I'm Ok

So there I was. . . I suppose that's one way to start off a story, right?
So there I was...
I always wanted to be a writer, so here I am writing. Might as well start now, you know?
People say that strangers are bad. Strangers mean danger. People say these things because, let's face it: people fear other people. It's awful, really.
I've never liked that whole saying; "stranger, danger." Why not say, 'friends we haven't met yet?' It makes the world seem a lot less scary. A lot less dangerous. And also, more free. Like I don't have to worry or be afraid. Because I don't want to do either of those. I just want to live.
But another thing you need to think about. . . things don't just happen. They just don't.
Not that I'm saying they're pre-meditated or anything like that because I'm really not. What I'm saying is that everything happens for a reason- even the small things. And the smallest of things lead up to either the greatest moment of your life or the worse. There's no in between.
It was that one day, the day I thought I lost it all. I thought I've reached the point of only existing wasn't worth it anymore. You know? Like how can life become so painful, and yet they expect you to keep on going?
But let me pause and rewind a little bit:

I met him when I was faced by a tear in this little paper heart I have...
I hated where I grew up. It was suffocating and ever second felt like hell. I had labels there, you see. And they weren't the nicest. I was the odd one out. Just a shadow that wandered around outside. Something no one really paid and mind to.
I found out that I was adopted at the age of fifteen, which explains why I was so different than the rest of my family, and why I had red, cork-screwy hair rather than straight brown hair or blond. And why I had blue eyes and was musically and artistically inclined rather than athletic and found more comfort in numbers.
So I left. The day I turned eighteen, I wrote a note and was off. I didn't know where I was going, and I felt sick to my stomach. But I couldn't stay, I was not going to stay. So for two weeks I wandered. Along the high ways and the back roads, took a bus when I needed to. But that particular day, the sky threatened rain. The more I thought of everything, the worse I felt.
I felt myself collide into the gravel and I had begun to tremble.
It was that moment, things changed for me.
He was lost that day, and I just wanted to be found.
He pulled over onto the graveled dirt shoulder along side me and got out of the car. He asked me if I was okay, and when I didn't answer, he pulled me inside and gave me his coat and some napkins to dry off my face. Then he put the heater on full blast.
"I- I know that this is odd and all. . . And that I'm a complete stranger. . but can you tell me what you were doing out there?" he had a heavy accent. I shook my head and released a heavy sigh.
"Failing to find the meaning of life, if I'm going to be quite honest," I sigh, leaning my forehead against the window.
The car grew quiet again. Maybe an hour passed of complete silence. The only sound that finally disturbed it was of the engine beginning to sputter then finally die out. The car rolled to a stop and the engine cut out. He eyes the fuel gage before releasing a heavy sigh. He runs his fingers through his raven hair.
"Damn it," I hear him mutter. I don't move from where I was. The window felt cool and my entire body was seemingly burning up. He tells me he'll be back in a second as he gets out of the car and walks over to the hood, popping it open. He may have been out there for nearly ten minutes before he climbs back in soaking wet and frozen. "We're out of petrol, and the engine gave out. . . fucking great." he exclaimed, but mostly to himself.
"I'm really sorry," I say, finally meeting his eyes for the first time. Actually, I saw his face for the first time. He had brown eyes and they weren't just brown, but also gold with some yellow, then a hint of chocolate towards the outside of the iris. He had heavy-set eyebrows and long eyelashes that draped and framed those gold eyes of his.
"Why are you apologizing?'
"Why not?" I ask. "I'm bad luck."
"This car is a piece of crap, so this was bound to happen anyway."
"Can I be honest with you?" I look over at him, he smiles sheepishly. "I really don't mind this."
"Neither do I," I whisper. I felt a small, faint smile dance across my face. "And you're no stranger,"
"No?"
"No."
"Then what am I?"
"A friend that I have finally met." I whisper.
We grew silent again.

Notes