Jonas Story Essays - Olin, Jonas, , Term Papers

Jonas Story Part I The day was still, not a cloud in sight. The glowing sun lit the tumbling waves. The white foam smeared along the sandy beach. High above the ocean's front lie cliffs with grassy hilltops. A road wove through its tangled mess. There thoughts were bound and passion ran free. The young man gripped his steering wheel and held the throttle. He flew through Highway 5 in his ?78 Camero. Squealing around every corner in his hot convertible, he let his long blond hair blow with the wind. As his heart beat fast, he was trapped in the excitement of the moment. He braked; his open expression went blank. The passion was gone as he slowed inches from the motor homes tail gate. The RV crept around each corner, passing turnout after turnout, seemingly unaware of the car behind. His face went sour as he mumbled curse words and thoughts of ill intention. The young man gave a slight honk, but only slight, just enough to give notice of his presence. He wanted to honk louder, but he was taught better. The man was out of patience as he came to small straight in the road. He turned the wheel left crossing the double yellow line. Just in view from the corner came a oncoming semi. He stepped on the gas feeling confident that he could make it. As he pulled by the RV's side, the motor home sped up too. The fiery red Camero roared up the hill; its eight cylinders of pure power revved and its 450 horses beat as it raced past the RV. The blond man pulled off quickly just missing getting smashed by the big rig, and nearly clipping the Motor home's front. The young man stuck out his hand just yearning to flip off the driver of the passed vehicle. He couldn't do it. Years of being nice were engraved in head. Thoughts of lessons taught by his mother and grandmother circled through his mind. As he stuck his hand back on the wheel he blurred out thoughts of anger. It was obvious he wanted to let it out, so he floored his Chevy, breezing away from the coast. As the Camero climbed toward the heart of the redwoods, the young man looked with flare. He traveled up the bare twisted road of Highway 5. Its edges seemed to crumble dangerously as he pulled around the sharp switchbacks. The young man pulled his Camero into the check-in gate. He held his elbow against the red door and rested his head against his hand, palming his cheek. As he waited to be helped he looked at the scenery. The redwoods lay thick, with huge stems blossoming a cluster of green. A sign posted to one spelled Richardson Grove 1876. "Yes. your name please?" The woman sat in a little house with a small teller like window. She wore greyish green clothes. A tag placed by the shirt collar read "Anne Vansykln, Richardson Grove." "Olin Hill," he said, as he gazed toward the redwoods. He was still stuck in the thinkers pose. He didn't even look at her exquisite looks. "Pretty aren't they?" She said as she smacked her chewing gum with her slender tongue. The look she gave was not classy by any means, yet it was resoundingly sweet: childish like an ?imperfect-perfect'. Yet Olin did not reply, he just sat in his pose. Then she said you may go. Olin stepped on the gas and relaxed his pose. He gazed at his reflection in the rear view mirror. Where his hand had rested (upon his cheek) a beat red pimple gouged in his face. Olin parked his car in front of a huge redwood tree. A young man with black hair peered around its massive base. "Nice rig," he yelled as he stuck his hand out, asking him to stop. Olin shut the engine down and stood on the white leather bucket seat. He peered over the front window, "Whats happening Justin?"Olin said, "where is your car?" Justin smiled his crooked teeth, "Oh it's the brown sedan over there. A piece a *censored* car." Olin took a small rubber band out of his pocket and tied his long hair into a pony tail. "Where is everyone," he said as he flung the clinging lint from his short pockets off his hand. "Everyones at the beach. Your brother and dad are down there too. Justin said pointing down past north end of the parking lot. "Lets