Bye-Bye

Just an idea that has been rolling around in my head for a while. We'll see if it goes anywhere.

I can still remember how that music used to make me smile.

Those days my alarm clock would buzz before the sun was awake. It was an automatic routine, more muscle than mind. I would take a quiet shower, only soap, no shampoo, and shake my hair dry. My belt would still be threaded though my jeans, and some t-shirt on my floor would usually pass the sniff test. I would shrugged on my navy letter jacket and click a mix tape into my Walkman. In one smooth motion, I would hop on my bike, set my headphones over my ears, and ride. If you had seen it, you probably would have been impressed.

That morning, not a soul was out on the streets. I remembered the past summer, when customers would stand waiting for the paper, for more news on the Scandal. My legs worked against the February chill, pumping the pedals round and round on my paper route. It took an hour altogether, longer if Mr. Johnson's son, Ralphie, didn't finish all the folding on time. As I rode, the sun began to paint the sky orangey-pink, but added no warmth. I turned up the volume on my Walkman, letting Springsteen vibrate my brain.

"Any bad news on the doorstep today, son?" My father grinned as I walked into the kitchen. I pointed to the headphones wrapped around my head. Rolling my eyes, I grabbed the Wheaties and a bowl.