The Definition of Time

Chapter 6

I won't make do
with run of the mill
Two kids
Picket fence
And a dog
I want
the kind of thing
love stories are written about
I will go down in flames
and cry for eternity
rather than live with mediocrity.
I will not marry the first boy
with a nice smile, a salary and a ring.

December 19, 2013

"Did you grab your sleeping bag?" I holler to Jordan as I shove my oversized duffel bag into the trunk of my black, beat up Camry.

"Got it!" She calls back, rolling a suitcase behind her with a pillow and bag of snacks in her other hand.

I rush to help her, kindly relieving her of the snack bag and peering inside, "Ooh, whatcha got there?"

Jordan lugs her plaid suitcase into the trunk with a huff as I dig through the snacks.

"Reese's peanut butter cups...goldfish...and are those...double-stuffed Oreos? You spoil me," I wink, passing the snacks back to Jordan.

She laughs, "I have five hours in the car with you playing Bing Crosby's Christmas songs on repeat. You can't expect me to come unprepared."

"They're carols, Jordan. Show some respect."

I cast one backwards glance at the snow-covered campus that I'm learning to call home. A two week reprieve from this school is exactly what I need right now.

I slide into the driver's seat and find the all-year-round Christmas radio station, turning it up as loud as I possibly can without Jordan smothering me with her pillow. I back out of my parking spot, wheels churning in the snow, and drive towards the exit. I glance back at the campus in my rear view mirror, a wave of nostalgia hitting me as I remember arriving here for the first time just a few months ago. How much can change in a few months.

I'm so distracted with remembrances that I don't see the guy running towards my car until his face is almost plastered against my window. I scream and slam on the brakes, the car skidding sideways in the snow. Jordan swears and I'm frozen in my seat, completely paralyzed. "I'll Be Home for Christmas" plays as the creepy soundtrack to our near fatality. Jordan turns the radio off with another bout of cussing.

Someone bangs on the window and I turn. Josh. That idiot. He is laughing hysterically, his face glowing pink from the cold.

"Roll your window down," he calls and I refuse for a moment, catching my breath.

When I finally roll the window down, I immediately hear his chuckling laughter.

"You idiot!" I scream, my hands still shaking on the wheel in a mixture of rage and abject terror.

He's still laughing, "What were you doing? All I did was bang on your door!"

"I thought I hit someone," I screech back, finding very little humor in the situation, "You could be dead right now. Roadkill."

"I'm pretty sure you were going so slow that a squirrel would have survived," he answers, smirking.

I frown. So I'm a slow driver; that just means I'm safe.

He detects my inability to see the humor in the situation and finally apologizes, reaching through the open window to touch my hand that's still squeezing the steering wheel in a vice grip, "Sorry, Rach. I wasn't trying to turn you into a murderer."

I can still detect the smirk at the corner of his mouth and that stupid sparkle in his eyes.

"So why did you chase my car down and nearly throw yourself into oncoming traffic?" I try to stay angry at him, but it's really hard when he's so dang cute.