Authors: Shey Stahl
“What kind?” Dylan
brought his beer to his lips; his other hand patted his pockets looking for his
cigarettes. When he found them, he took one out but didn’t light it. Instead,
he tucked it behind his ear flipping the lighter around in his hand.
Jameson watched him,
curious to his habit of smoking and the lighter he flipped when nervous. “I
have a 67’ GTO like yours and a 67’ Shelby GT 500.”
“No shit?” Dylan
gasped, coughing, his hand with the light raised to scratch his jaw. “Those are
fucking rare.”
“Yeah, they are,”
Jameson agreed. “I don’t collect a lot of cars but I have those.”
“Aside
from race cars?”
I laughed feeling part of the conversation. Sway
noticed and winked at me.
“Yes,” Jameson laughed
his smile and eyes bright. “Race cars are my weakness.”
They got into talking
about the specifics of the cars, engines size and what not when Jameson noticed
the dent in the door and hood.
“While I can understand
the dents in the hood,” Jameson paused and gave a knowing smirk to Dylan and I.
“What the fuck happened to the door?”
My cheeks were bright
red. Dylan chuckled, his right hand slipping into the back pocket of my jeans,
leaning into me. “Oh, you know.
Crazy road trip.”
I knew then he wasn’t
going to tell anyone what that dent was from. It wasn’t from embarrassment
either. He meant it when he said we would be the only ones with these memories.
They were ours.
Nothing more was said
for a little while until Kyle came back over with a guy on his back and two of
the boys that were supposed to be sleeping. I recognized one as Axel, Jameson
and Sway’s oldest. The other I hadn’t seen yet with dusty blonde hair and
bright blue eyes.
That’s when the guy
that was on Kyle’s back jumped off and pummeled Jameson.
“Who is that?” I asked
Dylan.
Jameson groaned picking
himself up from the dirt.
“My fucking brother.”
Laughter broke out as
the boys finished a playful round of wrestling. That Spencer guy was a trip.
Imagine this overly large guy, baby blue eyes, booming laughter and rowdy play
tossing around water balloons and wrestling his younger brother. It was hard to
imagine but it was entertaining.
About the time we were
leaving, Kyle took Dylan aside to try to give him some money. Naturally, he
refused. So far, on our trip Dylan had funded the entire thing aside from a few
meals where he was distracted and I managed to slip the money sooner. I had no
idea how much money Dylan had, and he refused to talk about anything related to
his trust fund, but I knew he had plenty.
I still wasn’t
comfortable with him paying for everything but I let him to save myself the argument.
Kyle nudged Dylan’s
shoulder. “Your dad isn’t a bad guy, Dylan. He’s just Ken. That’s all I can
say.”
Dylan’s stance was
I-don’t-give-a-shit. If that didn’t give it away, his eye roll and words did.
“I’m done with it.”
Kyle seemed to understand.
“Why do you think I haven’t seen him in six years?”
Through Kyle that
night, I learned a lot about the Wade family and that they kept in touch with
Drew. Kyle had paid for him to go to rehab and a place to stay until he got on
his feet and eventually helped him find a steady job. Turns out it was at a
bar, and if you knew Drew that wasn’t exactly the best idea, but he did good
and eventually bought the bar from the owner.
Knowing what Drew had
gone through, it was good to see him doing well.
Dylan hugged his
uncles, shook hands with Jameson and gave Sway a brief hug when she forced him
to, all the while keeping his eyes on Jameson as he glared playfully.
Sway and I hugged too
and she asked for my number which I thought was pretty cool but unfortunately,
I hadn’t replaced my phone yet and had no plans of doing so any time soon. I
loved their family, they were cool people and honestly, I wanted them to adopt
me.
“That was fun,” I said
to Dylan when we got back in his car around three that morning.
He gave me a nod but
nothing else when he opened the door for me.
Before he started the
car, he looked over at me, carefully considering his words before his voice is
low. “You have my heart,” he said, a strange calm demeanor settled. “You have
nothing to worry about with me.”
