head over heels | benny rodriguez, the sandlot

| chapter one |

"GISELLE PERLMAN IM NOT GOING TO SAY THIS AGAIN, WE SHOULD BE ON THE ROAD RIGHT NOW!"

"SORRY, one minute!" I shouted down the stairs as I scrambled to pick up my scatteredbelongings off the floor.

As I typically do, I decided to procrastinate my packing until now, which was a really bad play on my part. For Christ's sake, I had a week to prepare for the trip, but here we are.

I know me telling you this doesn't make any sense, and it shouldn't. You have absolutely no idea what's going on right now, so let me quickly explain:

It's currently June 8th, 1982, in Carson City, Nevada. It's the third day of summer break (before my second year of high school in fact), with a whopping 97 degrees outside, which is surprisingly the coldest it's been all week!

But that's beside the point.

To keep it short and sweet, at the beginning of March, my mom reconnected with her parents.

The details get pretty fuzzy, but all I know is that there was some dramatic loss of contact between them long before I was born, but through the grand invention of better technology and a random family friend, she managed to reconnect.

The specifics are completely irrelevant though, cause in complete honesty, all that matters is that I am now being sent off to San Fernando Valley.

Some place in California so that I can "bond" with these relatives.

I'm not usually an ungrateful person, but god what a load of bullshit. My mom loses contact with her parents for decades and all of a sudden they reappear, and I'm being shipped off to another state alone, so she can stay back and save money.

Not only has this completely thrown off the delusional plans I'd created in my head, but I can't even fulfill my dream of having the perfect summer if I'm away from home.

Especially not with elders in the house.

But it's fine, spending a few months in California shouldn't be too bad. I heard the views by the mountains are killer, and apparently, my grandparents have a pool and an air-conditioned room all to myself, which should be cool.

In all honesty, the whole situation (though I bet my grandparents are lovely) is the last fucking thing I wanted to do this summer if I haven't made it clear enough.

So now that I've filled you in to the best of my ability, here we are, as I panic to finish packing my bags for the summer.

After grabbing the last of my items; a Pink Floyd shirt, a heart locket necklace, and a few of the last rusty rings hidden behind my scuffed dresser, I had finally gathered everything.

I step back, admiring my oddly empty room, as I overpacked and shoved all my life's worth of belongings into 3 suitcases, plus a backpack. I mean, three months is quite a long time, and I refuse to deal with the repercussions of forgetting something at home. 

After managing to carry all my crap down the stairs, with great struggle may I add, I snagged my walkman and hung the headset around the back of my neck, putting the console in my pocket.

Brushing the hair out of my eyes, I quickly slipped on my battered Converse, racing into the garage to meet the red buggy park toward the back wall.

Thankfully, my mom was willing to load my luggage in the trunk for me, so I begrudgingly climbed into the back seat, making sure to grab the bag of crushed chips I left in the seat compartment a few days ago.

The seats were oddly comfortable, yet the overwhelming heat soon engulfed me, making it hard to breathe.

"MOM, COULD YOU HURRY UP PLEASE? I'm burning in here!" I jokingly cried as I wiped the sweat off my forehead with my mucky palms.

"Well maybe if you didn't bring so damn much, this could have been easier." She snapped back, her attitude practically hitting me in the face as the trunk slammed shut and she made her way into the driver's seat.

Soon enough, the car ignited with a roar, the heat becoming suddenly soothing and manageable, as we backed out the driveway.

Sighing, I kicked my legs up onto the other empty seats, leaning my head against the window whilst admiring the warm-hued houses passing by my glossy eyes.

Pulling my SONY 1980 walkman out of my pocket, I slid them onto my ears and pressed play.

I remembered to put in one of my favorite albums - "Off The Wall" by Michael Jackson - so at least I could listen to something during the seven-hour-long car ride, though it would have to loop several times

The buildings surrounding me became less and lass familiar with every passing foot, and as the second track "Rock with You" started to play, I began to relax.

Putting my hands behind my head as a pillow, I shut my eyes and listen to the music, now playing softly in the back of my mind with the rumbling of the road under me.

If only I could turn the car around now.