by McKenna Meldrum<\/strong><\/p>\n \n Driving in a car that has no heating in the middle of winter is one of the shittiest parts of my life, and that\u2019s saying something. I live in a small, nowhere, who gives a damn town, so back roads are always a safe bet to get somewhere in a hurry, or a good place to display teen angst through shenanigans in the middle of the night. Most farms are off the beaten trail. Children sneak onto the fields and make sport of stealing the most eggs from the hen huts or scaring the goats to make them yelp and faint. The most dangerous of these farm antics is the tradition of sneaking the largest cow off the farm, taking it to the school, and walking it to the top level of the building as a prank. This ritual is not only tolerated, but also expected since even the elders at the nursing home did it in their youth.<\/p>\n There\u2019s an abandoned building in the middle of the woods that lays off a major road in my town. It is one of the most peaceful places I\u2019ve ever been. Well, I feel peace in its chaos. The old, run down house doesn\u2019t have a door anymore. As I approach the building in the brisk winter air with <\/strong>cigarette smoke clogging my lungs, the bass drum hits me. I suppose I am late to the first set the way I\u2019m late for everything. I kick spray paint cans away from my feet by the entrance.<\/p>\n A beer bottle is laying on the dirty wooden floor, and so I pick it up and throw it against the wall as the chorus starts,<\/strong> yet nobody glances back at me. The Fender plays the same rolling three chords:<\/strong> A, G, D. I\u2019m standing in the darkest part of the back corner with a blank expression on my face, swaying my head back and forth to the music. I lock eyes with Abigail, one of my close friends, or so I thought. She just glares at me emptily. Her bright hair shines against the harsh stage lights, capturing the attention of every guy. I walk out of the dark in a quick rhythmic pattern in unison with the refrain.<\/p>\n She saw past me on purpose, but I still saw the little shine in her eye. Though that shine may dull, I will hold on to those fantasies in my childish daydreams. One mindlessly written song after another, I grow more and more apathetic to this show.<\/p>\n It\u2019s rounding two in the morning, and I have school tomorrow; this should be pleasant.<\/p>\n ***<\/p>\n Every Monday at 3:00 after school I go to work at the same nursing home I\u2019ve worked at for the past year and three months, which has felt like a lifetime of seeing people gradually disintegrate into a fine charcoal ash. It\u2019s run down but you can tell it used to be a Disneyworld for the elderly. Now, it\u2019s just full of dreams greying with age.<\/p>\n Carolyn, Abigail\u2019s grandmother, was sitting in a black wooden rocking chair in the back corner of the bingo hall, knitting with light blue yarn to the beat of the same Twenties song that constantly played on the record player. She slowly tilts her face, looking up at me as I approach her.<\/p>\n \u201cStephan,\u201d she says in a southern slow coarse voice that mirrors how much she smokes. \u201cDarling, I thought you weren\u2019t coming in on Saturdays anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMrs. Waters, it\u2019s Monday.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, why of course it is dear. Young man, come sit down.\u201d She ends the sentence with a loud gasping breath and a husky cough.<\/p>\n I still swear that I saw a fine smoke come out of her lungs.<\/p>\n We paused.<\/p>\n \u201cMrs. Waters\u2026\u201d I say.<\/p>\n \u201cCarolyn.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cExcuse me?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCarolyn, call me Carolyn.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh\u2026Carolyn,\u201d I stumble over my words. Calling an elder by her first name feels rude, and me feeling this way makes me feel childish.<\/p>\n \u201cI need to talk to you\u2026\u201d \u00a0I hesitate. \u201c\u2026about Abigail.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNow, Stephan, bless your little hopeful heart. You know my granddaughter just isn\u2019t interested in you.\u201d<\/p>\n She looks at me with large eyes, Abigail\u2019s eyes, as if I was a lost child with hopeless dreams and in love with being in love and the worst part is that I knew that I was.<\/p>\n The sound of a gruff deep voice behind me hollers from across the room, \u201c42! 42!\u201d Despite this man\u2019s screams, the elderly still wiggle their tan hearing aids in their ears and ask for him to repeat the number in a rude, annoyed tone. \u201cYou\u2019ve gotta speak up, Buster!\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Seen by McKenna Meldrum <h3>Ariel<\/h3> by <strong>Mira Apricita<\/strong> Driving in a car that has no heating in the middle of winter is one of the shittiest parts of my life, and that\u2019s saying something. I live in a small, nowhere, who gives a damn town, so back roads are always a safe bet to get […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":22,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"spay_email":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6Jypy-28V","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8241"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/22"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=8241"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8241\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8241"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8241"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wp0.vanderbilt.edu\/nashvillereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8241"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}