I nodded, my cheeks
reddened slightly at his admission and the fact that I haven’t said anything
remotely heartfelt as he has to me. Now I’m afraid if I do it won’t mean
anything. “Why did you look?”
“Habit I guess.” He
shrugged starting the car. The rumble vibrated the seat as he revved the engine
a few times but didn’t put the car in gear.
Why do men do that? I
can’t say that I haven’t seen women do it
too,
I just
see it more with men.
Jealousy.
Damn that monster.
My voice was stuck,
caught in my throat. That painful ache of jealousy was back, killing me softly.
“Do you find her attractive?” Shit. I sounded pathetic.
Dylan chuckled, softly,
and grabbed my arm to scoot me closer to him, his arm wrapped around me resting
against the seat over my shoulder. His cheek pressed to the side of my face,
warm, comforting. “She’s attractive, yes, but she’s not my brown eyes,” he
whispered. His lips touched my temple as he spoke, “nothing will ever compare
to you.” He groaned into my neck, carefully nibbling on my skin, “I knew I was
fucked from that first kiss at seven.” Turning in the seat, his skin abnormally
warm, his nose coasted along my throat, hot kisses against my jaw. “I’m fucked.
Without you, I’m fucked.”
What did that mean? I
didn’t say anything, my words caught in my throat again.
Dylan didn’t wait for
me to
answer,
he kept one hand around me but put the
car in gear and headed back to the hotel. His hand twirled a piece of my hair
between his fingers.
I thought a lot about
what Sway had said to me on the drive back to the hotel. “Love with everything
you have.” That was her relationship advice. And if I was honest with you, it
was the best advice anyone had ever given me on relationships.
Her other advice that
she offered: “Don’t have regrets or second thoughts she told me.
Love.
Love with all your heart, every piece of it. Love
anything as much as you can.”
Sway was wise beyond
her years and seemed to understand a lot about my deal with Dylan without me
needing to explain anything to her.
When I thought about
what was happening between me and Dylan, it scared me a little but made me feel
more alive than anything.
Back home, when anyone
would ever talk to me about loving a boy, they would say, you’re young and have
all the time in the world.
We were young.
I was just a girl, so
they say.
And he’s just a boy, so
they say. But what if we’re not?
What if we were two old
souls destined to find each other? A missing piece brought together by fate.
And what if we don’t have all the time in the world? Life is short, really
fucking short when you think about it. People die at my age all the
time,
and younger than me all the time. We don’t have all
the time in the world.
When you’re eighteen,
no one is more aware of your age than you. They’re quick to remind you that you
don’t know anything, you’re only eighteen.
You can’t drink, you’re
only eighteen. You can’t rent a car, you’re only eighteen.
With all that can’t,
how come they allow you to vote, cast your selection on the next president and
political matters? You’re old enough for that but not drinking?
You’re old enough to
let the world know your political stance, but not drink?
Like I said, you’re
constantly reminded that there’s so much you don’t know and can’t do. I don’t know
why age mattered so much. It’s a number.
Just a number.
It measured years not what I knew or how I felt about someone.
I should be able to
decide for myself what I wanted and how I felt.
A number shouldn’t.
Some say you’ll never
find love so young. And when you do, just like your age, they’re quick to
remind you that you’re young. Don’t count on it being there forever. The same
person that said don’t rush tells you that it might not last too.
Some people who believe
eighteen is young are the same people who think true love doesn’t happen that
young.
They don’t believe
there’s a love strong enough to last through tragedy.
I think Jameson and
Sway were proof of that. From what I learned in one night with that family was
that they were proof that anything could happen. Sway had been through hell and
back with her mom and then her dad. But there she was, living for the moment,
loving with everything she had.
I believe with all my
heart there’s a love that could be strong enough to withstand anything it’s tested
against. There’s a love out there that words, feelings, hell, its breath is
imprinted into every vessel. Its beat is the only real indication you felt it
at all.
