Iris||F||17||Arturo's||Open
Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose
Nothin', don't mean nothin' hon' if it ain't free, no no
Iris had herself firmly pressed into the seat of one of her out-of-school "friends" cars- a Volkswagen with more Bondo than a Luke Bryant concert and a mostly-static radio. She loved it, it smelled like woodsmoke and lilacs and, to her, home. But she wasn't in the mood to be happy about anything- She had skipped graduation in favor of a potential gig, and her father had been wild. The first two days after graduation were spent fighting with him (and against essential house arrest) before Ronnie- Her savior- showed up and to bring her to Arturo's on the agreed upon date. She had her guitar, a backpack full of clothes, three Marlboro lights and seventeen-eight-three in change. Her last work check was stashed in her guitar case as well, but she hadn't gotten a chance to cash it.
She sat up a bit when she saw Arturo's house, taking a deep breath. "Right up here" She said and he nodded, flicking his turn signal on. She felt like a weight had been lifted off her rolling up to the place- it had been so, so long since she had been off on an adventure. A real one, anyways. Confined to a curriculum and her house, by her overbearing father. When the car came to a stop Iris fixed her shirt- a low, worn tshirt advertising Howland, Maine. The kind of tourist shirt only locals bought because who, from out of the state, visits Howland and wants to remember it?
She glanced over at him, gathering her bag and stepping out. "Thanks for the ride, man" She said, her tone low and a bit rough. She had done a lot of yelling over the last two days, and it hadn't done her any good. She watched his car pull off before heading up to the house; her boots echoing a bit on the driveway. She was wearing her absolute favorite pair of jeans- bell-bottoms that accentuated her way of walking, only denim until the knees where the changed to tie-dyed fabric that swayed with her. Her special occasion jeans. Her 'hey, baby, lets get down!' jeans. She had been chomping at the bit to get out and about, and no amount of yelling could numb her enthusiasm. Quiet her a bit, maybe, but she was ecstatic all the same. Just internalizing a bit, as her usual tone was a deeply unpleasant experience for her vocal chords.
