|
|||||||
|
|
|
|||||
|
|
|||||||
Breathe.
Breathe. Breathe. Don’t panic. I assume that the most sensible thing to do now
is push, I
said silently. So I willed myself to push hard. No go. No one should ever be
put into this kind of situation. Ever. And I’m alone too. At 3 a.m., in
the middle of a lifeless street. This is the price you have to pay for being so
irresponsible, for being too carefree. However do you get into this kind of
situation?! I chided myself. I felt panic well up inside of me, causing me
to sweat profusely. My damp hair had clung to my face and neck like wet
wallpaper. I tasted something salty. Tears maybe. Sweat more likely. Probably
both. I didn’t know what to do. I felt helpless. I closed my eyes for a moment.
This can’t be happening, I thought. This must be some sort of
horrible, terrible, ugly nightmare (is there a wonderful, terrific, beautiful
one?). I’ll wake up and find myself in my room, and not in a deserted street, I
tried to convince myself. I quickly opened my eyes and all I saw was a blurry
vision of an endless road ahead of me. I felt myself shudder. I pinched myself.
No, this is as real as can be. Thirteen years?! Of course you’d have some
trouble. What were you thinking? Never again act on a whim! Now you’re facing
your worst predicament ever. All because you were a stupid, pathetic, immature,
idiotic, mentally deranged…(and the list went on, I practically thought of
every kind of negative adjective I knew)…nincompoop. I started to hear
myself muttering, “No amount of insults will get you through this situation,”
So I then gave myself a pep talk. “You can deal with this. You love challenges,
you’ve never given up on any…why start now? All you need to do is take a deep
breath and push real hard!” I said a silent prayer, took a really deep
breath, squeezed my eyes shut and pushed hard. I suddenly felt my body
go limp as a noodle. Then I heard a cry…funny how it seemed so distant when the
one crying was me. I slumped on the ground and bawled like a baby. I
felt so defeated. Defeated by a piece of machinery that you would call a
car. By an old car. By an old,
temperamental car. By a temperamental thirteen-year-old
car (is the number 13 really bad luck?). I guess it had more sense than me,
sputtering like it had after I revved up the engine and ceasing to move an inch
when I was about to go way over the speed limit, I thought ruefully.
I started to hiccup. I lifted my head up and started to open my now
puffed-like-roasted-marshmallow eyes with some difficulty. My eyes flew open in
an instant and my hiccups dissolved quickly when I noticed that the
kill-joy-of-a-car-that-wouldn’t-start was starting to roll down the road! Thank
goodness it was rolling down very slowly. I knew I could catch up even
if I crawled (I was exhausted after all). I started to stand up as I began to mutter, “Me and my joyri—“
the words got caught in my throat and became an all-out scream that echoed
through the darkness as I started to break into a run. I had assumed wrong.
That thing seemed to be mocking me as it began to roll faster as it
gained momentum going downhill. I ran like a thousand cheetahs were after me. I
never knew I could run that fast (nothing like thoughts of wrecked cars,
fireballs and other things along that line to propel my legs to run faster).
The car must have slowed down or something, because before I knew it, I was
just inches away from the driver’s door (thank goodness I thought of leaving it
open!). I then noticed that the car was just a few feet from a ditch! In a
flash, I was able to clamber into the driver’s seat. I could barely believe I
had gotten in the car! I was
positively giddy when I turned on the ignition and it vroom-ed back to life! It
sounded like music to my ears. I thought, Boy, this car is moody! I headed back home. I didn’t want to think
of what could have happened if I hadn’t gotten to the car in time. Pretty soon,
my house was in sight. I sighed in relief. My ordeal was over, at least as far
as the car—and not my parents—was concerned.
That was one for
the books… I huffed. I puffed. I pushed. I almost blew my lungs out.
Joyrides have
taken a back seat in my life since then...you don’t have to ask why. These
days, I make sure that I bring someone along with me when I drive (especially
the car-that-turned-out-to-be-a-moody-yet-effective-teacher)...you know, just
in case.
I know that most of the stories
are a bit long, but I hope they were worth reading. Writing them was fun for
me, and as I wrote the above stories, I couldn’t help but hope that the readers
will see the subtext planted within them. As I put my ideas into writing, I
have always bore in mind what kind of lessons I would like to share with others
and how I’d tell it to them without being boring. I will not hesitate to say
that I am proud of these stories. Part of me is in every story because each one
has a thought that I have often pondered upon. My ideas about selfishness,
responsibility, escapades, parting ways, friends, change, and other experiences
in life...they build me as a person and with them, I hope, that others may
learn from them, if not, even just give these ideas some thought.
May I please ask a favor? Please,
please, e-mail me your feedback to my stories? I’d really appreciate
that...regardless if my stories are good enough for your book or not. I just
want to know your reaction, and also just so I know you read my stories. And, I
guess it won’t hurt to read how much you liked (or-- *blush* but I hope
not—-disliked) my stories. You know, constructive criticism and all that—-so I
know what (or more of), what kind of stories I’ll send next time. I won’t stop
writing stories (and sending them to you)!
I’m really looking forward to your reply! God bless you and till next
time—-ciao!
Ninna
S. Palmario