Rodothodane
-Anna K.
The night I was killed, I was running on a street called Rodothodane. It was also the night my mom and I had a huge fight over how I was handling my life. Being a school counselor, she thought she knew everything about kids my age. She made it her job to berate me about how I was throwing my life away by hanging with bad influence friends, and how I could spend more time on what really mattered in my life, like my violin lessons or preparing for college.
“Mom, I don’t need your input,” I countered, trying to block out her annoyed tone of voice. “I can deal with my own life.”
“Sweetheart,” she continued. “I’m just trying to help you realize that you can still turn your life around. You have years ahead of you. However, we are running out of time on your education. We just need to focus a little more on school work and college, and leave time for the important things. Colleges love volunteering, special talents, and we can definitely get better grades…”
“Whoa, Mom, hold on a second. Who is we? There is only me, and I can control my life without your help,” I finished hotly. My mom was starting to get on my nerves.
“Excuse me, Nora, but I am trying to help you. Your friends are brainwashing and depriving you of your education. All they worry about are their boyfriends and where the next party will be held. I knew they were a bad influence.”
”Megan and Tara are my best friends, and they certainly are not a ‘bad influence’,” I retorted. I knew I should have checked my temper, but my mom had picked on my friends enough times that I was sick of her thinking that she knew what was best for me. It was like she was transforming me into a miniature version of herself. I was Kimberly Denning, version 2.0.
“I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to ruin my life so that I have no choice but to be that straight A student with college on my mind 24/7 with no friends and no life. Just back off, Mom! I am 15 years old and I don’t need you trying to live my life for me!” The fight continued through the car ride. We were still screaming at each other by the time we walked into the house.
“Nora, just listen to me for one second!”
“I hate you! You think you know what’s best for me, but instead you are just ruining my life!” I swiftly turned and retreated angrily up the stairs to my bedroom, where I quickly changed into an old cotton T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. After I laced up my sneakers, I grabbed my charged iPod off of my nightstand and stomped back downstairs. My mom
faced the sink. Her shoulders shook a little as she washed the dishes over the sink.
“I’m going for my run now.” I seethed, walking out the front door and slamming the screen shut behind me. I wiped a stray tear off of my cheek as I hiked up the brick path to our white picket fence. I opened the latch and stepped onto the street. The foggy air sagged as though it was weighed down by an invisible force. My breath led the way through the winter-like Massachusetts air to the intersection of Witter and Pierce. I searched through my playlist until I found my favorite song, Always in my Head by Coldplay. Coldplay always made me feel better. Then, I began jogging up Pierce in a steady rhythm with the song.
The last time I visited the doctor, he suggested that I get more exercise because he was worried about my health. I had always been a little overweight since I was a kid, so this was not news to me. I had tried figure skating, horseback riding, soccer, tennis; you name it, I had played it at least once. I am unquestionably not a sports person. However, it surprised me when I found that I enjoyed running. Running gave me the freedom to think and to just be alone for a while. It felt better just to be surrounded by my thoughts and the pulse of music in my ears.
I rounded the corner on Taylor Lane with a new motivation. I was so angry about the way my mom treated me like a little kid all the time. I picked up my pace as my mood turned sullen. What gave her the right to tell me what to do? I took a sharp right onto August Drive immersed in a replay of our earlier conversation. She may have been right, but did that mean I had to listen to her? Why couldn’t she listen to what I was going to say? I had a voice, and I needed to use it right. I followed August onto Rodothodane just as I decided to stand up to my mother’s overbearing nature without letting my temper get in the way of what was on my mind. Midway up the street, a hot pair of headlights flashed in my eyes. Blinded, I tripped over a stone and tumbled into the road, landing hard on my left ankle. The car accelerated towards me at the speed of light. I tried to stand, but my ankle could not support my weight and sent my body barreling back onto the frozen pavement. I screamed for the car to stop until my vocal chords were raw. I screamed until there was silence. All I could feel was the warmth taking over my body.
My mother found me on the street 30 minutes after the crash. The police had called and told her that I was the victim of a hit and run. He had no clue if the driver was intoxicated, although he was nowhere to be found after one of the neighbors called 911. I never got to apologize to my mom. Turns out, I didn’t have years to live after all. My life ended on Rodothodane, alone with the next Coldplay song expanding into a crescendo through my ears.