NaNoWriMo: Day 2: My story so far.

     At first this was going to be a witch v vampire novel.  After writing about a hundred words I decided to change the story and to start writing a "memoir-esque" novel.

-Excerpt 1-

     It was the summer of fruition.  All the things I had sown had grown.  Trees of knowledgable apples, regretful pomegranites, and sentimental oragnes.

     We knew that summer was different.  Something had swept into town on the tail of a cumulonibus cloud and setteled in.  It hung in the atmosphere making the distant horizon of the Gulf look sleepy, dreamlike.  It condensed in the water making it hot.  Whatever it was, it clung to whatever it could find and turned it into summer.

     I didn't sleep in on that first day of summer break.  My sleep had been restless.  Even my dreams had a faint, effervescent quality as if they languished as soon as they began.  I pryed myself from beneath the warm security of the quilt and, with a mixture of reluctance and static anticipation, dressed.

     Perhaps nothing had really changed.  Maybe it was the same as when you buy a new car, and only then do you notice how many of them are on the road.  Maybe it was something like that.  Maybe that's why the green of the recenty watered yards seemed electric that morning.  Maybe I couldn't smell every flower as I drove by them.  It doesn't really matter if it was all in my head or not though, it's how it happened.

     The plastic seat was hot, sticky as if melted by the sun.  It seared and adheared to my skin, and the burn felt good, because I felt good.  I drove with my window down, the hot air whipping through the car and sucking the stuffiness out.  The signiture sweet-bubblegum-pop-rock of The Beatles spilled from the speakers.

     The ring ting of the tambourine.

     I pulled up into his driveway.

     The sing song of Paul Mcartney's voice.

     I put it in drive as he closed the passenger side door.

     The abracadabra of John Lennon's lyrics.

     I peeled away and drove into the summer.

~

    The bass shook the rear view mirror.  Everything shook when Jake rode shotgun.

    Jake was a year younger than I (me?), but I admired him.  He was always so relaced, at ease with the world.  From the night I met him, barely a month before, I had been enamored.

    We drove no where in particular for an hour in near silence.  Jake broke it when he said, "Do you smoke?"

    I said American Spirits.

    He laughed, "No, I mean, do you smoke weed."

    Oh, I was tempted to lie.  Oh, I was so tempted, but I said, "No."

    Jake turned and looked at me; I kept my gaze on the road.  "Want to?"

    Yeah.

    "Cool."

    Cool.