Chapter VIII

February 27, 2010. The tail end of winter break was among me. I had been able to convince my parents to let me stay at a homestay in St. Johnsbury for the week and a half long break, since it took nearly four days to travel to Saudi and back. The woman who was supposed to look after me was rarely home and I was often out late, unnoticed. It was midday, and I had left the woman’s home in a car with a girl I had met at open mic two weeks ago.

            “Haha. So let me get this straight.” Under the rickety, red, bridge my new friend and I sat under, a freshly thawed stream passed through mud and kissed my dirty, bare feet. The sun was playing peek-a-boo from behind the clouds, and the natural light around us was a strobe light, becoming brighter, and dimming again at rapid speed. “The minute you turn eighteen, you’re just going to pack your bags and hit the road?”

            “That’s right.” I said confidently. But deep down, I was surprised at myself. I had only known Savannah Brown for a few weeks now, and this was only my third time being around her. It wasn’t like me to just open up like that.

            “Where are you going to go?”

            “Oh, I don’t know. Midwest, most likely. I wanna live life like it was meant to be lived. See the world. Have an adventure.” She turned her head at that, and smiled.

            “Yeah man, I could dig that!” She said, excitement lighting her face. “Go on a f*****g adventure!” We both laughed.

            “Hey, could I get some of that?” She passed a mason jar, filled with homemade Yeager.

            “Be my guest. I’d love to go on an adventure some time.”

            “You should come with me! I’d love the company.”

            “Yeah. We’ll see where I’m at in the summer, never know what pops up.” I took a swig of the Yeager and set it back down in the mud.

            “No pressure or anything.”

            “No, totally. Hey, so, you want to play a game?” I searched her eyes for an explanation, but she didn’t elaborate. Just stood there staring back into my eyes. I looked away.

            “What kind of game?”

            “Close your eyes.” I obeyed, but uneasily.

            “Picture a cube in a desert.” A cardboard box, in the middle of a sandy, blonde, desert. “Now. A ladder is also in the picture.” A full sized, steel ladder, opened up with each leg on either side of the box. “Now there is a horse.” A beautiful, red haired horse, tied to the ladder with a rope.

            “What next?”

            “Where was the box in your mind?” My eyes opened to the blinding winter light, reflecting off the snow and lit a cigarette. She followed suit.

            “I saw the box in the middle of a desert scene.”

            “What was it made of?”

            “Cardboard.”

            “The box represents your inner self. The fact that it is made of cardboard says that you are either sensitive, weak, easily manipulated, outspoken or all of the above. Usually when people say it was in the middle it means that they seek attention.” I was blown away. “Does any of that reflect you?” I gave a nervous laugh.

            “Yeah. To a tee, actually.”

            “Where was the ladder?”

            “I saw a metal ladder directly over the box. What does that mean?”

            “It means you like to keep your friends extremely close.”

            “I don’t know about that one. I’m really loyal to my friends, but it’s hard for me to trust for some reason.”

            “Do you trust me?” Her question made me uncomfortable.

            “Well, not completely. But I think we hit it off pretty well. I mean, it takes awhile for me to warm up to most strangers.” She smiled.

            “No, I get you. I’m totally the same way. But I definitely agree with the whole hitting it off thing. I mean, it’s weird. But only after a few days, I feel like we have some serious best friend potential here.” She inhaled some smoke and washed it down with some Yeager. “Okay, tell me about the horse.” I looked at her and quickly looked away.

            “I saw a red haired horse, galloping eternally around the box. She was tied to the ladder.” I looked at her again to catch her response. This time, she looked away.

            “Ha. That’s really interesting.”

            “Why? Is it bad?”

            “Well, no, not bad for me. Not bad at all necessarily. The horse represents your love life. The fact that it is eternally revolving around your inner spirit, tells me that you view your love life as an endless circle, and constantly changing. That perhaps, you move from lover to lover often.” What could I say? She was right. Since I was fourteen, I had had many different short spurts of teenage romance. It had even gotten me in a bunch of trouble. Love triangles. Cheating. Broken hearts, on both ends. Even now, I was in a relationship that I didn’t care whether it lasted or didn’t. Maybe it was the way I dealt with my loneliness. Maybe I was just a son of a b***h.

            “Wow.”

            “So it’s true, huh?” My head shook in disbelief that she could know so much about my life from a stupid game. But laughed it off, and explained myself.

            “My love life is something that’s kind of been a mystery to me from the very beginning. I guess you could say that I’m a serial dater. Ever since my girlfriend cheated on me with my best friend, it’s kind of gone downhill.”

            “I’m sorry to hear that. How long were you with her?”

            “On and off for three years.” She made a sound like she was in pain.”It was my first real relationship, and so it was pretty painful.”

