2. Made for You

The front door used to frighten me. Now it frees me.

I swing it open, daring them to seize me. I walk downstairs, daring them to trip me. I know someone watches me, but only God knows why. But we know where things stand between me and God, don’t we, so let’s not go there.

I’m done going there.

I should be tired of not having a license and not having a car, but I’m not. Instead, I’m breaking the law on a Triumph motorcycle as I start it up and get on out.

I’m not afraid.

Yes you are.

I’m not plagued by the last eight months.

Says who?

The faster I rev this machine and turn the corners, the more unbound I feel. I can almost, almost, really almost escape.

Nope.

But I can and do, and soon even those nagging stupid swirling thoughts inside my head go away.

Just like that.

I don’t hear them anymore.

But I do see the road ahead, and for once I’m happy. I’m a happy boy. I’m not running for my life and I’m not covered in blood and I’m not seeing ghosts and I’m not crying.

Nope. I’m happy.

I’m happy because the sun is shining. School is over, and I don’t have to feel like a sore thumb sticking out. I can’t sleep in like Mom does because I’ve got summer school, but that’s fine. It just means I can avoid finding a job since my last one burned down. I can avoid thinking about all that, and you know what? The wind and the whipping streets all make it go far away.

It’s been a few weeks since graduation, and it’s gone away.

This is the fifth day back at the dump I’d gotten away from, but I’m a different person.

I’m changed.

I am different from the guy who climbed the steps of the school last October and proceeded to slowly waste away with worry.

I pull my bike up in the parking lot and get off.

I’m riding a bike. I mean—come on.

It’s a new day.

The first day of the rest of your life.

So I’ve been telling myself over and over and over.

It’s a Friday, and the weekend is almost here. A weekend that no longer frightens me.

I’d take off my helmet, but I didn’t wear a helmet because that’s how I roll.

You don’t roll anyplace.

“Shut up,” I say.

Then I look around to make sure nobody saw me talking to …

Yeah, myself.

Guess some things never change.