Age wasn’t anything but
a number. And what I was feeling, now, with Dylan, was a good deal. It was our
deal. It was a breath imprinted into every vessel and the beat kept it alive.
I wasn’t sure how I
felt about Dylan but the feeling was coming to me, it couldn’t be ignored
because for one, it was that beat again. Something made us leave together that
day and I believed it was fate.
It was our deal.
12.
Tattoos and Boxes – Bailey Gray
Our next stop after
Dodge City was Memphis. I wanted to see Graceland. We decided to head to
Tulsa first and make a few stops along the way.
The early part of the
drive was quiet, neither one of us were very energetic in the morning and Dylan
seemed distracted with his phone so I looked through the photos on my camera
that I took last night and the ones from the night at the Brickyard that I didn’t
remember taking. Most were of Dylan singing and Eddy’s band. There were a few
with
Lanny
and me. I missed my bad decision partner
already and wished I would have kept my phone so I could have kept in touch
with girls like her and Sway.
“Was your scholarship
for photography?” Dylan asked before we stopped in Tulsa. He noticed one of the
pictures on the camera, one of me after the pole dance that
Lanny
had taken with my camera. “Shit, I looked ridiculously uncomfortable.”
“I think you were,” I
said scooting closer to him and buckling myself in the center seat to be near
him. “I did provide quite the dance. I’m pretty sure that I’m show girl
material.”
“I would have to
agree,” he said, his hand finding my inner thigh, his fingers rubbing circles
over my skin just under the frayed edge of my jean shorts. Thankfully, we found
a Target this morning and I was able to get some clothes and more underwear.
Dylan said we’d find a laundry mat tonight to clean up our other clothes. A
week on the run and you’ll run out of just about everything.
“Fuck…now I’m
thinking about that dance.” Dylan shifted, his hips lifting slightly as he
leaned forward slumping against the steering wheel. After a moment, he leaned
back and put his arm back around me. “Distract me…do you want to take photos
for a living?”
I kind of laughed, but
kept focused. “I’ve thought about it and yes, my scholarship was for
photography. You knew that though, didn’t you?”
“That’s impressive and
yes, I may have heard that around school.” He said twirling a piece of my hair
between his fingers. He used to do this when we were younger, a habit, one I
loved.
“So you think about
pursing the scholarship then?” You could feel the tension rising in
Dylan,
he didn’t make a movement or a sound until I
answered. I knew my answer would dictate his mood.
“I’m not going,” I said
clicking the arrow on the camera to scroll through more pictures, each one
reminding me of why I wasn’t going. This trip, these photos, this was me. A
university, a planned life, that wasn’t me. “I do think about pursing
photography, maybe selling some photos online or something to make a living.”
“Why does it matter if
you make a living?” He was genuinely curious when he asked that.
“Well eventually I need
to make my own money, think of the future.” My finger paused over the arrow
button again and I twisted to look up at Dylan. He met my glance but only for a
moment. “What’s our plan anyway?”
“We were going to
Birmingham, remember?” His smile was only on one side, the reality that this
wouldn’t last forever kept it for being a full smile, or at least that’s what I
thought.
“Eventually we will
have to…you know…settle on something.”
“I know.” And that’s
all he said before he asked, “So if you could, you’d just take photos?”
“Yeah, I would like
that but it’s probably just a pipe dream. There’s so many gifted photographers
out there that’s it’s hard to get into a field like that.”
“But you got a
scholarship.” He pointed out, laughing, but not a sincere laugh. It’s one that
said, are you crazy? “That’s something right there. If you love something,
money shouldn’t be the deciding factor.”
“So you’re saying that
if you love something, you should do it for free?”
“I already do.”
He had a very good
point.
Brushing the side of
his face against my hair, his nose ran along my ear. “It’s not about making
money brown eyes. It’s about giving your heart.”
“What about you then?
Your trust fund won’t last forever,” I countered, scrolling through photos
again and chuckling at the one from last night that I took when Dylan had
fallen asleep. He noticed and rolled his eyes.