The age of technology, interesting is it not? A culture
consumed by the drive of keyboards and internet access, instant connections
with a dozen different social sites to connect with from the simplest forms of
teenage interests to the highest forms of educational discussion. This constant
display of social morphing and forging turns even the most recluse scared
individuals to kings and queens of their own virtual domain in whatever area of
interest they desire to pursue. The day is the 23, the month June of the year
2007 in a small town just outside of Charleston, Mississippi.
Within
this town there exists a small high school. This school holds no special
purpose or significant value aside from the typical use of casually moving the
semi steady flow of new displaced and uncertain teenage minds of the city
through the uncomfortable social shift of elementary hand held education to the
oh so dramatic shift of high school persuaded mental puberty. A swarm of
nervous and yet excited faces preparing to initiate into this new environment
with hopes of being the smartest or most popular or strongest, fastest athletes
before they leave the doors of their new established domains. Or contrary, there
is the select few who proud and secluded in their own worth as human beings of
both scholastic hunters and athletic achievers that deviate from the swarm of
social absorption to meander towards their own goals of excellence, tossing
aside the affections and admiration of those eyes of curiosity, people much
like Cindy Trendolar. A young woman, not from the expected heritage of rich wealthy
debutants weaved into intellectual workings of finances or medicine or any of
those careers one would expect to breed such finesse as she possessed, but from
a family of poor origins and insignificant careers in ordinary positions placed
systematically around town. Simple but modest careers that even the most wealthy
need, such as gas stations or grocery store clerks; careers that although
simple propelled Cindy forward with an unmatched ethic of work and modesty.
This code of morals did however leave this girl lacking in interest towards any
“normal” passion of the a-typical 2000’s generation high school urchins.
Texting and internet, dating and parading around town in a simplistic lame show
of “rebellion” alluded this unique species of teenage girl’s understanding, and
thus she spent the majority of her time secluded talking only to her sister
which she valued as her closest and only friends.
On the
opposite side of seclusion stood Pete randerforst, this young individual
entered this normally unsure environment with an air of destructive self
confidence that later many would recognize to be his greatest fault. Now Pete’s
agenda fell towards the idea that he should enter as king of the land known as
the hallways of his high school and it showed. The boy, being of natural
physical build, would strut around with head held high, trying with the
entirety of his physical form and drive to sway the attention of all female
counter parts he could find. Quickly he joined as many sports teams as energy would
allow in attempt to elevate his status amongst his group of easily influenced
peers. As he wished it, so it was. Pete soon was known as the smooth talking
jock, quick to rouse and sway young hearts and minds to his side and into his “area”
of interest. Though his reputation had come swiftly and fulfilled his goals he
soon came across one frustration he could not cope with against all mental
will.
One day
in a most ordinary and usual setting within the brightly lit, yet cavernous
walls of the hall, Pete stood shoulder to the faded metal locker with the small
dent where he routinely threw his weight in a display of masculinity firmly believed
to (within his own mind) be enforcing his “cool guy” image. Talking of his
short lived accomplishments in his created world of excellence within the
normal collection of worshipers, Pete then saw Cindy. He viewed this young girl
as nothing more than another lust driven vessel within which he could achieve
his own teenage accounting of worth at. He then became determined at that
moment to sway this confident looking seductress over with the usual flashing
of muscular definition and quick speaking. Then the unspeakable occurred, this
prey once though part of a simple design of cat and mouse rejected Pete leaving
the embarrassed and now mentally reduce boy standing shocked amidst a group of
uncertain and weary eyes. Immediately the snickers and mummers of disapproval
stripped away the barrier of confidence around Pete seeping into the very
essence of manhood he had tried so hard to build for himself. Within a moment
of blind rejection and lust for this creature, he then realized he could not
have, but desired so greatly over took him at which point he began to chase the
girl. Realizing her new complication Cindy then sprinted towards her old 82
Caviler. With haste she entered through the rusted metal doors of her sanctuary
quickly enacting the four cylinders of the vehicle into motion. Pete, upon seeing
this then ran to his parent purchased dodge viper knowing he would need to
quickly begin his pursuit if he was to avoid losing her in the back streets of
his home town.
Pete
quickly accelerated to speeds well above the local speed limits in his blinded
lustful scramble. Filling the gap of road between him and his soon to be woman
of passion, the boy in his mental haze then began to swerve in violent attempt
to coax Cindy into submission as if to suggest harm if she refused to end the
pursuit. A weak of willed being might have then pulled to the side and allowed
the incoming intrusion of self-protection, but Cindy was no being of average
will. Thus, the chase lead deep into the woods. As wheels shook, rattled by
gravel and faulted unmaintained road way, familiar terrain soon turned to
unsure swift eye movements towards an unfamiliar landscape. Finally, when she
felt she might be close to shaking Pete off of her dust ridden trail, viewing
the distance of his vehicle in the small image on her mirror; a terrible
miscalculation of distance forged itself in the form of a swift curve in the
road slanted into a quick drop some hundred feet down to the twisted bank of a
woodland river. The drop would be the end of this reclusive brilliant and
athletic human beings mortal existence in the small town which she had been
raised. A tragedy, one spoken of for years by all the local residents, and one
that would forever destroy the happiness and reputation of the once clouded
mind of Pete thusly had come to conclusion.
It would not be till years later that Pete now
grown and sheltered within his own created shell of sorrow and seclusion would
return to ill-fated bank of his teen love’s grave. Crouching to the cross in
his tattered jeans and torn loose fitted sweatshirt, Pete allowed the years of
repression to explode from his body in the form of tears falling to the slow
current of the river. After a few moments he recovered his baring and glanced
again towards the cross. He then noticed the small black case holding his love’s
most valued possession. The small carved flute that her sisters had crafted for
her on the occasion of some birthday now forgotten in the sorrows of her death.
Pete lifted this delicate piece and held it to his lips. Once more tears of
pain fell from his eyes now falling lightly over the curves and openings of the
instrument. Breathing in deeply, he then exhaled a sigh, upon which the device
uttered a soft note; a note that would resonate with him in memory and soul
many years past its occurrence as sign of beauty and excellence that stood for
the mistakes of obsession that had so cold ended the wonderful pattern of life
that he had never truly grasped before.
