Runaway River

I haven’t written much lately.  I’ve been working at a summer camp, with a few shifts at Panera now and then.  Pretty exhausting but I’m hoping to save up a bit more before I go unemployed and start paying loans.  I also wrote a book review for an author whose book really wasn’t that good, but since he was paying me I felt obligated to write a positive review.  It totally wasn’t worth it.  But it was a job… in my field… so at least that’s something, and something I can put on my resume.

I’ve had a few interviews for jobs but nothing special has come up, so next week when camp is over I’ll have plenty of time to write about my terrifying job search.

            But the main reason is pure writer’s block.  I feel like I have absolutely nothing to write about.  I go to work and by the end of the day I just want to crawl into bed and watch Tv till I fall asleep and do it all over again.  Today I was feeling ambitious.  And guilty for being so un-productive.  I just don’t know what to write about.  So I figured I would take this opportunity to share with you a piece of non-fiction I wrote a while back, during a rough time in college.  This is one that most people liked, I hope you like it as well:

Runaway River

I have to get away.  Usually I just crawl up in a ball on my bed and stick my headphones in, tell everyone not to bother me.  But that’s not enough this time.  My room is oozing the stench of un-showered college and unwashed dishes coming to life.  Literally.  There’s mold growing.  I can’t stay here.  I can’t go outside.  Not on a college campus when every single person you know comes up to you and see’s the look on your face.

“Are you ok?” 

“NO! I AM NOT OK!”

Then they want to know what’s wrong but you can’t tell them half the shit that’s wrong because it’s “confidential” and even if you did tell them they’d probably give you advice.  But you’ve followed every single fucking piece of advice that you’ve read, that your friends gave, your parents gave, your therapist gave.  There’s nothing left to do.  Nothing left to do but keep on keeping on.  That’s what they say.  So I keep on.  Spring break can’t be too far away.  And after that, there’s a hint of summer in the breeze.  But for right now, I have to get away. 

Class is cancelled and there’s nothing to distract me from other people or keep me out of my stench prison.  I walk to my car.  Open the door.  Step inside and get comfy.  Slide the key into the ignition and turn into my freedom.  Shut down my cell phone, shift into drive, and press the gas.  Time to take the road less travelled.  Left turn out of the parking lot, then follow it until I can’t go straight anymore. Left.  Follow.  Up a steep hill and I catch sight of a river next to me.  My car floats along the road beside it, turning and speeding with it.  A red light seizes me from my neighbor of freedom.  Society’s conventions can’t stop me for long.  Green means go.  Fast as my wheels will let me.  Climbing back to my place in the river.  I follow it for hours, passing towns and shops and woods and mountains. 

Finally, an opening.  Only a short walk through the woods.  I pull over and grab a sweatshirt.  I have driven far away from the warmth of the sun.  I walk down to the edge of the river, throwing my things on a rock nearby.  My knees touch the cold grass and crunch the leaves.  I lean over and dip my fingers into the icy water.  Cold.  Alone.  Free.  I sit down on the rock and watch the river drift slowly by me, tumbling on the rocks and logs in its way.  I close my eyes and listen to the murmur and gurgle and I feel a drop on my arm, forehead, nose.  I open my eyes to more cold wet kisses from the clouds above.  The water returning to its home in the river.  Time for me to return to mine.  I stand up, stare at the river and silently thank it for its comfort.  Sigh and slowly turn towards my car, the leaves soggy and oozing under my feet.  Inside, the sound of the ignition begins and tricks me into comfort with its warmth.  Back into drive, and a three point turn pointing me in the direction of home.

The road winds and the dark clouds envelop the sky, pushing the sun further into it’s resting place.  The water pounds on my windshield, begging me to come back.  Thin black lines whisk them away as their sisters slide down my cheeks, collecting in the corners of my mouth.  I follow the road, trying to ignore my friend the river.  You’ve helped me this once, and I thank you.  But I won’t come back.  Not soon at least.  I must go back to my world.  I look at my world, on the corners of the river-banks, bridges and train tracks, stores and restaurants lining the road and blocking the view of the beautifully angry water.  She doesn’t run away from anything, just washes them away with the force of her and her sisters.  She is strong.  I could never be like her.  I run away from everything. And then I return.  Nothing to say for myself.

“Where’d you go?”  A friend asks when I find my way home late at night.  The sun is long gone, and the rain has already disappeared from the sky and the ground.

“Nowhere.”