August 16, 2003
And You Know, It's Not So Easy When You're All Alone

It's eight o'clock and rather dark out because all the clouds are in the way, but every ten seconds the woods are briefly illuminated by the lightning. We hear no thunder, and there is no rain, but the light still bothers us.

"Whoa," he says while we all peer out at the bolt scattered by the windshield.

They tried to get me to cash in on a due date pool. I don't have the slightest idea of when a baby is supposed to come, and I don't even have five dollars. My mom says she'll pay for me but I don't want to. I don't really know why I don't want to, I just don't want to cave and say "alright alright give me the pen, I'll join."

"You're no fun," she mutters.

And there is that pang of anger and loneliness in my throat as I look away and sit myself on a wicker chair to escape her. Like I've just been shut down by a bunch of people I don't really like anyway, which makes it all the worse, because now the dislike is reciprocated. It's that feeling of isolation and removal that I know too well as of late.

The Early November comes on in my headphones. I lean my head back on the seat cushion and close my eyes and pretend I'm in a music video or something. In fact, I do that for every song that plays. I even did it the night before when Fleetwood Mac was on the radio. I don't even like Fleetwood Mac. But it's very calming being in a car on a rainy night with your headphones on staring out the window counting trees and closing your eyes when the dramatic chorus of the song comes. Especially when it seems like the mp3 read my mind and chose that song specifically.

But this song is called Sunday Drive. And it's a Saturday. So I stop the music video and get out of the car.

- Molly{10:59 pm}

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