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Taste of Freedom

The Golden Afternoon of 1947. An elegant black Ford cabrio drove down the city's main street and folded it in a top case.

By Rumon pashaPublished 11 months ago 3 min read

Taste of Freedom

Des Moines, Iowa. The Golden Afternoon of 1947. An elegant black Ford cabrio drove down the city's main street and folded it in a top case. Behind the steering wheel was Tommy, 17, with hair sank in the wind, and her eyes fell into adventure. Next to him he placed his best friend, John, and took it out of a glass bottle of Cooka Cola, occasionally laughing at Tommy's jokes.

Three girls - Mary, Susie and Eren were sitting in the back seat. They were one of the most popular girls in the school. Mary laughed: "Tommy, accelerate a little! This wind feels good!" Susie waved her hand: "No, it's perfect! Just keep going." Eren, adapting her hair, added, "You know, we'll remember this night forever. The best time in our lives!"

The streets of Moine were lively, yet peaceful. People walked past the shop, strolling, as others sat in the cafe and drank coffee. The neon signs flickered, with colorful reflections on the sidewalk. Several soldiers fresh from the service leaned against the streetlights and shared cigarettes, laughing at what they understood. As Tommy's car passed, a group of younger children were blown away by bike and dreamed of a day old enough to drive.

Tommy began as they approached the classic diner at the corner. "We'll take some burgers and milkshakes!" John eagerly called out. Everyone agreed at once. The familiar neon signs flashed over them, illuminating the word "Mel's Diner." Inside, the air smelled like freshly baked burgers, warm apple pie and chocolate milkshakes. The red vinyl stand was filled with other teenagers, some were chatty excited, while others shared milkshakes with data.

A group of

boys stood in the jukebox and discussed which lock `n'roll -Song should play next. Finally the coin fell, and Frank Sinatra's smooth voice filled the air. At the counter, they placed orders and settled in the stands. The conversation turned into the future as they chewed their burgers and sipped their milkshakes. "Will we really leave this city in four or five years?" asked Eren about his uncertainty.

Tommy did that shortly before I answered. "I don't understand. But sometimes I think now I could be the best out of our lives. No responsibility - just drive, wander around with friends and get in every single time. "

Mary nodded. "You're right, but I want more. Maybe I'm moving to New York and working in the theatre!"

John Grinsen: "I'm opening an auto store! I'll bring you the best trip to Moyne!"

Susie swirls, deep, roast with her milkshake. "I don't know where to go, but no matter where I am, I will never forget a night like this."

The

hours ran away with laughter and chatter. The sun set, and I painted the sky in purple and orange colors. The cool breeze erupted as they went outside. The world looked a little quieter and a little more magical.

Back in the

car, they headed back on the street. John leaned out of the back seat and suggested, "We drive out of town! The moon is high, and the country air smells sweeter than usual!"

Tommy agreed and pressed the accelerator pedal. The lights of the city faded behind them, leaving only the open streets in front of us. The stars glitter like the diamonds above, and the frog removed. Croix King added the night soundtrack. The sound of the wind mixed in with Mary's laughter, and John's excited joy, and Ellen made a quiet fuss. As they passed the suburbs, Tommy slowed his car near a small hill, where he came to see the stars. They drove, climbed into the car, and lay down, staring at the enormous width. "Think about that," Tommy muttered. "At this point, we're just kids from a small town. But one day, we look back and hope that we can experience it again that night. "

Susie smiled. "Then we will never forget it."

Tonight they realized something important - this freedom, this friendship, these moments will never come again. It was another night in 1947, and for them, thanking God eternally was a memory.

Fiction

About the Creator

Rumon pasha

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