The loud beats and voices of my favorite artists tore to pieces the whole audience, including me, sitting in the front seat of an old mother's pickup truck, which was drowned in the beautiful rhythms of Pink Floyd.
I sang loudly every line of the song, while simultaneously glancing through the car glass at the outside world; I saw trees around, flooded with sunbeams, a crowded highway into the city, but now I can see the time-worn, faded inscription "welcome to Riverdale."
Welcome to the tedious and uniform world, simply put.
I drilled her eyes, trying to give myself more positive emotions, singing another portion of my favorite music that I downloaded to disk yesterday.
"Do you remember my words, Jellybean?" Mom asked the question in the forehead, reducing the sound of the speakers to a minimum. Nick Mason's voice barely broke through the noisy sounds of tires and the snoring of an old pickup, who had obviously served a couple of decades before falling into the safe hands of my mother.
I took a deep breath, giving myself unprecedented patience and answered:
"It's hard to forget about it if you remind every five minutes, Mom."
"This is necessary, and you know it," on the last word, she looked at me with her penetrating gaze as if I really could forget something that was said from her lips.
"Work on Penny Peabody, be extremely careful with her, don't plunge into any stories, don't swear with Jughead, don't be offended by dad, do homework, listen to my teachers, don't fight and don't ...
"As if you know how to fight, JB," Mom jokingly pushed in the shoulder, smiling with her feline smile.
I involuntarily looked at her, trying to imagine a woman much more confidently than my mother. But for some reason, some other comparisons did not occur.
Gladys Jones was the epitome of strength, cunning, and steadfastness. She combined the feminine qualities inherent only to charming people but also had a very strict and strong character, which gave her a fighter with strategy and plan.
"What I'll do in the near future," I replied with all the seriousness and awareness of my own powerlessness. I need to learn how to fight.
I'm moving to Riverdale. Mom leaves back to Toledo's grandparents, sending me to live with my dad and brother, but not only to go to school and do all sorts of things that teens usually do at my age of fifteen.
I am going to work for Ghoulies.
A little unbearable girl is going to smuggle for a decent amount. Even though Gladys taught me, I still felt a vague alarm inside.
Penny Peabody, the gang leader of the Ghoulies, the blonde-haired bitch from hell and just the hated person was supposed to be my new. boss. At the appointed time, I set off at night to deliver, as Penny herself said, money to their partners. Everything is simple and clean.
I take the delivery, go to the destination, deliver and quietly rinse off home. Nothing criminal. Just a delivery man. Like extracurricular work. And there is absolutely no difference between any other work of my friends.
"Talk to Jughead about this," Mom advises, stopping by the city. "It seems he has a very athletic friend, such a redhead. Pull you in the right shape, huh?"
I frowned, clenching my fists.
"Better sign me up for self-defense courses."
It's hard to admit, but more dangerous adventures of the great delivery girl, I was scared by Archie Andrews, the same red-haired athletic friend of my brother whom I idolized while still reading teenage magazines with the covers of guys that accurately describe the appearance of your brother's best friend.
As a child, guys often took me with them to football, where I shouted out their names loudly, imitating the support group of our school, where I wanted to sign up as a senior. In the summer, we had fun on the Sweetwater River, where the water shone from the sun and life flowed by its wonders. We climbed into the far seats of the cinema, gaining a huge mountain of popcorn and onion rings from Pops. Cars were being repaired in Andrews' old garage, where Betty Cooper, Archie's neighbor looked in, bringing with her all sorts of goodies and always some new tools from a nearby auto shop.
As far as I can remember, but as yet I am not complaining about the memory, I always wanted to be liked by Archie. Just a little, for a second, for just a moment. Is a moment too much? Did I ask a lot?
I wore the best outfits, imitating the girls from glossy magazines, which Betty sometimes brought for me. Always pleased in everything and supported all of Archie's crazy ideas, even if Jughead suddenly turned against. Carried engine oil of the best quality, and easily controlled the internal engine, disassembling the wheels and gearboxes. I made delicious sandwiches and made chocolate pudding when the guys went to a construction site with Andrews father.
But what did I get in return?
"Thank you, B, you're the best."
"Jell, I'm owed."
"Come with us, but just grab the pudding, Jellybean."
Now looking at these memories, one by one, sorting through, like old photographs that you unexpectedly found in an old dusty box that you hoped you would never open, it's hard to say why I so diligently showed my love for a man who didn't even notice me.
I still persuade myself to stop thinking about the past. Stop feeling sorry, and finally pull yourself together and start living now. And if I start to think about it every second of my life, will something change? Can I turn back the clock, give the old kick to myself and do something different? Not. I have to exist with the thought that the past taught me not to repeat old mistakes. Never again.
