Dead ends and a caution sign

Dead ends and a caution sign
By: Julia Randall
I rode hard. I was searching desperately for a path that was bound to get me lost. But every path led to a loop around to the same rode ending up a few feet away from where I started,
Every uphill was a dead end. I ran from the dead ends. Riding down the hill, letting the pedals free. I felt like I was running away from something, but ended up outrunning it the further away I got from the dead end, heading back the way I came.
I was on the main road again, I felt like I was free, the wind blowing in my face through my long, wild brown hair. My heart lifted as I road over a speed bump. For a temporary moment, o felt lighter, free of half a pound of worries. But then I road on flat ground again.
I wished that I wouldn’t fall. I wanted to stay in the air longer, able to fly, free of worries, look down upon the small neighborhood I lived in and fly passed all the dead ends. I pictured racing along endless roads, hopefully leading my somewhere, nowhere in particular, just an escape route out of my life, just till I could get my mind strait again.
But I can’t fly, so I did fall back on the flat pavement, continuing up the main road back towards the intersection. AS I came to the four way decision, I froze. I froze because there were 2 roads that would not lead to a dead end. And they were real, standing there right in front of me, tempting me with the taste of freedom.
I thought hard. I could survive. I knew I could survive. But it wasn’t all about me. I could survive, but could they? Was it fair? Was it for the better? No. Not yet. The time would come soon enough. I’d been waiting so long; I could wait a little longer.
For the mean time, I knew that I needed a real escape route. Not a cowardly one. I wasn’t, am not a coward. I needed a place that was only mine, and quick to get to, but what?
A honk from behind me woke me up from my conversation with myself. I looked back, raised an apologetic hand toward the dark blue Honda stopped behind me , rode onto the sidewalk and waited for the roads to be clear to cross.
I made a run for it between a black Hyundai and a silver Mercedes. I cleared both of them riding up the slight uphill on my rd. I went passed my house and road half way up my street, staring into thick forest absent mindedly. I suddenly realized what I was looking at; a dead end. I quickly turned around, pedaled as fast I could, then let the pedals free for the 50th time that day.
I neared my gate. The dark brown wood gate seemed familiar but not comforting. All the same, I pulled my right leg of the bike seat, put both feet on the left pedal and turned to stop right in front of the little hidden door in the gate.
I dismounted my bike. I reached through the slot to feel for the lock. I punched the code in then pushed up then down. It was still locked. Damn it! I just locked myself out, almost as if I didn’t want to go back. Yet, I re-punched the code, slid the lock and un did the latch, and then locked back up.
Pulling my bike behind me and parking it next to my sisters and dads bike. I put down the kickstand and headed for the door. It was locked. I knocked three times so hard it made my knuckles hurt. They wanted me out. I moved my leg to turn around, when the door opened. The sudden burst of air-con rustled my hair.
I walked in, throwing my shoes off. They didn’t want me, they needed me. But did I need them? No. But I could wait.
I went upstairs, heading to the sanctuary of my cluttered, comforting room. I quickly stripped and leaned against the back of my door, staring at the huge post of the Joker from The Dark Knight. I stared into his eyes, thinking about my escape route. I needed a way to get out of my room, but still feel safe. Which was, is, impossible; I never feel safe, not even in the small square section of the world that is my own.
And so far away from where my heart is, making often trips back to its body once a day. Or sometimes never. And it aches, I need a place to stop the aching, but that’s only in my dreams, and sometimes the dreams hurt more than the ache.
I gave up on thinking. I turned my stereo on and blasted it. I stepped into the shower and let the hot water run down my back.
A thought suddenly came to me. All of my fears are in my head, but they still affect me physically. After I dressed and picked up my guitar to plug it in, I finally figured out my escape route; My Mind.
I played hard. I pictured I was playing live along with my chemical romances “MAMA” that was playing on the stereo. I jumped on my bed, rolled on the floor and broke a string.
But then it all disappeared when a knock on my door disturbed my thoughts, followed by a strike of lightning. I would have to go acoustic.
Back to earth, walk on the ground again, flat footed with no flight. I yelled at myself, told myself to stop it. That will never happen, so don’t pretend.
I walked over to my pad, and grabbed a paint brush, some paints and water. I dipped the brush into the water as it instantly soaked up as much as it could. Then I dipped it in the black paint and made a diagonal line across the page. I washed out my brush and then dipped it in the red ink and made another diagonal line forming an “X”.
I stared at that “X” for a long time. Thinking…
nah, I can wait…