick wagging his finger at me as my blood began to boil behind my eyes. I jumped up, lunging at him but he dodged my grasp, running towards Mom, towards Dad and towards the end of sweet summer freedom. No way I could catch him, so I didn't even try-- the slower I walked back, the longer I'd have away from having to pretend. I considered walking back, deep within the corn, where angry eyes and bitter teeth and scolding fingers couldn't find me - it was tempting. But I was hungry; and in the end that was the thing that made me trudge back to the car and slump back inside. Luckily the parental dome of silence seemed to extend over their wayward daughter on this trip and all I was subjected to was the glare of death from my mother. That was nothing new- what was confusing was figuring out when it was truly directed at me and when it was her projecting her disdain for herself.

It wasn't until we passed Ogallala that she said a word to me, just waking me up for another leg stretch and a quick bite to eat. "Why is it that you smell like smoke, young lady?" she asked. I replied, "I'm no lady, Mom."

For a second she looked as if she couldn't choose what to do; yell, laugh, cry; then she just said, "Smoking kills hundreds of thousands of people - I don't want you to die of lung cancer," and turned and walked into the Norm's.

I wondered to what extent her statement was true, if she had concern for me, or for the impression I made on other people. This trip was supposed to be a family bonding occasion, but it was evident that my parents had given up on my involvment with the family some time ago. About when Shawna was born. She was their "clean slate", their "new start", the "daughter they never had". I was the first draft, the edited copy, the piece of crumpled up waste tossed over their shoulders. They had turned their back on me emotionally and were just waiting the time out until I rid them of me completely.

And that time was coming soon. Soon enough i would be little more than a fleeting thought to them, almost as if i had never happened. I sighed deeply, knowing that I could grab another cigarette at this stop, my cover already having been blown. But I was pretty hungry by now; maybe I'd have time after I ate some lunch. We ended up in booth obviously designed for the typical nuclear family and not for one that couldn't stand to be touching one another. Aware of my place, I pulled a chair to the end of the booth, thus physically removing me from the cohesive familial unit, but also allowing me quick escape to the bathroom and another smoke.

Once I was seated, though, it almost felt like I was at the head of the table; something strange about the way the table was set up. When the waitress arrived my father looked at me, smiled and said, "She's at the head of the table, that means she'll be paying." I managed a cock-eyed smile at the waitress, half apologizing for my father's pathetic humour, before I stood up to excuse myself from the table. My mom looked a little askance at me, but I quickly ordered a burger and fries and headed in the direction of the restroom. Safely inside my porcelain and chrome fortress of solitude, i fumbled for my smokes. It wasn't really the cigarette I craved, but the symbol it created, a small, burning moment, busting down the walls of my parents' definition of me and stretching into infinte directions. I was addicted, sure, but i liked the personal space it provided.

After half a cigarette I left the bathroom stinking of smoke. I decided to launch a frontal assault on the silence. I pulled a fresh clean ciggie out of the pack and packed it prominitently in my right back pocket; then I tucked my button-up shirt deep into my jeans, lit up and strutted to the table to greet my loving family.