Crack the rearview... Options

[*CrackedRearView*]

Dear friend, reader, or confidant,

...

To whom it may concern:

I need help for a friend.

He’s still looking for a rhyme and reason to the way whatever higher power lies above acts.

Once upon a time in 1997, there was this 10 year old child who didn’t understand the physics of life. In 10 hours, he watched his condominium, which lied about 50 yards from the “Big Blue”, as those in Newport Beach called the Pacific Ocean, get gutted from the inside out. Posters, pictures, furniture, throw rugs. He remembered the smell distinctly. The smell of life being sucked out of a room haunted him; the smell of his people changing their situation, hopefully for the better. He was like a fish out of water, and the ride 2,500 miles across country was his boat ride to the fish market to be gutted. And gutted he was.



The procession was distinct; the order was methodical. Outside the white line which delineated the road [civilization] from the harsh wilderness [non-civilization] lied his entertainment for the three day exodus. Lush, green trees quickly became dry, arid desert, which quickly became more dry and arid desert. And drier, more arid desert until the bunny hills of the Rockies came into view. Bunny hills escalated into sled-worthy, which escalated into towering peaks. And this 10 year old little boy sat amazed at the wonders of the land. The towering peaks receded into sled-worthy hills, which retreated back to bunny hills, and out of sight. And he watched them disappear with distance in the cracked rear view mirror of the car, never to be seen again. He turned around to look ahead, and there laid the Welcome to Kansassign, signifying the end like a malignant tumor on the crest of his neck. His heart dropped at that point. He then knew it was not a dream, and that they would not be returning to Holly Drive in sunny Newport Beach. At that point, he panicked.

At a new school, in a new place, at an unfamiliar time, he grew comfortable in a place called Olathe. Havencroft Elementary was where he would begin his new journey, and it was amazing. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that things could have gone so well, until the news arrived at the end of his sixth grade year that he would once again leave a place he had grown so comfortable in, after such immense struggle. Oddly, he wasn’t crushed, for, similarly to the previous year, he had little knowledge of the physics of life, and could not fully express the woe that burrowed itself in his heart; a last refuge before being purged into the air as raging fits of depression induced convulsions. It lied inert; a harmful paroxysm lurking in the shadows.

Again, the move was across a state line, but only one. It was in Blue Springs, Missouri where he was alienated the most. As a 7th grader, being new was difficult. But, as always, things settled with time.

And then there was Alyssa. Oh, it was bliss. She was an 8th grader, and beautiful. Her long brunette hair had attracted him, and she enjoyed it. For three years the two of them pined for each other, assured that Cupid had thrown a couple of arrows their way. Yet the pattern refused to subside, and abysmal failure persisted.

The first shot to the heart came in the kid’s freshman year of high school, informed once again that every friend, relationship, and acquaintance he had made would be left behind, yet again, and that his beloved girlfriend wouldn’t stand for it. He remembered the words.

“Long distance isn’t my thing.”


The physics of life began making themselves clear. Unprecedented struggle is targeted on people, and it is malicious. It runs rampant without a force to get in its way. And so did the post-traumatic withdrawals of mind and body following the breakup.

The kid’s sophomore year was to lie in a place called Shawnee Mission, at an enormous school labeled “North”. Afraid to settle, the kid didn’t. And hasn’t.

His story ends here. Rather, it has yet to be filled in here. His current friends know it, too. They see the seclusion, the withdrawal, and the non-aggressiveness. He knows they see it, as well. But he will not do anything about it. The fear recurs, and is reinforced by tragedies such as Andrew Weir’s death, and his uncle’s mentally incapacitating car accident. He will not act following such trauma, and he doesn’t know when the trauma will end.



Forget it.



That kid is me, scared, confused, and angry.

Even still, as I listen to the soothing Take a Picture by Filter, I cannot be settled.

The confusion makes my mind reel, and I can’t control it. I don’t know what to do to quell it. I don’t know what to say to make myself at ease.

If the words exist, bring them to my lips. If they don't, be sure to note that on my tombstone when the day so arrives.

- Justin

[*CrackedRearView*]

Can a mod please get rid of one of the extra topics? I think I lagged pretty bad or something.

My apologies.

[Ekay]

It's amazing as always. I feel bad that you had to move away every year. I do however sincerely hope that you will feel better and feel comfortable in that new school of yours.

[*CrackedRearView*]

I'm slowly cooling down. But I won't get attached this time.

[Ekay]

Well knowing what you've been thru, I understand why you don't want to get attached but it's hard not to. I wish you a better life man. Truly I do.

[*CrackedRearView*]

You're awesome, thanks.

[*Azarel*]

I love the way this piece starts out. Wonderful story-telling, although I do think the line about listening to "Take My Picture" can be omitted.

Superb, as your work always is.