To Protect My Honor

Hard Choices I

From then on, I felt like I didn't need Victoria. She obviously didn't think of me often, so why did I think of her? As the days passed, I felt better and better. I was glad to finally have the situation in the past once and for all. I mean, I did miss having her around, but that's life. People come and people go, and you can't do anything about it.

Many weeks had passed, and spring had returned to Southern California. The city was warm again, but not hot. April and October were my two favorite months for weather. Not too hot or too cold.

Also, I had many new ideas for things to write. However, I soon realized that most of them weren't that good. I had enough on my plate with school, and by this point, I was very satisfied with my grades.

I was also fairly certain that 2017 would be an all-time great summer for me, just like 2014 and some other years. I don't know why that was, I just had a hunch. But my hunches are hit or miss. I really wasn't certain at all, now that I think about it, just hopeful.

What I meant by that is that important things would probably transpire that I would be a party to. I didn't know what they were, but that was more than a hunch: that kind of stuff always seems to happen.

I created some playlists on my YouTube channel the week before Palm Sunday. One of feel-good summer songs, one of hymns for Easter, and one of emotional ballads, which can sometimes be good; I like the good ones. I listened to all three of them in a row every day.

I tried to write some of my story ideas, but I had the worst case of writer's block in a while that spring. It was not clear why; it just seemed like I had so much to say but no idea how to say it.

I couldn't afford to slow down now. I had made so much progress since my beginnings in late 2015. I needed to keep up the momentum.

As midnight approached on the night of April 11, I had this idea for a story. It just came to me based on something I had thought up in the past, and it had a really good surprise ending. I wrote and wrote and couldn't stop until I had finished. By then, the sun had come up, and I had three hours before I had to leave for my only class that day.

I took the story to my mom, and asked her to read it. She liked it, but advised me to post it in installments to keep people excited. I would eventually do so, but after the week following Easter.

"How much sleep did you get last night," she asked.

"None. I spent the whole time writing this."

"Wow. You must be tired. Can you make your noon class?"

"Yes," I said. "I'll leave around 10:45."

And so I did. I was taking a prep English class, which wasn't that taxing; I could stay awake and do the classwork, but that was about it. When it finished, I only remembered about fifteen percent of what the professor had said - immediately afterward. That's how tired I was.

I boarded the bus home, and missed my stop because I fell asleep, ending up in Burbank, 9 miles from home. I boarded a bus back, arriving one hour and twenty minutes after I was supposed to. 

"Milton," said my mom. "Where were you?"

"I fell asleep on the bus and took it, like, fifty extra stops."

"I figured as much."

"Yeah, I am tired," I said.

"You have any homework?"

"Yes. About two hours' worth due tomorrow."

"Well, you can get started on that now and be done around six," she said. "Then you can just have some dinner and go to bed. Sound good?"