            “Yeah, I should say so. What about the girl you’re dating now, are you-

            “No,” I laughed guiltily. “No, we’re not serious. We just started dating less than two weeks ago, and I doubt it’ll last much longer.”

            “I see. I was cheated on as well, and the Mexican b*****d chose my friend to cheat on me with. I totally know where you’re coming from.”

            “Ha. That’s great. Mine was Mexican as well.”

            “You don’t say. Funny how fate works. First friend I find up here after moving up from Florida is starting to become my best friend. It’s amazing what we have in common. Do you agree?”

            “No, totally,” I smiled. “We get along good, kid.” I gulped down some Yeager, and stared off into the distance.

 

 

 

            “So, I’m not trying to put the moves on you or anything,” We both laughed hysterically. “But I’m just curious. Why is your girlfriend so cool about us hanging out? If I had a guy as good looking as you, I’d keep him on a tight leash.” We sat on her bed on the upstairs floor in the house that her sister and sister’s fiancée owned. I started bouncing up and down nervously on the springy mattress.

            “Who knows. Maybe she doesn’t see a lot of potential in our relationship either.”

            “That’s sad. My sister says to be careful with you. She thinks that because you’re not single and I’m not completely single, we’re a recipe for bad.”

            “Oh, I didn’t realize you had a boyfriend.”

            “I don’t. But, I’m not completely single either. I’m waiting for a guy to get out of prison.” Interesting.

            “I see. What’d he do?”

            “Crack.” She laughed and got up from the bed to look for something on her shelf across the room. “Ahh. I knew I had a bottle of rum somewhere. Now to find some glasses.” A few minutes later she found a wine glass and a shot glass and filled them both with the cheap, white stuff. We drank to new friendship.

            “So we’ve talked about me a lot today. What about you now? What’s your story?”

            “Ha. Where do I start?”

            “Tell me more about this thing you got with your sister. When did you guys start living together?” Her eyes fled to her shelf where a picture of an old man with long, silver hair stood.

            “My sister and I moved from Florida to Vegas when I was seventeen, and then back to Florida again when I was eighteen. And you know that we moved up here around three weeks ago.”

            “How old are you now?”

            “Nineteen.” All of a sudden, I heard The Allman Brothers. Savannah reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a cellphone. “Hello? Yes. Oh that’s great! That’s wonderful news. Tuesday, at when? Four? You got it. Thank you so much. Okay, thank you. Bye.” She hung up the phone. “I got the job!” Taking me by surprise, Savannah rushed over and embraced me.

            “Congratulations!”

“Thanks! I gotta go tell Sandy!” Watching her run down the stairs, I took a sip of the rum and smiled. A few seconds later, she came back up again, still smiling, ear to ear. “Hey, so, I gotta drop you off back at your place in a little bit, but do you want to meet again at open mic tonight?”

“Oh. Okay.”

 

 

 

COME AS STRANGERS, LEAVE AS FRIENDS read the hand painted wooden sign that sat in the corner of my homestay room. The morning light shinned brightly through the window, and fresh snow began to fall from the white sky. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the sign. One hand resting on my knee, the other grasping a cordless phone, shaking like a blender. Letting out a deep breath, I pushed the send button, and held the phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Libby?” I heard myself choke out. “Hey, it’s Zak. Hey, um, so I know it hasn’t been that long. But we’ve had some good times, and I’ve had a lot of fun.” Sweat formed on my brow. And the room was below sixty degrees. “I, uh, found someone else. I’m sorry.”

“Ha, is that it? No, I totally understand. We don’t have that much in common. Hey, I’ll see you in physics. Have a good break.”

“Okay, bye.”

“Bye.” A sigh filled the silent room. I brought my hands to my tired eyes. Sleep only stayed with me for a few hours the night before. The night before. Had it really happened?

 

 

 

In the little old Unitarian church on the corner of Eastern avenue and Cherry street, the four of us that were leftover from the lunch started to dismantle and clean our space. Chris was on dishes, Jean was on floors, I was on tables. Tom sat at the piano playing a Pink Floyd song. While I was physically there, wiping down the tables, taking them apart and putting them in the closet, it was probably very apparent to those around me that my mind was somewhere else, very far away.

“Thanks for all your help, Zak.” I held up my hands.

“Please. My pleasure.” Jean smiled, her white teeth gleaming as she opened the front door. “Have a good weekend.”

“You too, Zak. There’s some coffee left, do you want to finish it off for me?”

“Yeah, we could take care of it.” I smirked over at Tom, who delivered a toothy grin back at me.

