Punk 57

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I laugh at her Princess Bride movie reference. She’s been saying that for seven years. The first year, we were required to write each other as part of a fifth grade project, pairing students in her class with students in mine. Just go home and get in bed, Annie. Stop getting up at 4:30 in the morning, and get a decent night of sleep. Slipping the paper into my glove box, among a few other of my favorites of Ryen’s letters, I take my pen, hovering it over the notepad that sits on my lap. Until I run across a photo of a girl online. Name’s Ryen, loves Gallo’s pizza, and worships her iPhone. What are the chances? That line really hit me the first time I read this letter a couple years ago. And the hundred times since then. How can she say so little and yet so much?

You see, there’s a girl at school. You know the kind. Cheerleader, popular, gets everything she wants… I hate to admit this, especially to you, but a long time ago I wanted to be her. And some caramels,” she adds, ignoring my request. “Or anything chewy.” She then hops off the step, taking off at a faster pace down the street away from me.She’s my muse, and she has to know it by now. I’ve been using her as a bouncing board for years, sending her lyrics to read. No, actually, it’s far worse, and I’m a little embarrassed to tell you. But I think negative feelings should be released. Just once, right? I couldn’t write lyrics before Ryen. And now, since that night three months ago, I can’t write anything. Yessssss.” She bows her head in dramatic nods. “I’ll see you when you get home, okay? Go get my root beer and candy.”

I hear my phone beep again, and I falter. “Alright,” I growl, willing the damn texts to stop. Can’t my bandmates host a party without me for five minutes? We only had three rules. No social media, no phone numbers, no pictures. We had a good thing going. Why ruin it?I stare at her words again, running over the sentence in my head. When she removes her make-up, taking off her brave face for the day… But what if I hear her voice and I like it? What if her laughter in my ear or her breathing into the phone haunts me as much as her words, and I want more?

It didn’t take long for us to figure out the mistake. And in no time at all, we were arguing about everything. The best take-out pizza. Android vs. iPhone. Whether or not Eminem is the greatest rapper ever… So driving helps me think. He’s doesn’t need to bust my ass just because I can’t help it when ideas hit me. I shoot my glare farther up the road and see that she’s right. Her blue MINI Cooper sits on the right shoulder, waiting for her. Okay, sorry. I just had a Facebook break, so I feel better now. Not sure when I turned into such an idiot, but I’m glad you put up with it.

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It feels like shit to be alone. To be in a place full of people and feel like they don’t want you there. To feel like you’re at a party you weren’t invited to. No one even knows your name. No one wants to. No one cares. And she’s right, I guess. What if I hear her voice and her letters become less special? I get to imagine her personality through her words. That would change if I heard her tone. A chain hanging somewhere in the vast space above me blows in the gust and bangs against a rafter while a shiver creeps up my spine. You would absolutely hate her. She’s everything we can’t stand. Mean, cavalier, superficial… The kind who doesn’t have a thought stay in her head too long or else she needs a nap, right? I’ve always been fascinated with her, though. In fifth grade, my teacher set us up with pen pals from a different school. Thinking I was a girl, with a name like Misha, the other teacher paired me up with her student, Ryen. My teacher, believing Ryen was a boy like me, agreed.

Annie is my only sibling, and despite my less-than-stellar relationship with our dad, she and I get along really well. But how can I be mad at her? She’s going places, and she’s a happy kid. Anything I can do to make her happier, I guess.Proofreading & Interior Formatting by Elaine York, Allusion Graphics, LLC/Publishing & Book Formatting So just to set the record straight from our last argument, Kylo Ren is NOT a baby. You understand? He’s young, impulsive, and he’s related to Anakin and Luke Skywalker. Of course he whines! How is this a surprise? And he’ll redeem himself. I’ll bet you on it. Name your price. I mean, what the hell is she thinking? It’s bad enough being out here alone during the day, but at night? Letting out a silent laugh, she shakes her head and speeds up, forcing me to, as well. “And do you know where we are?” she argues. “On the road between Thunder Bay and Falcon’s Well. No one’s ever on this road. I’m fine.” She arches an eyebrow at me. “And you sound like Dad.”