30th of April; 1st of November; seems like yesterday
The Story So Far
Shannon Barry
Issue date: 8/31/06 Section: Opinion
The first time I fell in love with her, it was the eve of her 16th birthday.
I was engrossed at the task at hand. My '91 gold Ford Tacoma was parked on my parents' driveway.
I was grimy. I hadn't shaved. I was vacuuming my car.
As the whiz of the vacuum continued into a consistent lull, drowning out the otherwise soothing noises of the neighborhood: Skateboarders whizzing by, the wheels of their skateboards knocking in between each of the cracks in the sidewalk, the leaves rustling in the breeze, the branches creaking as they leaned and Tom mowing his lawn while rocking out to his compact disc player, tucked away in the back of his elastic shorts.
There are days, years ago, I remember lying on the grass, running my hands over the prickly, ticklish texture, staring up at the clouds and trying to make out figures in otherwise misshapen cotton balls. Now, here I was, drowning out the noises of messy human lives and forgetting what it meant to truly feel alive.
I had become so numb to the fact that life could become cold, that so had I.
As I leaned over the back seats, meticulously angling the side of the vacuum attachment into the wedges of the seat pillows, a quick tap on my right shoulder quickly gained my attention.
What the? As I whipped my head around, vacuum still in hand, blowing Loralie's shirt and creating sudden waves of fabric for a brief moment, a car door slammed.
Loralie was someone I had grown accustomed to her spontaneous visits. For one reason or another, she just seemed to understand me.
Or at least had a great way of pretending.
Over the years, I noticed the small subtleties of change that would occur each time she surrounded herself with a new person, a new crowd. She always managed to become a cookie-cutter image of what she perceived everybody wanted.
And while I didn't respect her, nor appreciate her presence, here she was, smile donning her face from ear to ear, interrupting my day.
I was engrossed at the task at hand. My '91 gold Ford Tacoma was parked on my parents' driveway.
I was grimy. I hadn't shaved. I was vacuuming my car.
As the whiz of the vacuum continued into a consistent lull, drowning out the otherwise soothing noises of the neighborhood: Skateboarders whizzing by, the wheels of their skateboards knocking in between each of the cracks in the sidewalk, the leaves rustling in the breeze, the branches creaking as they leaned and Tom mowing his lawn while rocking out to his compact disc player, tucked away in the back of his elastic shorts.
There are days, years ago, I remember lying on the grass, running my hands over the prickly, ticklish texture, staring up at the clouds and trying to make out figures in otherwise misshapen cotton balls. Now, here I was, drowning out the noises of messy human lives and forgetting what it meant to truly feel alive.
I had become so numb to the fact that life could become cold, that so had I.
As I leaned over the back seats, meticulously angling the side of the vacuum attachment into the wedges of the seat pillows, a quick tap on my right shoulder quickly gained my attention.
What the? As I whipped my head around, vacuum still in hand, blowing Loralie's shirt and creating sudden waves of fabric for a brief moment, a car door slammed.
Loralie was someone I had grown accustomed to her spontaneous visits. For one reason or another, she just seemed to understand me.
Or at least had a great way of pretending.
Over the years, I noticed the small subtleties of change that would occur each time she surrounded herself with a new person, a new crowd. She always managed to become a cookie-cutter image of what she perceived everybody wanted.
And while I didn't respect her, nor appreciate her presence, here she was, smile donning her face from ear to ear, interrupting my day.
Viewing Comments 1 - 1 of 1
Ted Rudow III,MA
posted 9/01/06 @ 7:44 AM PST
U.S. worshiped things. Many people want to go to the U.S. tolust after things! It's not to fulfill some dream of "freedom"! Materialism ?the devotion to material wealth and possessions at the expense of spiritual or intellectual values? is virtually synonymous with capitalism, the profit-driven system that dominates the economies and nations of today. (Continued…)
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