Authors: Shey Stahl
As I tried to get away,
and tried not to trip on the massive stairs leading to the parking lot, I had
no idea where I was going but I needed to get out of there and think.
“Bailey, what has
gotten into you?” Eric shouted. “This is crazy. Stop and talk to me baby.”
The problem was that he
didn’t want to talk and in the ten years I had known Eric, I had never heard
him raise his voice.
Taken back, I stared at
him, blinking a few times as Mercedes and Kasey rushed to the parking lot as
well. They stayed back only because Kasey held Mercedes in place, his arms
wrapped around her chest as she fought to get free.
“You know what’s wrong
with me Eric?” I asked when I found my voice. “I’m tired of living like this.”
I sighed and looked him in the eyes. “I can’t do it. Did you honestly think you
could go away to college and this would work between us?” I spoke slowly trying
to make him hear me.
The problem was that
they weren’t hearing me. I don’t even know why they asked because they weren’t
looking for an answer from me. At least not the one I had for them.
“I’m sick of it. So
this is me losing it I guess.” I threw my arms in the air. “I can’t do this
anymore. I can’t be that person who just sits back—” I was going to continue
but I was cut off by the thunderous roar of Dylan’s engine and the screaming of
his father as the car rumbled.
Squinting into the sun
the filter through the thick layer of cotton, my eyes found them in the
distance in a heated conversation.
His father, Ken Wade,
continued yelling at him until Dylan stepped menacingly out of the car and
approached his father appearing to have struck a nerve.
“Fuck you!” Dylan
screamed. “You don’t know anything about me!”
That’s when they
started talking but I couldn’t make out anything they were saying. Whatever it
was, Dylan was not agreeing with him and was inches from his face shouting
back.
All of a sudden, Ken
drew his arm back and punched his son in the face. “You ungrateful little
shit!” he shouted standing over him. “I gave you everything you ever needed and
that’s how you repay me?”
Dylan didn’t budge. His
expression was unreadable but guarded as he stared at his father, his breath
even and surprisingly controlled.
I don’t know what
possessed me to do this but I ran toward them. If I had to guess, the same urge
had me telling everyone who ever helped me succeed to fuck off. Clearly not
much of my common sense was present today.
“Don’t hit him!” I
shouted pushing against Ken’s chest. My efforts did nothing seeing how he was
something like 6-2.
Why I felt the need to
get involved is beyond me but I did it anyway. Again, common sense was gone.
“Bailey you need to
stay out of this. This is between me and my son and you’ve gotten yourself in
enough trouble for one day.” Ken warned grabbing my arm. He too yanked me away.
I had a lot of yanking
happening to me. I was about to say something else when Dylan spoke again.
“Don’t touch her.” He seethed, creating distance between his dad and me.
Eric reached for me
bringing me against his chest, his arms protectively around my waist.
Turning, I looked up at
Dylan, surprised by his reaction. This was the first time I’d heard him speak
in I don’t know how long, years maybe.
His eyes, frosty blue
like winter, found mine and in that moment, I forgot the world around me.
Instead, I saw us
playing as kids. I saw us making mud pies, getting dirty, swimming at Black
Lake and my first kiss on the train tracks with him and the taste of his
watermelon gum. I saw us the way we should have been when nothing else mattered
but a dirt road that led to nowhere.
But that wasn’t us
anymore. It couldn’t be.
Or could it?
Could it be that there
was something else out there for me? Could it be that my sunrise was finally
unpredictable?
“Come on Bailey.” Eric
jerked me into his chest with a firm grip on my upper arms.
All I could focus on
was Dylan’s eyes. He seemed to be just as lost as I was.
In that moment, we were
two kids looking for an escape. Two kids wanting that unpredictable sunrise.
Dylan’s eyebrows pulled
together as he seemed to consider something and then tipped his head to his idling
Pontiac, his expression unreadable.
Did he want me to
get it?
Then he made it a
little clearer for me when he mouthed, “Come with me.”
That’s when Eric took a
firmer hold on me. His eyes searched my face for something, an emotion, an
answer that he would never find. “Bailey, let’s go.”
