why am I seeing life in a blur? (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ciddimisin) wrote2011-12-31 04:43 am
ciddimisin) wrote2011-12-31 04:43 am
A boy comes to Baedal...
Traffic jam. They were at a dead stop, no wait...a slow crawl. No, dead stop. The car was idling in the parking lot that the 405 became at a moment's notice. He wasn't sure if it was more frustrating to be a passenger in this situation or if he'd have rather been the one driving. As soon as his mother reached over and turned up the stereo, the dated and cheese-ball sounds of Neil Sedaka filling the small car, he had his answer.
He also had his football between his hands.
I love, I love, I love my calender girl
Thud, thud, thudthudthud. It was rather therapeutic to lean forward and thump his brow against the smooth leather surface of the ball. Thud. In time to the simple rhythm of the song, even. He had a test to study for, he had script to go over (so what if it was only two lines out of forty pages? Those were his two lines and he was going to own them) and he had a million other things to do that were better than sitting in the back seat of his mother's car listening to Neil carry on about some girl's life he'd logged in his Daytimer. Did they even have those in the fifties? Sixties? Whatever. Get me out of here. Alex wanted to be anywhere but there. Anywhere.
Each and every day of the --
Year. Where'd the year go? He lifted his head and started to ask why his mother had turned off one of her favorite songs when he became aware of the fact that he could no longer feel the rattle and hum of the car's engine either. Nor was he sitting on a vinyl car seat. His mother was gone, the traffic, L.A. and in their places was a wall of green tile. A lot of green tile. Four walls. Alex blinked, looked around and then looked down at the ball in his hands.
"Ciddimisin?!" His disbelieving exclamation could be loosely translated from Turkish into English as 'seriously?!' which he did just a moment later, "Seriously?"
He also had his football between his hands.
I love, I love, I love my calender girl
Thud, thud, thudthudthud. It was rather therapeutic to lean forward and thump his brow against the smooth leather surface of the ball. Thud. In time to the simple rhythm of the song, even. He had a test to study for, he had script to go over (so what if it was only two lines out of forty pages? Those were his two lines and he was going to own them) and he had a million other things to do that were better than sitting in the back seat of his mother's car listening to Neil carry on about some girl's life he'd logged in his Daytimer. Did they even have those in the fifties? Sixties? Whatever. Get me out of here. Alex wanted to be anywhere but there. Anywhere.
Each and every day of the --
Year. Where'd the year go? He lifted his head and started to ask why his mother had turned off one of her favorite songs when he became aware of the fact that he could no longer feel the rattle and hum of the car's engine either. Nor was he sitting on a vinyl car seat. His mother was gone, the traffic, L.A. and in their places was a wall of green tile. A lot of green tile. Four walls. Alex blinked, looked around and then looked down at the ball in his hands.
"Ciddimisin?!" His disbelieving exclamation could be loosely translated from Turkish into English as 'seriously?!' which he did just a moment later, "Seriously?"