Story Starter I

AS we pulled out of the old, cracked driveway and down Gott Drive, I watched little yellow 1653 shrink away into nothing. You’d think I would have been crying or something of the sort if you knew that 1653 Gott Drive had been my home for the past 15 years, also known as my whole entire life. But surprisingly even to myself, not a single tear slid down my face that whole drive. That whole 36 hour drive. All I could think of were the things that you don’t really notice while you’re in a situation, but once you’re out of it they all come back like they were the best things in your life. Things like the smell of the backyard after the grass had been cut, or sitting on the cool basement floor on a blistering hot day, listening to Maggie’s endless stories of her trips to Paris and Rome, or anywhere else she had decided that she’d travelled to the past weekend. They were the things you don’t really pay much attention to, but as I sat there remembering them and knowing they wouldn’t be there anymore, I started to think maybe they were the best things in my life. And I was driving away from them all in a stuffy little white Nova.
“AND it really was made out of pizza, Lane! It really was!”
“That’s cool, Mag, sounds yummy,” I said to my little sister, who had started in on one of her adventure stories. I didn’t mind listening to her, and I didn’t even want to know what the reaction would be if I were to ignore her or tell her that everything she said was untrue. Like that the Leaning Tower of Pisa wasn’t really constructed of stacks of pizza, or that the “Statue of Libby” wasn’t modeled after her best friend Libby Richardson.
Crap. That was another downside. How was little Maggie supposed to cope without her partner in crime? I don’t think she really realized yet that she probably wouldn’t see her again, or there was no way she would have been this giddy. What was with this girl? It had already been 4 hours in the car with no stops and she was still going strong.
“Lane, where is the eye-full tower?” she asked. I told her it was in Paris, and she asked me where Paris was. I told her France, and she asked where that was. It probably doesn’t require a high degree of intelligence to figure out what she did when I told her that France was in Europe.

Author's Notes: I really don't know what the hell this is. I just haven't had English class for about a month and haven't written anything so I kinda just let this flow out of my brain just to exercise my writing gland a little bit. :) Yeah, it's pointless and I probably won't develop it any more for lack of knowing what to make it a story about, but tell me what you think anyway. Thanks.