You must go back with me to the summer of my fourteenth year, the summer before I was to start high school, and the year I lost all hope of ever escaping my unhappy existence. This memory is one of quintessential teen angst.
On the verge of adulthood, but not quite there, I was at the mercy of my fathers whims, and spent this summer stranded in his childhood home in a tiny farming village in Greece…the entire summer.
I am, as you know from my ramblings, a city girl born and raised in the current murder capital of the USA, Chicago, Illinois. My peers were all there, back home, each spending that summer on the small patches of grass they called their yard, which could describe the size of the land attached to a typical city house. Their focus that summer was working on baby oil and iodine tans, as they lay on their silver foil sun reflecting mats, drinking Tab and smoking Marlboros. That is where I wanted to be too. Well, maybe not exactly there, baking on a sweaty mat, but I absolutely did not want to be where I was.
I’d spent many, many summers in Greece. My dad would work all year to earn the money to purchase airplane tickets to get me and my siblings there. He’d drop us at his parents, stay a while, head out to pretend he was single, return, and repeat, always wanting to be where he was not, wanting to do something other than that which he was. I guess we had that in common.
This was the summer of my discontent. I was too faraway, and stranded for nearly three months. To pass the time, I had brought only two item with me: the brand new Rolling Stones album, “Some Girls” on cassette tape, and a paperback copy of Margaret Mitchell’s “Gone With the Wind.” That is all I had to keep me distracted.
Upon arriving at my hell away from hell, I immediately tore the plastic wrapper off the new tape, popped it in the cassette player and listened…confused. This is the Stones? I wanted Ruby Tuesday, Paint it Black, but there was no Satisfaction for me in this album.
This Album was as annoying as the hell I was trapped in. I was at the zenith of pubescent misery, in a faraway country, and listening to Mick talk/sing with a nasally twang, song number 6 “Far Away Eyes” a country music parody…I detest country music, parady or no. This album was did not measure up to the task I had assigned it. It was meant to fill a void in my life, help me forget that the high point of my days was watching chickens play chase with the lit cigarette butt that my dad had tossed in the coop.
A smoking chicken, and Mick singing country to entertain me…where is that book? Gone With the Wind would save me.
* Greece is a beautiful country, rich with history, and there is much to do there if you can venture out of the farming villages.
April 6, 2016, Daily One Word Prompt: Faraway~ <a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/faraway/”>Faraway</a>