“Great. See ya later.” I watched her get into her car and drive away, and then filled up a cup of coffee and went out for a smoke. Where was Savannah? She said she was going to be here a half an hour before it opened. Now it was a half an hour after it closed. Smoke traveled through my lungs to suffocate the butterflies. A sip of coffee to give them life again. Where was she? White car. Was it? Yes. There she was. Nine, five, three feet away.

“Did you do it?”

“Yes.” Catching me off guard, I became embraced in her arms, and in a breathless moment, Savannah Brown kissed my smoky, chapped lips. “Oh.” She smiled, and slipped her hand into mine.

“So, what are we doing today?”  

 

 

 

Last night started off innocent, and quickly changed it’s tone. On the open mic stage, my new friend and I sang Dylan and Cash. There was a small, but energetic crowd who watched intently at the new duet. It was a strange feeling, all those eyes. They had always been there before, but I had never felt them the way that I did that night. There were eyes that said “cute.” Eyes that said “that’s new.” Eyes that questioned my fidelity. Eyes that cautioned me to be chaste. Tom was there and played a few tunes on the piano, a Billy Joel and an Elvis, after which, Savannah signaled me to go outside for a smoke. The air was heart-throbbingly cold, and exhaled smoke tangoed with warm breath. A door swung open. It was Tom, and this really dumb f**k of a kid, Leighton, who I couldn’t stand.

“Oh, hey guys. Having a butt?” Tom asked.

“Yeah. What’s it to you?” I joked.

“Heh. Oh, nothin’. Say, have you guys ever made it to backshed?”

“He has.” Savannah answered for me. “I haven’t.”

“Oh, you have to go,” he told her. “It’s right up your alley.”

 “Yeah! I totally forgot about that. You really would like it, straight up Vermont bluegrass.” I looked over at Tom. “I haven’t been able to go for awhile, no ride.”

“I could take us,” Savannah said. “You know the way?”

“I do.” Tom said. “It’s just up the road dere. I can even drive if ya like.”

“Sounds great!” Savannah said. “Can we go now? I kind of don’t want to clean up in there.”

“Definitely.” I said.

“Can I come?” Leighton pulled out a cigarette.

“Sure!” Savannah said, not picking up on my nonverbal signals. I was that pretty sure staring into one’s eyes at the spur of a question meant “no, he’s weird, and annoying.”

And so there I was. Backseat. A mason jar filled with Yeager in one hand, a cigarette in the other. Windows rolled down, releasing wind over my small tuft of blonde hair; thigh against thigh. Just me and her. It was damn near pitch black, and I couldn’t see anything but the glow of the moon through the brown, syrupy stuff.

“What’s dat yer drinking back dere?” Tom was a nonconventional preacher who Savannah and I were beginning to find out, had a really big heart. But I still didn’t know him. And he was a preacher.

“It’s tea.” I said. “We’re drinking tea.”

“It smells like alcohol.” Said Leighton, who was sitting in the front. Dumb f**k.

“Nope. Just tea.” Said Savannah. It was dark, but I was sure she was giving me a look about it. I mean, who does that anyway?

We pulled up next to a beat up, old, pickup truck, and a small, chocolate colored shed that was leaking people and banjo music. Tom had brought ukuleles, that he had made himself. I had my guitar, Savannah had hers, and dumbfuck had his. Upon entering the shed, it became hard to move, let alone find a seat. The place was packed. There was one seat left. I let Savannah have the seat. Tom had found a milk jug to sit on, and Leighton and I kept standing in watch of the band. They were fantastic as usual; washboard, banjos, fiddles, guitars, dobros, mandolin, and an old fashioned upright bass. Surrounding them were about fifty people, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh in tiny little shed.

“And now: Carrie Cash!” An old Yankee man said, as a Cash impersonator walked up to the hairbrush microphone, dressed head to toe in black. He was good too, sounded just like him, and even looked a bit like him, if the original J.R. was Italian. Savannah got on top of her chair to watch, as Carrie began to play Ring of Fire. I stood in front of her, tilting my head back every couple of seconds to catch her reaction to the music. Every time, a smile.

After Carrie was finished playing, Leighton talked the band into letting him play a song that he wrote. Leighton’s music was a running joke between me and Tom, and a bunch of other people at open mic. But the backshed, not being exposed to Leighton’s low, tone deaf voice, gruesome lyrics, and out of tune guitar, they gladly let him on stage.

“Cigarette break?” Savannah said with a smile.

“You read my mind.” I looked over at Tom, who was stood up and made eye contact with me. “Go ahead without me, I’ll be right out.” As Savannah started out, Tom started walking towards me.

“Hey man. What do ya think?”

“Oh, I’ve been here before. It’s nice.”

“No, about her.”

