Authors: Aven Jayce
“Thanks Violet,” I whisper. “Life’s hard
without them. I think I’d be a better person if they were still here.”
But
then you wouldn’t need me. Now get to work so we can go home and see this Dan
character. I’ve changed my mind, the guy’s got potential. I like a man who’s
not afraid to fuck a silicone foot.
I grin and walk to class, allowing Violet
to place one more important fact in my head.
Hey
Enivid, that’s your name spelled backward, and according to the Urban
Dictionary it means you’re very influential, powerful, and wise, with a vast
amount of knowledge and you have great confidence in yourself. Everyone knows
the Urban Dictionary is the best source for information, so put that in your
pipe and smoke it.
When in doubt, look to your crazy inner
voice for the answer.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
D
an and I are becoming the couple that
people find utterly annoying and over-the-top-barf-o-licious. I made a mental
note the other day when he mentioned we could discuss hockey or anything my
little heart desired, so I have on my father’s replica Pittsburgh Pirates
hockey jersey. It’s a conversation starter and a test to see just how familiar
Dan really is with the sport. If he knows anything at all about the Pirates, a
team that went out of existence in the ‘30s, then my father would’ve fallen for
him as much as I have, so I guess this is my way of getting my father’s
approval without him actually being here.
Dan’s in the same jeans he had on the
other night and a black tee, and when he sees my shirt the grin on his face
fills the room. He opens his entryway closet door and rummages through a pile
of hats, finally pulling out one that’s yellow and black, placing it on his
head. And no, it’s not the yellow and black Pittsburgh Pirates
baseball
team hat, it’s the actual logo
from the ‘30s
hockey
team.
He’s the one.
Those were my father’s words that entered
my head for a split second, and then I look over at his book collection and can
picture my mother smiling and saying the same thing. I used to laugh at my friends
in college who
just knew
when they
found the guy they were going to spend the rest of their lives with, like it
was that easy. They said I’d understand when it happened to me. I think it just
happened; you just know. You feel it.
He’s the one.
After a long kiss, I’m led to his
backyard where smoke is billowing from the sides of his grill. We sit in lawn
chairs and wait for the meat to cook, me in my hockey Jersey, and Dan in his
hat, a total cutesy couple that reminds me of the matching Han Solo outfits we
wore last week to the mall.
It’s another gorgeous spring night and
for the first time since last fall, I hear someone mowing the lawn. It’s one of
those push mowers that most families used back in the ‘50s, and it makes
perfect sense to have them in this new urban community where the yards are the
size of a living room. Dan turns on the radio, a top-forty pop station, and my
foot bops to Beyonce.
“I should’ve asked if you like
hamburgers,” he says, handing me a soda.
“I’m an American girl. Give me burgers,
fries, and an apple pie and I’m happy.”
“No fries tonight, how about some
Fritos?”
“Same thing,” I respond.
He flips the meat, then closes the grill
and sits next to me. I put my feet on his lap and he slips off my white Keds,
massaging my feet for a few minutes while the meat continues to cook. I knew he
wouldn’t be able to resist my feet. His hands travel under the cuffs of my
jeans, above my ankles and up my calf. It’s fucking incredible to be in a
relationship again. God, what a feeling.
“So when am I going to find out what’s
wrong with you?” I ask, half jokingly.
“Soon,” he says, reaching for a plate and
the hamburger buns that sit on a small table in front of us. He lowers my feet
gently to the ground then turns off the grill and hands me a piece of beef.
“Soon? So something’s coming?”
“Maybe something, maybe nothing. It
depends.”
“On what?” I squirt mustard and ketchup
on my burger and take a bite. It’s delicious. My man can cook.
“It depends on if you can separate
fiction from reality.”
“That’s not easy for some people,” I say.
“What about you? Can you do it, or not?”
He eats his burger while I think, even though I already know the answer.
Violet’s my fiction, but she’s also
reality, so for myself fiction is never untrue.
“What you and I have in our heads may be
true to us, but it could be fiction to the guy next door,” he says. “And what
he believes to be true may be for him, but it’s not our reality.”
