Lost In A Memory (A Taylor Lautner Story)

Goodbyes

Chapter 27- Goodbyes

                “That’s it, Mom,” I explained. My mom was slaving over a dirty pan. It was so crusted with spaghetti that she was leaning practically in the sink trying to scrub it clean. She groaned as she worked.

                “You’re sure. You absolutely have to be back next week? It’s only mid-summer, Taylor.”
                “Oh, trust me, I know, Mom. The director for some new movie wants me to read for the part. And I really gotta land this role,” I let the lie slip easily from my mouth. There was no way I would tell my family that I was ditching their summer because of some girl. Because of the girl. So the little white lie would never hurt anyone. I would be on the plane by Tuesday and in Los Angeles by Wednesday. Maybe I could even hit Taylor Swift up… spend an evening with her at some meaningless bar. That would be the very thing to forget Kaylen forever. Someone who loved me so unconditionally yet hid this from me and let me ruin my life…? Yes, this was the very person who I needed to avoid. Kaylen was no good for me.
                Or at least I tried to tell myself that.

                “I don’t think it’s worth it, dear,” my mother continued, grating at my already rough nerves. It’s just not-”

                “You’re the one who said ‘Oh, Taylor, go for it! You can be whatever you want!’” I interrupted. “Isn’t that what you want now?”
                “Well… yes, dear, but-”

                “Good. Well I’m goin’ for it. End of discussion.” I turned around in my tirade and stomped out the door, ready to drive over the speed limit to wherever the roads would take me. So that’s exactly what I did. I followed no signs, just my sense of feeling in which turns to take. I became a reeling house for emotions. One minute I was raging, causing angered glances and cursing from other drivers; the next minute, calmed, driving almost too slowly down the interstate. There was just me, the car, and the road. All others were of little or no importance.

                I didn’t plan on stopping anytime soon. I was content to drown myself in loud music on the radio, the tough steering wheel, and the squealing tires. The few sparse trees swung by, feeling too close to me for comfort. It felt as though the world was closing in on me, but I held firm and kept driving. But after about a half-hour, I became ill. Finally I grew tired of running away from nothing. What good was running if I didn’t know where to turn next? Physically, I was no match for the stress that my thoughts were causing. I finally parked my car at the field just a mile before Salter’s Lake.

                I walked the rest of the way to the lake, not wanting the paparazzi to see me… as if they had followed me here. The thought was humorous; most cameramen had limited resources when it came to a car chase. The empty field was welcoming. Since the man who owned the plain had sold his land, the city had taken much less effort to keep it trimmed. The weeds grew about waist high, and I waded through gratefully, reveling in the feel of the soft brushes on my bare shins.

                The lake opened up before me, through a break in the trees. I stayed close to the brush, not wanting to be seen by fans or again, the dreaded paparazzi. But deep down I didn’t really have a fear of that today. There were tons of lake-goers, most of them spending a friendly Saturday afternoon on the lake with family. The smell of grilling hotdogs set my stomach growling. I’d completely forgotten about eating lunch.

                A small section of the lake broke off close to the trees. I sat underneath a huge oak, slipping my now bare feet into the water. Strangely calming, the air gave me sudden chills. I was glad I had thought to stop here. Dangling my feet into the water, I began to stare at my reflection. My dark skin and dark eyes were staring back at me, and all at once I had a horrible distaste for them. My ‘rugged good looks’ had taken me nowhere in life, except here, to drag my face in the dirt. I might as well never come back here. The memory of her as my neighbor, of her leading me to that place so close to home only to tell me I’d forgotten, all of that was here. So I need not be with it. I scooted back against the tree in an attempt to catch some more shade. Soon my position was so comfortable that I found myself drifting to sleep.