The Road Monologue

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My feet seep into the brown dirt that piles on for miles and miles in the desert town. I look to my right to see a shiny reflection from the metal trailer home my family and I currently inhabit.This town will be the death of me. My body feels the longing sense of escaping from the rows of rusted, broken-down trailer homes that lay flat on top of dirt. The taste of pollution invades my mouth, causing a fit of coughs to erupt. Oh, I need to- “Joe, I swear if you do not turn that radio off I will kill you.” The voice is deep and threatening. I know it’s my neighbor Craig. How can a son say something so nefarious to his parent? Then, I remember the rules of our society. It started with a joke: “Imagine if we could control our parents when we turn …show more content…

I wanted to speak with you about a possible event our family can have,” my dad reveals. No. Anything with my family invites danger. “How about a trip to the Grand Canyon?” I feel his eyeballs beam on my face, anticipating my response. Outside. No. Big danger, but family happy. I need to control this situation. “Come on, honey. This will be great for the three of us,” my mom says as she puts a warm hand on my left shoulder. Stay in control. We can’t-they’re too clueless. “Please, sweet cakes. All you let me do is go to work and come back. You’re twenty-years-old and haven’t even left the house since you turned eighteen! I don’t understand why.” There, in the small kitchen, my dad makes eye contact with me in such a way that tugs at my heart. I see tears form in his hazel eyes, which adds to the feeling even more. But you don’t understand. I’m supposed to control …show more content…

Instead, the two of us sit across from each other in a large, rusty-gray cell. “Don’t worry. Your parents are just getting interrogated,” Teresa informs as she inches closer to me. My body goes limp and I hold my head in my hands. That’s it. We’re going to be punished. My parents are clueless. I feel an inviting arm wrap around my shoulders. “You have nothing to worry about, dear. Plus, you don’t seem like one to be part of a revolt like mine.” Teresa pauses for a moment before saying, “I’m sure you enjoy controlling your parents.” I stare at a crack in the cinderblock wall. Time passes by before I respond, “Yes. Well, no. I do, but then I don’t. I want my parents to be happy, but I want to control my life.” Teresa lets out a sigh and turns to me, releasing the warmth from her hold. Her face imprints a sheepish smile, and from there I can see the hope in her brown eyes. She grabs my hands and releases these words: you want

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