"Where you headed?"

"Santa Fe," I answered, watching as my car was filled up with gas.

"Santa Fe, eh? Why there?"

"I've heard nice things about it," I said, not looking at him.

"So? I've heard nice things about the city too. It ain't no paradise, though."

I shrugged.

"You play?" he asked, observing the guitar case in the backseat.

"I used to," I said.

"You any good?"

I shrugged again. "I play around the city sometimes."

The man set down the oil and stood back up to his feet, wiping his hands off on his pants. "You're all set."

"Thanks," I said, sliding into the driver's seat. I slid the keys out of my pocket and put them into the ignition.

"I hope you find what you're looking for, kid," the man said, as I began to back out of the gas station.

"I'm not looking for anything," I muttered, turning on the radio. I fiddled around with the knob for a while, and kept coming up with static.

Typical. What did I expect, buying a shitty old car for Two thousand bucks?

"A bargain!" the car dealer had insisted. My ass. I was lucky if I would get fifty miles with this piece of garbage.

Finally, I found a station that was somewhat audible, and settled on that.

I glanced at my reflection in the mirror and ran my fingers through my spiky, gelled hair.

Sighing, I increased the volume on the radio.

Old man sitting by the side of the road

With the lorries rolling by

Blue moon sinking from the weight of the load

And the buildings scrape the sky

I drummed my fingers along the wheel to an unsteady beat.

I reached into my back pocket for a cigarette and whipped out a lighter from the other. Right before I lit it I thought better on it, and put them both away.

The car was small, cramped. My shoulders were bent forward, and I was practically hovering on top of the wheel.

A green duffel bag on the passenger seat beside me held a few changes of clothes.

"Roger, where the hell do you think you're going?" I heard my old man's voice pounding in my head, remembering earlier this morning when he'd seen me heading out the door with my fender in one hand and the duffel bag in the other.

"I need to get out," I'd replied.

He'd smirked. "Get out? And do what? Go where? There's no where for you to go, Roger."

"I can't stay here any longer. I need to have some time to myself."

"Oh, Christ. Hey, Edna. Get a load of this!" he'd called up to my mother. "Roger's taking off. He says he needs some time for himself!"

"What's the matter, hon?" my mother had asked, as she came downstairs.

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong. I just need some time to think," I'd said, through gritted teeth.

"Can't you think here?"

"No, I can't."

"What about college, Roger? What about your friends? Mark?"

"He knows where I'm going. And I don't want to go to college."

My father snickered. "You're headed in a bad direction, son."

"I need some time to think," I'd repeated.

"And how the hell do you expect to get anywhere? You gonna hitchhike?"

"No. I have a car."

"That car'll get you as far as White Plains, and that's it."

"I'll be fine."

My father shook his head.

"Call us when you get there, okay?" my mother's said, in a small voice.

I nodded. I walked over to the door and turned the knob. Neither of my parents bothered to say goodbye.

I slammed the door behind me.

Cold wind ripping down the valley at dawn

And the morning paper flies

Dead man lying by the side of the road

With the daylight in his eyes

The volume wasn't loud enough to block out Mark's voice racing through my head, more loud and poignant than my father's.

"You can't just leave, Roger. Don't you want to finish high school? Or go to college?"

"I don't want to go to college. And as far as I know, neither do you," I'd replied.

"Well you're better off here than in the middle of nowhere."

"I'm leaving, Mark."

He'd sighed. "Fine. Call me, okay? Keep in touch?"

I'd nodded.

"You bringing the guitar?"

"No. Why?"

"I dunno. Maybe while you're out there, you'll have found your song?"

Blind man running through the light of the night

With an answer in his head

I glanced into the review mirror to see the rusted old fender behind me, contained in an old brown leather case. Knowing it was back there provided a sort of comfort for me.

Come on down to the river of light

And you can really understand

My neck began to cramp. The seat had no support at all.

The road was empty, surprisingly. Once I'd phone home, I'd have to tell my Dad that I'd made it out of White Plains, I thought, smirking.

Why did I need to leave? I was being caged, at home. I couldn't help feeling like I had a purpose in life, one that I couldn't fulfill in the cramped space of my home.

Unexpectedly, it began to pour.

Red lights flashing through the window in the rain

Can you hear the sirens moan?

White cane lying in the gutter in the rain

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a young girl standing by the side of the road, holding her hand out, gesturing for a car to stop.

…and you're walking home alone

She looked about my age. Her long blonde hair was matted around her shoulders from the rain, and she held nothing but a newspaper over her head to keep herself from getting wet.

What did I have to lose?

I slowed to a stop beside her.

"You going somewhere?" I asked, rolling the window down.

"Somewhere . . .yes, anywhere. I'll go anywhere you can take me. As far as you can go. Just as long as it's somewhere far from here."

"My thoughts exactly," I said. "Hop in. Don't worry about getting the seat wet."

She slid into the passenger seat beside me.

I tossed the old green duffel bag into the backseat to accompany the fender.

"So, where you running from?" I asked the girl.

"What makes you think I'm running from something?"

I shrugged.

"My stepfather."

"Well, that was brief."

"He hates me. He hits me. Calls me names. I just wanted to get away from it all."

"I don't blame you. I'm taking off from my parents too."

"What'd they do to you?"

"Caged me in my home. I need my own space."

She nodded. "I understand."

We drove in silence for a moment.

Don't let it bring you down

It's only castles burning

"So, do you have a name?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "It's April."

"April . . . like the month?"

"Do you know any other kind of Aprils?" she asked, smiling, her teeth gleaming white.

I smiled too. "Mine's Roger. Not like the month."

She chuckled, softly.

Find someone who's turning

"Nice to meet you, Roger."

And you will come around

Song: Don't Let it Bring you Down by Annie Lennox. Words by Neil Young.

a/n: This isn't just a short ficlet, I'm planning to evolve it into a story. Only if you guys like, though. So review and tell me what you think to decide this story's fate ;-). Otherwise, I could just leave it the way it is.