half fiction, again.

[subjective]

tonight i was reading the novel i wrote for nanowrimo last november. it's the first time i've reread it. it's about as self-indulgent as i thought.

i'm stressing hardcore about the impending trip to florida for winter holidays this year. in my novel, the two main characters took a roadtrip from cambridge to a small florida town. they'd met each other the night before the trip, which darius convinced jamie to come along for. darius was heading south to make peace with his dying grandfather. jamie was trying to let things go. they wound up being two halves of my own personality, having plenty of philosophical conversations about all the things i was thinking about last november.



"Well," I say, checking the digital clock on the dashboard, "it's pretty late already. Maybe we should stop for the night and go to your parents' house tomorrow. So we don't wake them up." I try to say this like I'm just thinking out loud again. But the truth is that now I'm the one who's anxious to delay our progress. I hadn't even stopped to consider what it would be like to meet his family, the family that he is so reluctant to get to, and to sleep in their house.

"Yeah, you're right. I should call them first anyway, tell them I'm coming."

My mouth falls open a little and I squint at him hard in the dark. Is he kidding?

"Are you kidding? They don't even know you're coming?"

He shakes his head. "It was kind of an impulsive decision on my part."

Impulsive is right. Lots of impulsivity happening these days. "So then they don't know I'm coming either?" But the question is just to fill up space, since the answer is obvious. "God, Darius, you were just going to spring a houseguest on them? A houseguest that looks like me?" I'm kind of pissed off. He's really making it difficult for me to make any kind of good impression on his parents.

"You'll be fine," he says, sounding not very convinced. And actually I'm not sure if he's talking to me, or to himself.

"The hell I will," I mutter, turning to look out my side window into the darkness. We are passing long fields with actual cows huddled together under a few trees here and there. Without the city lights of Boston to dim everything else, the stars seem extra bright and everything feels wide open. It gives me a feeling of simultaneous comfort and anxiety. I stare at the cows. They're all facing the same direction. Do they do that on purpose? "I don't know how to act around your family," I say under my breath, the anger draining from my voice only to be replaced by worry.

"Just do what I do," Darius says heavily. "Be someone else."