“Who? Savannah? Oh, no, we’re just friends, man.”

“Oh, c’mon! Yer not gonna put any moves on her?”

“She’s nineteen.”

“Only two years older than you. I think she really likes you.”

“She has a boyfriend. And I have a girlfriend.”

“Fine. Whatever. Leighton’s probably gonna try and ask her out doh.”

“Leighton hits on anything that moves.” He laughed and walked back over to his milk jug. The music started playing again, with Leighton as their front man singing ‘I don’t wanna feel anything anymore.’ Jesus Christ. Slipping a cigarette in my mouth, I grabbed a cup of coffee from the coffee maker on top of an old tool box, and pushed my way through the crowd, pondering what Tom had just brought up. Tom was an old hopeless romantic. It was rare to hear him talk, but one topic that he seemed to bring up a lot was his many unsuccessful love affairs. I wasn’t picking up on any signs that she was interested, and it wasn’t abnormal for guys and girls to be just friends. We had hit it off pretty well, but there were still many circumstances that kept us from being just friends. She was in a relationship, and so was I. We had only been friends for a very short time. But still, the question had to be asked, was Tom trying to make something of nothing, or was I just oblivious to her charm? Or furthermore, what would happen if she was trying to put the moves on me? What would I say?

When I finally made it out the door, she was sitting on a bench, talking on her cell phone. The air was frigid, and sugary flakes of snow were beginning to fall from the dimly lit night sky.

“I can go back inside, if this is private.” I said. She closed the phone without saying goodbye to whoever she was talking to.

“Don’t be silly. Come sit with me.” I lit the cigarette that was in my mouth, and sat down.

“Good music.” I said, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, what the f**k?” She said laughing. “What is that guy’s deal?” She was referring to Leighton.

“No one knows. But I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that he’s tone deaf.”

“That’s obvious. I mean, just listen to that. It’s God awful.” The band had stopped backing him up, and pretty soon, asked him to stop playing all together. Looking through the window, I started to feel bad for him.

“Yeah. It really isn’t the place to play that type of music either.”

“Yeah.” Suddenly, the music picked back up, and the band began to play and old Irish jig. Sweeping off any embarrassment I had, I got up to dance, swinging my body around and around in the falling snow. “Get up.” I said smiling, holding out my hand. Her face lit up, and she rose from the bench to take my hand in hers; a spark igniting in the dark and dry, winter, air.

 

 

 

“Walk me back?”

“What are you scared?”

“Yes. Terribly frightened.” I said, sarcastically. She gave Tom a glance.

“Well. I guess there’s no harm in that, then.” We both got out of the car and locked arms. “So, Zakariya, tell me. If there were anything to bloom out of this friendship of ours, would I be just another horse?” We stopped at the door, and wrapped her in an embrace. I kissed her head.

“I’ll call you.”

Closing the door behind me, I let out a huge sigh. What was I to do? There was no excuse for my behavior. I had cheated on Libby. I had been unfaithful. This was too much for me, and completely out of character. There had been many times I have had short spurts of relationships. Sought girlfriends to combat my loneliness. But I had never once cheated. Not once. I had to tell her. It was the right thing to do. But it was only two weeks. Could it really be considered a relationship if we had only lasted two weeks? I ruled against telling her. But I could no longer continue our relationship.

Hey, what’s your number? I have to talk to you about something. I dragged my trembling finger across the touch pad of my laptop pushed the send button, my heart beating a mile a minute. Almost as if on cue, she responded with a follow up message. ya 8027288089. No sign of uneasiness from her side. But what could you tell from a Facebook message anyway? Okay, can I call you tomorrow morning? I waited another minute or two. np. The Internet. Destroying the English language by condensing whole responses into two letters. Just then, a chat box popped up. It was her.

I was hoping I’d find you on here.

:) I was hoping I’d hear from you before I went to sleep. You caught me in the middle of writing you a message. Do you mind if I just finish that before we start talking?

By all means.   

My heart beating with excitement, my brain swimming in adrenaline, I wove a love letter so divine that would make Aphrodite walk off Mount Olympus with his tail between his legs. When the dust settled, I sent the message and awaited the torturous seven minutes it took Savannah to read it.

It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever read.

It’s too much isn’t it.

No, I love it, it’s exactly how I feel.

I’m going to call Libby tomorrow.

I would say the same, but I already called Mike while we were still at the backshed.

:)

My sister wants me to get offline. But before I go, I should say, if you can’t see us working out, in any way, I would rather us stay friends.

I can’t imagine anything. Can you?

            At this point, it’s no turning back for me. I have tasted something so sweet, and I can’t go back, or even imagine going back to the way things were before. Good night Zak.

            Sweet dreams, Savannah.