“Wait, don’t get all philosophical on me.
I know what’s going on here. You’re ending it. If you want to break up, you
don’t have to brainwash me into believing that you’re some fictional character
I created in my head. I’m not that fucked up.”
He laughs and drinks his soda. “I have no
plans on breaking up with you, Div. You asked what was wrong with me and I
hinted that it depends on how you view the world. What one person would find
wrong with my life and personality, another person might adore, so the question
was turned to you.”
“Oh... mmm. No, that’s not what you said.
You asked if I could separate fiction from reality.”
“Yep. Exactly. What you like about me,
and the things you can relate to will be the reality in our relationship, and
the surreal and bizarre characteristics you don’t get we’ll say are fiction.
And fiction’s not a terrible thing, so it all becomes positive.”
“You’re an oddball sometimes.”
“Call me an oddpuck,” he tips his Pirates
hat.
“And a total cheeseball too,” I laugh.
“Call me...”
“I know,” I cut in. “A cheesepuck.”
“My beautiful woman catches on quickly.
Another burger?”
I shake my head, still working on the
first. I don’t know what the fuck he just said, but it sort of made sense, a
little sense. I wonder if he’s stoned.
“Do you smoke?” I ask.
“Smoke what?”
“Smoke anything.”
“I have, but not in years. How about yourself?
Is Divine Hallowell the university’s supplier, bringing in a brick each week to
sell to the college students?”
“No,” I laugh.
“But you have?” he asks.
“As I repeat your words, I have, but not
in years.”
I watch as Dan takes pleasure in his meat
like a man. Sounds stereotypical, I know, but he’s sexy when he eats, gripping
the bun tightly and taking large bites, wiping his mouth with the back of his
hand while he chews, and then diving in for more. If I weren’t in the
starry-eyed phase of our relationship I’d probably nag him to use a napkin, but
since my heart’s just beginning to bloom; nothing really bothers me.
“See that bird building a nest in my back
pine?” he asks as he passes me the bag of Fritos.
“It’s pretty. Do you know what kind it
is?”
“A Kingbird. They build in that tree
every year, and I only wish I could warn them about the neighbor’s cat who’ll
be around in another month or two to eat their babies.”
“Uh, ug. I’m not a fan of animals roaming
the neighborhood. The cats hunt the baby rabbits and the birds, and the dogs
leave brown gifts in my front yard. And then my heart breaks when I come across
the poor things on the side of the road after being killed by a car. It’s
tragic. If you own a pet, you should take responsibility for it, like you would
a kid. I wouldn’t let my child leave brown drop-offs in my neighbor’s yards and
I certainly wouldn’t allow it to toss furry animals in the air then bite their
necks and rip their intestines out, not when it has a bowl of food at home.”
He laughs. “I won’t debate that with you,
Div. But animals and children are
not
the same.”
“I think half the population would
disagree with you. If I ever brought home an animal it would be my child,” I
say.
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people
who would dress her bulldog up in a pink tutu?”
“Sounds personal.”
“My mother,” he nods, “just wait ‘til you
meet her dog Tillie. She has her own bedroom and yeah, a dresser full of
outfits. My mother even puts her in pajamas each night and brushes her teeth
before bed.”
“That’s a good thing. You’re supposed to
brush an animal’s teeth.”
He puts up his hand, not wanting to hear
another word that I’m siding with his mother.
“I’d much rather live in a world full of
people who treat their animals with love and kindness, even if they dress them
in silly outfits, than hear about all the abusive situations that take place.”
I whisper, needing to get my two cents in.
He holds my hand and I can tell by the
tender squeeze it’s because he’s in silent agreement with my last words. There
are worse things than dressing an animal in a t-shirt that reads
Bone to be Wild.
“Speaking of birds, Dan.” I look down at
his shirt, interested in the story behind his tat. “Crows remind me of Edgar
Allen Poe, but what’s your fascination with them?”
“You’re thinking of a raven not a crow,
and what’s wrong with being reminded of Edgar? He was brilliant with words. A
great storyteller.”
