So, one thing that I've been trying to work on while in Korea is writing more. I still plan on continuing my education in the field of English/Creative Writing, so I feel that this is a very important task for me. There are always distractions in life, and I always seemed to allow myself to find better things to do than to sit down and write. I have been taking an online writing class, which has helped me with motivation. So I thought I would share something that I wrote recently. It was just a little timed writing (only 10 minutes!) concentrating on writing in second person (the "you" voice), but here it is. Enjoy!
The car wash has started. Your heart is beating at high velocity against your rib cage as the water starts sprinkling against the hood. As it comes closer, you realize you have no idea what temperature it will be. Do they use hot water? Wouldn’t that get really expensive? But the water is coming closer, then it’s hitting your face and shoulder, and you realize it’s cold. Frigid. Like it just barely melted from the polar ice caps and somehow miraculously got piped into this Kwik Trip car wash.
The need to get out is excruciating. As soon as the sprayers go past the car door, you open it and step out. Excess water spills out, echoing loudly as your sneakers hit the concrete. You take a quick step back and appreciatively take in the stupid paintings the stupid asshole you were dating get incredibly, stupidly wet and smudged. Then you take a few more steps back, and center yourself in front of the hood.
You watch as your mother’s beautiful gray convertible gets irreversibly soaked. And ruined. The paintings, too big to fit in your trunk, are standing awkwardly up, anchored by straps from the wind. And then you touch your face, and realize you’re weeping because the water on your hand is warm.
Is it too much to ask to not be betrayed? You think back to how things have been in the past few weeks. It didn’t seem as if anything had changed, not really, and maybe that’s it. Everything’s the same. The very definition of being in a rut. But couldn’t that also be happiness?
The suds are starting. The foam is coating everything, making it almost impossible to make out the ochers and oranges of a sunset. The painting of you, smiling softly, is fogged over with chemical cleaners. The view from your kitchen window is almost indistinguishable, but you can see it clearly because he hadn’t gotten all the colors right. It’s a lot louder standing outside a closed car.
And finally, the Turtle wax is beginning. Because this destruction certainly deserved the Ultra Deluxe package. This makes them high-gloss paintings, and certainly not high caliber. The paint is running in rivulets onto the seat, down to the floor in little brown puddles.
You laugh a little, wipe your wet, furrowed brow. You had never been grounded in high school, but holy fuck are you in so much trouble right now.
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