When Life Gives You Lennon

Running

1. Running

A couple days before I decided to leave this shithole, I talked to my father. I wanted to keep it brief, keep it as unemotional as possible. I didn't want him to like, cry or anything. But much to my appreciation, he kept his cool. At least for the duration of the conversation. Basically he walked into my room in our shitty apartment one morning to find me packing away all of my clothing in a small duffle bag.

 "Lennon? Are you leaving?"

"I can't stay in New York anymore, Dad," I said with a sigh. 

He snapped his fingers af if he had figured it all out. "Not rockin' out for you?" 

"Yup. That's it." 

He nodded, as if know it the whole time. "Will you be back?"

Hell no. "I don't think so." 

"Oh. Whatever makes you grow up happy, kid." 

That made me roll my eyes. You could say my parents were John Lennon fans, hence, my name. 

And that was the end of our heartfelt goodbye. He went on tour the next day with his band; They play crappy rock songs no one cares about listening to anymore. Sort of unfortunate, but hey, whatever makes the guy happy right? 

Happy. I think someone looking down on me was an asshole and made it their life's mission to rip out every source of happiness I had left. Or at least that's what it felt like. 

So as I was saying, I couldn't stay in New York anymore. Most people would just die to live here, in the city that never sleeps. But that's just what it felt like. Dying. Everything I did here takes me back to that night, suffocates me in that place. And I just can't take it anymore.

Because that night ruined me. It took the bubbly thirteen year old girl with small hands and bright eyes and turned her into a mess. 

You see, I used to be sarcastic. I don't really know why, I guess I was just born that way. I would deal with everything that happens in my life with bitter humor. 

For example, when I was twelve, my mom was killed in a car accident. Save your pity, we weren't very close. We never hung out or did mother/daughter things because she was part of some washed up band (like my father). But still, she was my mom. One day she went on tour, and then I never saw her again. I remember being at her funeral, little black dress and all. All her band friends were there, and they kept coming up to me saying, "I'm so sorry." And my answer would be simple. "Why? Did you kill her?" Yup, I was that cynical. 

Who knew that a mere year later would come the worst thing that could possibly happen to me. I kept to myself, simply because I didn't want anybody to ask questions or, you know, touch me. I always knew New York was ruined for me. I'm just surprised it took me this long to finally get out. 

And that brings me to today. Standing here, in my black jeans and long sleeved T-shirt and a pair of beat up converse. Sweating because, damn, it feels like summer here. And also a little shaky because, damn, what am I supposed to do now? 

The driver on the metro bus looked impatient as he's waiting for me to either step off or stay on. I hopped down the steps as quickly as I could, and scanned my eyes over the area. There's a huge sign at the bus stop that said "Welcome to Stanton, Georgia! Home of the Stanton Highschool Eagles!" There's also a tree shading the sign, with literally thousands of inscriptions on it. Things like, "T&J Forever" and "Elizabeth & Chris" were scattered across the tree's perimeter. I would have to come back and read all of them more thoroughly.