The Cinnaminsoners

The house shook as I tore down the hall and out the front door, slamming it behind me. I had snagged my keys on my way out and headed down the front lawn towards my car, a '˜96 Chevrolet Camaro. By the time I reached my car, my shoes were soaked from the water left on the grass from when the sprinklers had run earlier. I didn't care. I was pissed.

Once again, my mom and I had gotten into a screaming match over school. It had quickly evolved into a loud fight that had me screaming at my mother about anything and everything. Once again, a simple argument had grown into a fight from which there was no apology. And once again, I was striding angrily out to my car to go for a drive to cool down.

I slumped in my car seat without turning the car on. I thought about the fight and my mom, and how stupid it was that we were fighting. It was the summer of my senior year and in another two months I would pack my life away and move on to college; to the world of freedom, learning and partying. It made me so mad that we were fighting when I knew that in three months we'd be saying how much we love and miss each other. Of course, I could never admit that to my mom. Maybe that's why we always fought. We were just too stubborn and quarrelsome to co-exist under the same roof peacefully. I guess I get that from her.

My musing was cut short, however, by the flash of headlights that permeated my windshield. Even from far off, I recognize the headlight pattern and the exhaust note as my dad, in his Corvette, coming home from work. That was good, I thought. He's the rock of the family, and would set my mom straight. I put my keys in the ignition and started up my car, which turned over with a growl of excitement. The sound of the car, as meager as I knew it was, always made me envision Le Mans race cars tearing around a long track. That's why I always went for a drive, despite what the gas would cost me, every time I was angry or stressed. It relaxed me and made me feel free. Needless to say, I didn't want to be around when my dad came home and heard about the fight my mom and I had had.

I slammed my car into drive and sped off, heading down the backstreets towards Route 130. I had told myself the May before when I got my license that I would be careful and not get a ticket, specifically during the first year I could legally drive. I didn't want to get my new license taken away before I could advance to the adult license when I turned 18. Because of my oath of lawfulness, the fastest I could legally go was on the highways. I got stopped at the red light by the post office, however, and impatiently waited for the light to turn green. The ticking of my left turn signal only made me more edgy. I fiddled with the radio, finally settling on a hard rock station, just as they were playing a block of my favorite band.

My favorite song flicked on just as the light turned green and the strong bass made my heart race. I gunned my car and took off down Rt. 130, feeling the adrenaline surge as my car accelerated. As I reached 60 mph, though, I let off the gas, feeling the adrenaline and rush flow out of my body. The sort of high going fast gave me did not overcome my sense of caution and legality.

I cursed to myself as I glanced down and saw my gas tank was getting low. I had forgotten to fill it up after I had gone out earlier. I kept my eyes peeled for the cheapest gas station, eventually settling on the one on the corner of Riverton Road, where I used to get gas after school. I pulled into the station and turned my car off. I leaned over to pull my wallet out of my back pocket and, with some difficulty, succeeded. I opened it and realized I only had a twenty.

"Guess I'm getting 20 bucks worth," I muttered to myself, rolling down my window as the attendant walked over.

"Hey, Enzo!" the attendant exclaimed. I recognized him as Sam, one of my classmates. We weren't that close, but were acquaintances enough to exchange pleasantries. Sam grinned as he approached my car and asked, "How much ya want?"

"Just get me twenty of regular, ok Sam? Thanks, man." He nodded and popped open the gas cap, inserting the nozzle. After the pump had turned itself off and my tank was replenished, slightly, he headed back to my car window and took my twenty.

"So where you headed after the summer, Enzo?" he asked me. "Anywhere exciting?"

"I guess," I replied. "I got accepted to Stanford's engineering program, so I'm headed out to Cali at the end of August."

"Oh wow, damn!" Sam responded. "That's exciting! Y'all ready to go someplace that far away? I don't know if I could do that."

"Uh, yeah, I mean, I haven't really thought about the distance that much," I stuttered and then deftly changed the subject away from the difficulty of moving away. I didn't want to think about that yet. "What're you doin' in the fall?"

"Oh, nothing too special, probably just stayin' here. My folks don't have the money to send me away, and, I don't know, it doesn't seem like my kind of thing anyway," Sam answered as the smile slowly slid off his face. "My aunt promised me she'd try and get me an interview for a sweet job opening at her office, though!" His grin was back.

"That's awesome," I feigned joy, as I began to feel bad for poor Sam. His problems were clearly more serious than mine. "College is kinda overra-"

Sam cut me off as his manager stepped outside, "Oh crap! I gotta go, Enzo, gotta look lively for the boss! Maybe I'll see you before you leave!" Sam yelled as he quickly strode away.

I shrugged as a melancholy feeling washed over me. For all I knew, this was the last time I'd see Sam for a very long time. I turned my key in the ignition and rumbled out of the station, heading down Riverton Road towards Wood Park. As I passed the park I saw a group kids playing a rowdy night-game of soccer on the fields under the lights. The melancholy feeling I'd had in the gas station intensified. I thought about those kids and how, before they knew it, their lives would be flipped upside down when they all of a sudden grew up, graduated high school and moved on to college, to bigger and better things. The shock of growing up so fast hit me, and hard.

Was it really time for me to move on? Did I want to move on? My driving became automatic, as my mind began to race, reflecting on what was happening to my life. My friends and I would separate, and for years grow independently. Sure, we might get together at a movie or grab a bite to eat once in a blue moon, but the camaraderie we had in high school was only going to get more and more distant. Pretty soon, we'd be married, with kids and a steady job, just as quickly as we had grown up. Life would flash by and we wouldn't even know it. We wouldn't even be aware of it until one day, it would smack us in the face and we'd realize what had happened.

Those thoughts depressed me. I turned down Parry Road, heading home. It was as if I was dying and my life was flashing across my eyes. I thought of all the good times and the bad times I'd had. The crazy stuff my friends and I had gotten into. The fights and stupid arguments we were always in. The fun I'd had making friends with everyone in my classes or cracking jokes to them and my teachers. The sports I'd played. The laughs I'd had. The girlfriends I'd had. I thought of the fun I'd had in school and the many ridiculous homework assignments I'd completed. It all seemed so far away. I couldn't escape from all the memories, they flooded me and I felt like I was drowning in the misery and sadness of feeling my happy life drift away.

But out of my gloom came a thought, about my family and my life. As I turned down my street, I knew what I had to do. Coming to a stop in front of my house, I pulled the keys out of the ignition and stepped out of my car. I jogged up the walk, so my shoes wouldn't get wet, and stepped inside. My mom and dad were standing in the kitchen, waiting for me to get home.

"Hey, Mom," I said, opening up my arms for a hug. "I'm real sorry about earlier -- "