Pushing against his
chest, I tried to find my voice. “No, let go of me Eric.”
He didn’t and held
tighter. “I won’t let you ruin everything.”
“I believe she asked
you to let her go,” Dylan said, anger sparking, as he shoved Eric’s chest once.
Eric’s hand slipped from me with the motion. “If you want to keep that million
dollar arm, I suggest you let go.”
“Stay out of this
Wade.” Eric warned stepping toward Dylan. “This is between me and my
girlfriend.”
Near the driver’s door
now, Dylan opened the driver’s door, his eyebrows raised, and without thinking,
I jumped in, frantically crawling across the bench seat to the passenger side
beside his guitar. “Yeah well,” Dylan smiled, “looks like she wants a
ride
.”
With a casualness that
seemed more taunting than threatening, Dylan got inside the car with me.
Eric stepped back
knowing Dylan wouldn’t hesitate to run over him.
Once my breathing
returned to normal I realized what I’d just done.
I’m insane. This is so
insane. This is amazing.
I just got into a
strangers car. He wasn’t a stranger. I’d known him almost my entire life but I
didn’t
really
know him anymore. He could have murdered someone and I
wouldn’t have known.
Maybe he was going to
murder me.
You’ve watched
entirely too much Criminal Minds.
I told myself trying to relax.
It did nothing.
My eyes darted to Dylan
who was staring at the road. With the adrenaline running through me, I felt as
if I had just robbed a bank and couldn’t stop from shaking. It was like the
time I drank ten
Red Bulls
to stay up for mid-terms. I didn’t sleep for
a week.
How was Dylan so
calm?
We were still in town,
about a mile from Black Lake. When we crossed the train tracks, he looked over
at me, his lip bleeding from where his dad punched him. Visibly angry, he
brushed his left hand across his lip, wiping the blood away and then looked
back at the road before wiping the blood on his jeans.
Before I knew it, we
were sitting in front of my house. Dylan didn’t look over at me as he began to
speak his gravelly voice startled me. “You should go inside.”
The sound of him
speaking seemed bizarre to me.
“I don’t want to.” I
argued.
Maybe he didn’t really
want me with him. Maybe he didn’t want to go anywhere with me. I can’t really
blame him. Because of my family, I pretty much acted as though he wasn’t alive
the last eight years.
“You shouldn’t get into
more trouble. Go inside.” He demanded.
“No.”
Dylan sighed. “What are
you doing with me?” he asked carefully, shaking his head. “Just go.”
“I don’t know what I’m
doing.” I told him. “I don’t know but I do know I want to get away, anywhere,
with
you
.”
He was quiet for a
moment. His eyes searched mine as though he was asking them a question.
His mouth opened and
then he paused, as if deciding what he wanted to say. That’s when his
expression changed, softened as he spoke quietly. His hands tightened around
the steering wheel, roughed up knuckles turned white, and he looked back out
the windshield. “Go inside—”
“NO!” I interrupted
him.
Dylan’s eyes swept to
mine and glared, his face taking on a solemn edge. “Go inside—”
I started to say
something again but he silenced me with his fingertips.
“Grab whatever you need
but make it quick, pack fugitive style. Your parents will be here soon.”
What in the hell is
fugitive style? Should I ask?
No, don’t ask just go with it.
I nodded and reached
for the door, his hand reached for my arm and tugged lightly. “Are you sure you
want to do this?” he asked, hesitantly. “If you leave now―”
“I’m sure, Dylan.” I
assured him and ran inside my house before he could tell me no again.
Now what do I pack?
Clothes, underwear…what
else?
Camera
, definitely grab that. I wondered what packing fugitive
style was. Tossing all this in my bag, I looked back at my computer.
I knew I didn’t have
time to
Google
it or I would have. Hoping that it meant only
necessities, I went with that.
“Only necessities,” I
chanted to myself, “Only necessities.”
I packed everything I thought
was essential and nothing more. I did grab my phone but left my laptop and
iPad
on my desk knowing neither one of those items would be
fugitive style.
