Stale Marshmallows
ok So I have to write a memoir for Creative Writing. I can't decide which topic, but I alreayd did this one, so have a look. This IS in fact, based on a true stroy. But, I combined 2 different times that we went, and added in a few small things. So, here ya go. Comment if you like it.
STALE MARSHMALLOWS
“Yes, his parents will both be there. Yeah, he’s had his license for more than six months. Yes, we’ll drive carefully.” Lies. All lies. I can’t believe my parents bought all that junk. His parents weren’t going to be anywhere near his lake house. He had only gotten his license four months ago. And, were we really expected to drive the speed limit on a country road where there were no other cars? All of our parents actually let us go up to Pat’s lake house. What were they, crazy? It was a Saturday night and we were ranging in ages from fifteen-seventeen and yet they trusted us.
We piled on sweatshirts, jackets, hats and gloves. But, as soon as all nine of us crammed and condensed into two cars, we all de-layered. Partially, because we were just rebelling against our parents, but mostly because we were playing one hell of a game of Padiddle. We did have limits, though. Seen as how there were brothers and sisters in the car, we figured it best to not go past our underwear.
We got on the highway, cranked down the squeaky windows, and turned the music up. It was obnoxiously loud, but we were singing even louder. It was the soundtrack to our life, how were we supposed to keep quiet? We got to K-MART, and continued on our journey of being stereotypical, annoying teenagers. We raced up and down the aisles in carriages and managed to knock over the Blue Light Special display of Chicken of the Sea. Before being kicked out, we grabbed some marshmallows, graham crackers, chocolate bars, PEZ, and Pepsi. We payed in the lint covered quarters and dimes at the bottoms of our pockets, and left the store laughing at the aggravated store employees. We had officially ruined at least a few people’s lives. Mission Accomplished.
Our flip flops smacked the pavement as we raced back to the cars. It was about thirty degrees outside, and we got quite a few strange looks from passerbys. We got even more strange looks when we started chucking stale marshmallows out the windows. It was only when we clunked and crept up to the lake house that we realized we had forgotten about ten-thousand other things. We couldn’t see a hand in front of our face and had to make our way in and out of the woods by way of the light from our cell phones. The leaves and sticks cracked and snapped beneath our shoes and bit our ankles. It came as a shocking and unpleasant surprise when we found out how close the lake water was to the beach. Our teeth applauded as we waited to get inside the house. Nope. We had forgotten the key. We dug a hole in the cold, sticky sand and collected sticks and twigs. After about our sixth match, the campfire was lit. The wind combed through our hair, and the smoke brought us to tears. We were completely mesmerized by the skipping, twirling embers caused by a fan of dry pine needles. A few of us mirrored the embers as we came running all arm and legs back to the fire after a dip in the arctic lake waters. We redefined the word “gross” when we caramelized hot dogs with marshmallow sugar. The play list of the night was the sounds of nine hyaenas at a circus with an occasional sound of a disgruntled neighbor who was just jealous of our youth. We made an interesting and scientific discovery- carbonated soda cans will in fact explode when exposed to flame. We seemed to forget that we were right next to a lake, and we left putting the flames out to the boys and their many cans of Pepsi.
Hugs were given, unexpected kisses were received and we piled back into the tiny sedan. Now, it was a race against our curfews. We kept our eyes on the clock as we gossiped and giggled about the most random of nights we had just shared. Tomorrow there would only be sad, empty remnants in the form of soda cans and stale marshmallows of a night that would never be forgotten. We were the definition of youth, a picture of insanity, and a soundtrack of fun. We all arrived home, dashing from the car, and running to our parents only to find that the clock in the car was an hour fast.
“Did you have fun? What’d you guys do?” My parents asked my older brother and me, smelling the campfire on our clothes.
We both grinned, and shared a momentary secret glance. “Nothing. Same old junk.”
STALE MARSHMALLOWS
“Yes, his parents will both be there. Yeah, he’s had his license for more than six months. Yes, we’ll drive carefully.” Lies. All lies. I can’t believe my parents bought all that junk. His parents weren’t going to be anywhere near his lake house. He had only gotten his license four months ago. And, were we really expected to drive the speed limit on a country road where there were no other cars? All of our parents actually let us go up to Pat’s lake house. What were they, crazy? It was a Saturday night and we were ranging in ages from fifteen-seventeen and yet they trusted us.
We piled on sweatshirts, jackets, hats and gloves. But, as soon as all nine of us crammed and condensed into two cars, we all de-layered. Partially, because we were just rebelling against our parents, but mostly because we were playing one hell of a game of Padiddle. We did have limits, though. Seen as how there were brothers and sisters in the car, we figured it best to not go past our underwear.
We got on the highway, cranked down the squeaky windows, and turned the music up. It was obnoxiously loud, but we were singing even louder. It was the soundtrack to our life, how were we supposed to keep quiet? We got to K-MART, and continued on our journey of being stereotypical, annoying teenagers. We raced up and down the aisles in carriages and managed to knock over the Blue Light Special display of Chicken of the Sea. Before being kicked out, we grabbed some marshmallows, graham crackers, chocolate bars, PEZ, and Pepsi. We payed in the lint covered quarters and dimes at the bottoms of our pockets, and left the store laughing at the aggravated store employees. We had officially ruined at least a few people’s lives. Mission Accomplished.
Our flip flops smacked the pavement as we raced back to the cars. It was about thirty degrees outside, and we got quite a few strange looks from passerbys. We got even more strange looks when we started chucking stale marshmallows out the windows. It was only when we clunked and crept up to the lake house that we realized we had forgotten about ten-thousand other things. We couldn’t see a hand in front of our face and had to make our way in and out of the woods by way of the light from our cell phones. The leaves and sticks cracked and snapped beneath our shoes and bit our ankles. It came as a shocking and unpleasant surprise when we found out how close the lake water was to the beach. Our teeth applauded as we waited to get inside the house. Nope. We had forgotten the key. We dug a hole in the cold, sticky sand and collected sticks and twigs. After about our sixth match, the campfire was lit. The wind combed through our hair, and the smoke brought us to tears. We were completely mesmerized by the skipping, twirling embers caused by a fan of dry pine needles. A few of us mirrored the embers as we came running all arm and legs back to the fire after a dip in the arctic lake waters. We redefined the word “gross” when we caramelized hot dogs with marshmallow sugar. The play list of the night was the sounds of nine hyaenas at a circus with an occasional sound of a disgruntled neighbor who was just jealous of our youth. We made an interesting and scientific discovery- carbonated soda cans will in fact explode when exposed to flame. We seemed to forget that we were right next to a lake, and we left putting the flames out to the boys and their many cans of Pepsi.
Hugs were given, unexpected kisses were received and we piled back into the tiny sedan. Now, it was a race against our curfews. We kept our eyes on the clock as we gossiped and giggled about the most random of nights we had just shared. Tomorrow there would only be sad, empty remnants in the form of soda cans and stale marshmallows of a night that would never be forgotten. We were the definition of youth, a picture of insanity, and a soundtrack of fun. We all arrived home, dashing from the car, and running to our parents only to find that the clock in the car was an hour fast.
“Did you have fun? What’d you guys do?” My parents asked my older brother and me, smelling the campfire on our clothes.
We both grinned, and shared a momentary secret glance. “Nothing. Same old junk.”