Down the Long Road
Chapter One: Cherry Mustangs and Frying Pans
She stood still watching the movers bring furniture into the bright yellow house, wishing one of them would drop her father's black antique table and at least crack the ugly old thing. The breeze blew past her hair and tickled her chin as she kicked at the payment, scuffing her new boots. She sighed knowing that if her father saw the damaged he'd have a fit. She began walking down the sidewalk just to get away from all the brightly colored houses and neat clean cut grass and white picket fences, it was all giving her a headache. Everything was an eyesore in this neighborhood; she wished she could go back to the dirty streets of New York and live her old life again, before her mother died, before her father was a full time workaholic, before her oldest brother was shipped off to fight in the growing Vietnam War and before the brother she once looked up to became a struggling addict of drugs and alcohol. Back when everything seemed to work out on its own.
Charlotte pulled out a pack of Camels, crossed the street and dodged a racing Cherry Red Ford mustang all in one go. The car hadn't even stopped or slowed down as it sped down the road.
"Assholes," She muttered with a cigarette in her mouth cupping her hand around it to block the wind so she could get a light. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled and closed her eyes to relax, her nerves were beginning to calm from the withdrawal. Her eyes wandered the street, a basic survival skill she had picked up from her old group of friends, being careless got you slaughtered from head to toe and hung from a street lamp for everyone to see. Nowhere was safe, sometimes not even in your own territory. After the first couple of blocks the bright pretty houses seemed to dull down as she walked down the street, houses seemed to lose their color and the freshly cut grass began to yellow and brown all in patches, no more picket fences.
Puffing out little rings with her mouth just for fun, the girl stopped as wind and the smell of smoke swirled around her whipping her hair in her face, leaving small stings in place of where they hit her cheeks. Tires screeched to a halt and as the sixteen year old began crossing the last road to the middle class a familiar Cherry Red mustang skidded to a stop in front of her. A handsome boy leaned out from the passenger side window, his black hair falling onto his forehead as he leered out at her and somehow managed, if possible, to give a bad wink.
"Hey, Blondie," The boy called out to her as he got out of the car, leaving the door open, "Hey, I was talking to you, Blondie."
"Piss off, Jock." She told him gruffly brushing past him; she didn't get far before he was pulling her back by her left arm, making her fall hard against the hood of the car. She winced at the impact, her half smoked cigarette falling from her mouth to the ground, burning the hem of her black t-shirt.
"Hey, don't ignore me, Blondie. I was speaking to you," she could smell the whiskey on the teenagers' breath, her nose scrunching upward in disgust, a churning feeling in her gut. The other boy got out of the driver's seat blocking the other side of her only escape. "You know, I saw you at the old Rant's house, so I know you live there. But one thing I don't get is why you're walking towards the hoods homes; don't you know the greasers live there?"
Blondie, as she was so affectingly nicknamed curled her upper lip and glared at him through partially slit eyes, staring at him in disgust.
"You know, you have such a pretty face, you're even prettier than my girl, Cherry. And she's supposed to be the best looker around." He laughed and picked up her chin between his fingers, she jerked away roughly not wanting to be touched by the creep. "Hey, look, Blondie has some red in her hair. Maybe instead of Blondie we should call you Strawberry, because you're just so sweet and delicate, aren't you?"
"Real original, there. Never heard that one before." She spat at him, sending a wad of spit to his left cheek. "You're revolting, now get hell off me before I break that pencil straight nose of yours, Soc."
His upper lip curled upper and when he closed his eyes his nostrils flared in anger.
"You little bitch, how dare you!" He yelled at her, smacking her across the face. "You know what? Maybe you aren't high class and you just act like it, maybe your just some little bitch greaser."
The Soc reached into his back pocket and slowly, almost tauntingly, pulled out a pocket knife. He flipped it open to reveal seven inches of a sharp metal blade, he waved it back and forth between her face making a clicking sound with his tongue.
"Maybe you need to be taught a little lesson," He drawled out, sliding the blade up and down her top making a shiver run up her back as the cool metal touched the bottom of her stomach.
Things had gone way too far, her stomach began churning again. A swirling anger was making its way from her gut to her throat as she screamed out the frustration and kicked the jock in the stomach sending him flying backwards onto his butt. The other boy swung at her, his knuckle grazing her cheek before she grabbed his wrist and arm and swung him down onto the road.
"Sorry to burst your bubble, Soc, but I'm not so sweet and innocent." She growled at him as he ran flying towards her. She pulled back her right hook and hit him right in his freckled nose; a satisfying crunch could be heard and blood began gushing from his now bent nose.
"You, you bitch!" He yelled at her, grabbing his nose in one hand and his blade in the other.
"Don't you have any better comebacks?"
She ran around the car and began running down the street looking behind her to see the boys scrambling to get back in the car and chase after her. The jocks last demand still ringing through her ears as she ran, "Get that greaser!"
Her blood was pumping as the car engine rumbled and the tires screeched against the pavement. Her hair smacked at her face and caught in her mouth as she ran but that was nothing more than a second thought to her now. She turned into the next street on her right where a little further down she could see the lights of a living room and the distance shadows of something moving in front of the window. Darkness covered the streets, leaving only a few dim lamp post light the surrounding area. The light seeping from the window was her only hope as she heard the engine growing closer and the swerve of tires turning. She was almost there, the thought running through her head over and over again as the light got brighter and the shadows more distinctive.
The tip of her shoe managed to catch the crack in the jagged road and she came crashing down onto to cold rough pavement, scraping her hands and chin. She winced and cursed loudly as she pushed herself up, the gravel digging into the already burning cuts. She ran faster growing less observant of her surroundings and jumped up on the lawn, her boots digging into the dirt and grass. She reached the front door and banged on it repeatedly, yelling for assistance. In a panic knowing the car was just down the street she grabbed the doorknob hoping it would open and to her luck, it did. She swung the door open and slammed it shut pushing her back against it and closing her eyes for a second to catch her breath before she heard a loud screech and someone saying 'Gotcha, Dally!' before she was hit across the head with a cold round metal object, that suspiciously felt like a small frying pan before she blacked out.