After that, I went for
my emergency stash of money that I had hidden away in a stuffed pig I had on my
bed from working last summer. That money was the one thing that my parents
didn’t know I had.
With my fugitive style
packing and my running skills, I was back in Dylan’s car in two minutes flat.
I saw my parent’s car
pulling into the development just as we made a right on Black Lake Boulevard. I
looked back at them in the side mirror, my mother’s arms waving all around
frantically as my father yelled.
I could literally
imagine the conversation that was happening in that car right now.
That’s when my mind
started to scramble and I wondered if this was the right decision to make? Had
I fucked up everything beyond repair?
But did I really want
to repair a life I never wanted?
Dylan didn’t say
anything until we got to the stop light on
Trosper
Road. When the light turned green, the car in front of us started moving and
Dylan looked over at me as he eased through the intersection. “North or south?”
he asked waiting for me to look at him.
What a loaded question
that was. The car behind us honked and Dylan smiled waiting for me to answer.
Sunrise, sunset, planned, unplanned, predictable, spontaneous, everything had a
meaning. Only I didn’t know what that meaning was.
“South,” I replied.
Dylan smirked letting
his eyes wander past my face. Naturally, this embarrassed me and my cheeks
burned. “South it is brown eyes,” he said making a left onto Interstate 5.
I’m not sure what
excited me more right then. The idea of going south with Dylan Wade or him
calling me brown eyes, my childhood nickname he gave me when I was three.
2.
The
unknown – Bailey Gray
With the windows rolled
down and the cool Southwest Washington air blowing through my hair, Dylan and I
made a run for it.
As the sun set around
us, it seemed, and I didn’t know for sure, both of us were searching for
something and neither knowing what that was. In all the scenarios I’ve ever
dreamed up about leaving home, I never imagined Dylan would be with me. I
always thought that I would leave alone and maybe travel to Seattle.
I couldn’t help but think
about what I was doing with Dylan, as I didn’t know him anymore, but Dylan
didn’t know me either. We were just two strangers now. But we were two
strangers looking for the same thing, sovereignty.
I had no idea what
tomorrow would bring or the next ten minutes and for the first time in my life,
I was okay with that. I wanted that. I didn’t want to have to answer to anyone.
I wanted to make mistakes. I wanted to get into trouble. I wanted to be
eighteen.
I couldn’t think of a
single reason to turn back now but I could think of a thousand reasons to keep
going.
Dylan was quiet for the
most part. Occasionally he would switch playlists on his iPod but other than
that, he said little. His right hand was on the steering wheel, his left
propped against the window twisting his hair in loops.
I wanted to ask him why
he asked me to come with him after eight years of no talking. I wanted to ask
him why his dad hit him…but I didn’t. There was so much about Dylan that
remained a mystery.
I knew enough about Dylan
Wade not to ask.
Once when we were
Chemistry, Wesley Kennedy, a shy nerdy kid asked him about a tattoo on his arm
and Dylan’s response was to punch him in the shoulder and tell him to mind his
own fucking business.
Knowing that side of
Dylan, no way was I asking anything until he did.
It’d been a while since
I looked at Dylan. I remember when we were kids he was always beautiful for boy
standards. Both Dylan and his brother, Drew, who left home at sixteen, were the
fantasy of most girls around town, because of their mystery.
Now, at eighteen,
Dylan’s looks had taken on more of a masculine appearance. His jaw was defined,
the deep ocher hues catching the blondish highlights from the summer sun and
the reddish tint to the stubble of his jaw. His hair had a shaggy appearance in
the front, very James Dean like. He was tall and slender, but muscular. His
forearms had tattoos that I couldn’t read as he kept them hidden usually by a
flannel most of the time but I knew they were there.
His friend Landon Neel
was a tattoo artist and pretty much had Dylan as his canvas.
As I shamelessly eyed
his body, his eyes flickered from the road to meet mine.
Christ, could I have
been any more obvious?
I figured he was going
to say some smart-ass remark but instead, he looked away quickly.