"Get out and say goodbye to your Old Man," says mom, unfastening her seat belt, looking at the house opposite.
The Old Man is our dark brown pickup truck, which has become something akin to home for my mom and I. We used to travel often on it, climbing onto the open hood at night to watch the stars. We traveled on it, it seemed all my life.
I crawled out of the cool pickup cabin in the dry and hot climate of the Riverdale everyday life, looking around my future home.
Home. It's unusual to say this now when Toledo has so much dug into my own concept of "home". Yes, there was a bit of space, but comfortable. Nearby are resourceful grandparents, pickup trips during the holidays, a gang of Toledo serpents that I headed ...
Looking at a two-story building of a typical construction of all equipped houses, I couldn't say that I felt something specific.
Driveway, flower plantations, shiny patio. They were clearly preparing for our arrival.
Not having time to figure out what happened, the familiar smell of wet hair and dog joy was penetrated into my nose. Becca, my favorite, left in the care of Jughead, putsp her nose in my hands and looked at me happily.
"Becky, baby," I let out an exhilarating sigh and pressed the former cur to me.
Dark red spots and one white on the forehead gave her a familiar warm feeling as if I had really returned home.
Becca used to wander in the dangerous streets of Southside until she wandered into our trailer, where I revealed the initiative to shelter the poor dog. When we had to leave in Toledo because of our bankruptcy, Becca had to leave here because my grandmother could not stand dog hair. Of course, I had to take a strict promise from Jughead to take care of my darling, but where without victims?
Looking at this house in front of me, I couldn't believe that Dad broke out of the tenacious clutches of hated bottles of alcohol and began to lead a more or less measured life of a normal person.
Mom was already ahead of me and almost reached the front door when she turned around and said:
"You will like it here."
How could she know?
I shrugged vaguely and followed suit, stepping quietly over the threshold. As soon as I felt the charms of unknown smells coming from the kitchen, I immediately followed the aroma, a train laid down next to me.
The kitchen was small but cozy: light brown furniture with glossy lining, chairs with soft upholstery and a white fluffy carpet on the doorstep. Everything seemed to glow from novelty and purity. A huge window overlooked the neighboring houses and garden plantations of the backyard.
"Jellybean?" I heard a painfully familiar voice that I heard, it seems, forever.
Jughead was the same Jughead. A dark-gray hat adorned a silky head of hair, gray eyes shone with wisdom and thoughtfulness, and his usual half-smile curved his lips. His hands invited me into a tight hug, which I succumbed to:
"Jughead!".
Dad stepped out of the back door with a towel thrown over one shoulder and a half-shaven beard. To my surprise, I noticed a vigorous smiling face, which had not been with him before. No circles under the eyes, clean hair and a neat look. What happened to old FP Jones, a drunkard, and a loafer?
"Look who's grown up," Dad mumbles joyfully, wrapping me in yet another tight hug.
"Glad to see you," I honestly say, looking around his new image again.
It seems that he looked at that moment, as if he had put all his fortune, and won a huge lottery for a thousand bucks. His face was painted with a proud smile, and wearing a police cap, dad patted me on the shoulder and answered:
"Sheriff Jones is ready to fight crime!"
Mom, despite her eternal severity, which became an integral part of her usual nature, allowed a cheerful smirk to slip over her face, where true pleasure was expressed for a moment.
"You are late, FP," Mom jokingly looked a watch on her hands and nodded at the door, ringing the keys of a pickup truck.
Dad hastily kissed Jughead and me on the cheek and hurried to the exit. Such changes, honestly!
It was such a family action that I involuntarily pinched my hand, fearing that this perfect illusion would suddenly melt.
"Keep away her from these annoying boys, Jughead," Gladys patted her son's shoulder, smiling.
"Mom!" I say indignantly, standing between them.
Incidentally, I was going to find a mate for the autumn ball, which, of course, was the lesser of the problems, but nonetheless simply could not interest me.
It seems that Peter, who used to sit in chemistry with me, was in love with me, which means he could invite...
"Fortunately, this is my direct responsibility," Jughead answers in the same tone, taking me by the shoulders. His eternal habit is "I am your elder brother."
Gladys shakes her head in the affirmative as if everything is going according to her plan, and her lips still have the same calculated smile. She, of course, —, doesn't want me to be distracted once again, which is basically true.
"You know what to do," she says, saying goodbye to me. "Don't let me down, Jellybean."
Easy to say, harder to do.
After all, tonight my first assignment awaits me.
I hope not the last.