Shoulda Woulda Coulda | Teen Ink

Shoulda Woulda Coulda

September 10, 2010
By Kristina_L PLATINUM, Centennial, Colorado
Kristina_L PLATINUM, Centennial, Colorado
27 articles 0 photos 2 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Nah. You didn’t fall to your death. I jumped after you with a parachute." August 24th

I would always remember what sunburn felt like in 80% humidity. Moisture stuck to your skin mixing with the sweat. It made me feel like I was swathed in wet flannel pajamas. My skin itched to a burn, a slow heartburn normally reserved for the back of your throat after a hearty hamburger from your favorite ill named fast food joint. It slid over me as the flannel moisture constricted slightly. I never should have shifted. My back should get used to being suction cupped by sweat to the back of my chair. It was my reality until the tires started to roll and the engines take on a healthier hum (which is probably unlikely with the way I hounded my car into the ground after the game was over).

I closed my eyes, aware of the sweat trickling through the crows feet my scrunched up expression had created around my eyes. It all rushed in through the crack between my upper and lower lid. I couldn’t really care about that right now. I needed to forget the world for awhile. If only. If only. It as good a time as any to retrace my day but at the moment, I can only focus on one thing.

The sweet sensation of a cold Dr. Pepper slipping down my throat and burning my allergies to dust never to rise again. The sweet refreshing tang of the cold sweating can to my neck. I can almost feel the iciness of the fridge as it opens with a crisp air pressure wisp and the light spilling out while the Angel’s of Refreshment sing me closer. I’m almost there in mind. Almost away from this mess.

I figured out as the blare of a horn tore me from my much needed cold oblivion, that you can’t ignore anger. It doesn’t appreciate it and the more it is left in the dark corner, the more it boils into something far beyond control. At this present moment, beneath the setting sun that nearly blazed red with intensity and the cars boxing me in, I could have sworn I could see my anger, a doppelganger of me sitting in the bed of the pickup in front of me in the middle of a boiling pot witches use for their double, double toil and trouble. I was grinning menacingly, little horns sprouting from my hair. I sighed as the pickup turned and drummed my fingers against the steering wheel.

I needed out of here. Out of this car, out of this traffic. Home didn’t even sound appealing anymore. It was too closed off, to familiar. I needed something different. Something that didn’t make my blood boil. I popped my car into neutral and revved the engine demonically. It sounded like a coughing tiger at first and then my anger swept through and ignited the car. Here I was stranded in the heat after a day of unbearable sun and all because of a tiny fender bender directly in front of a construction site. I should have said no to the volleyball game. Should have brought some money just in case. Should have stopped when my shoulder popped, sending shooting pain down my bicep. Should have should have should have.

Now that my mind was on it, I’d never be rid of it. Too many should have’s to go over and play out what would have happened. Shoulda woulda coulda, I was stuck in traffic with nothing but imaginary scenarios to feed the flames of my anger. Shoulda woulda coulda.

The author's comments:
Memoir detailing a time I was angry

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.