“I don’t have anything against Poe, or
birds, but I’m curious about your choice... and I thought crows and ravens were
one and the same?”
“Ohhh,” he cringes. “You’re talking to a
guy who’s a bird lover. No, they’re not the same. Ravens croak and sound like a
frog with a chest cold.
Kraaa-kraaa
.”
I laugh at how realistic it sounds.
“You’ve practiced that.”
“In the shower,” he nods. “And crows have
a strong and brassy
caw-caw
call. It
reminds me of a trumpet.”
“Hmm, okay. So is the tat of a raven or a
crow?”
“Neither, it’s a blackbird,” he grins.
“You finished eating? Anything else I can get you?”
“I’m good, it was delicious, and thank
you. And don’t think I didn’t notice your attempt to change the subject.”
“Tell you what.” He pulls me over to his
chair and guides me to sit on his lap, my legs straddling his thighs as we face
one another. His hands sneak under the hockey jersey and up to my breasts,
pushing my bra away so he can feel my flesh. “Take me for a drive in your
truck, up the dirt road to our secret place, and then I’ll tell you about my
tat.”
I lean in, my lips an inch from his. “Is
that a trick to get in my pants when we’re alone in the woods,” I whisper. “Or
is it a line to get a free ride because you’re out of gas and low on money?”
We kiss, both of us trying to hold back
smiles and then laughter, as he picks me up with my legs still wrapped around
his body and carries me inside, locking his backdoor after we enter.
“Shouldn’t we clean up?” I ask.
“Nope. My crush on your truck takes
precedent and I’m sure you can feel my erection twitching for it. You’ve got an
F-150 from the ‘80s with the original and classic kick-ass red and white paint
job. I bet it even has the original tape deck in the dash.”
“Yep, kicking it old school. I inherited
the truck after my grandfather passed away a decade ago. It was when my father
was just teaching me how to drive, and it’s the only vehicle I’ve ever owned. I
plan on keeping it forever.”
We’re halfway through his living room
when he stops and sets me down. I know the look on his face since it’s one I’ve
seen a hundred times from my friends in college.
“You really lost everyone, didn’t you? I
can’t believe you’re all alone.”
“Come on,” I take his hand and pull him
to the door. “You can drive. Let’s have a night of fun, not of dreary
memories.”
He grabs his house keys, locks his door,
and runs after me as I climb into the passenger side of my truck.
“Here.” I hand him the keys from my front
pocket. “No tricks, no donuts, or hot dogs, or whatever people call those
things.”
His eyes close as he listens to the
revving sound of the engine.
“Dan?”
“This is awesome,” he says, pulling away
from the curb. “I promise to treat your truck with the same respect I have for
you, to love, honor, comfort, and cherish it, from this day forward, forsaking
my Cherokee, keeping only to the F-150 for as long as she will run.”
“Jesus Dan, you want me to leave you two
alone so you can get it on?” His cheeks are red with excitement. “I’m a bit
jealous that you proclaimed your love for my truck before me.”
“No worries, Div. Your time will come,”
he jokes.
He’s careful driving, just like he said he
would be, staying under the speed limit, approaching stop signs slowly and
keeping both hands on the wheel; even when I slide my hand along his leg, he
reacts with a smile, but his eyes remain on the road.
“You pass,” I say. “You can drive her
anytime you’d like, as long as I’m allowed to see her once in a while, like on
the weekends and holidays, summers would be nice as well... hey, do you have a
destination in mind. I thought we where going to our secret spot to... you
know.”
“You wanna suck face?” he laughs. “How
about IKEA instead?”
“What?” I stare at him like he’s insane.
“First of all, how did you go from touching my tits, to wanting to go up that
dirt road and make out, to IKEA? You’re definitely changing the subject about
the blackbird. And secondly, it’s two hours away.”
“So what.”
“It’s after seven o’clock. We’d get there
when they’re closing.”
“Yeah, but we can find a hotel and make
out all night then wake up and eat an IKEA breakfast, and then shop.”
“Dan?”