by K Larsen
“You’re kind of being a dink. I thought this trip was whatever the lady wants,” I remind him.
“It is. And the lady will want this over and over.” He winks at me suggesting a roller coaster isn’t what I will want repeatedly but I can’t argue with that. His eyes sparkle with excitement and my gut bubbles with anxiety but also with desire. My cheeks heat at the memory of our moment in the truck earlier. Of the incredible sensations my body felt.
“Next,” the attendant calls.
Dallas tugs my wrist, urging me forward to what will likely be my death. Death by heart attack or, oh, that girl who fell out of the ride to her demise.
My hands grow clammy as the attendant secures the shoulder harness over my chest.
“Dallas, I really don’t want to,” I say.
He takes my hand and squeezes it. “Don’t let go, okay?” he asks.
It starts slowly. We’re tugged up the track inch by inch into the sky. The view is astounding. Sunset oranges and pinks. Fire in the sky. For a moment we hang at the top of the track. We can see the moving dots of color below, the other rides, and even the beach. And then, with a shocking suddenness that steals the air from my lungs, it all drops away. My stomach turns inside out and my eyes water and I grip the lap bar. It is the most remarkable feeling. I am falling and soaring together. A piercing scream that can be heard over the shrieks of our fellow riders rips from my lungs. I look at Dallas and see that his face is stretched, completely transformed by the speedy sensation. I turn away. I don’t want it to stop. The wind blows the wisps around my face against my lips where they get stuck. Dallas squeezes my hand. I forgot he was holding it. I forgot I thought I’d be scared. I forgot that sometimes, faith is a necessary part of growth… of living your best life. I squeal again as we whip upside down before righting again.
“Holy crap! That was amazing,” I squeal.
When we pull into the starting point, my face is stretched so taut in a smile that I can’t relax the muscles. The shoulder and lap bars release, and Dallas jumps out and extends a hand to help me out.
“Let’s do it again,” I breathe, as we giggle our way down the exit ramp.
“I knew you’d love it.” He puts his arm around my shoulder as we loop around to the line again.
“You win. I loved it. But after this time, we go on the Gravitron.”
He unsticks a strand of hair from my bottom lip and shakes his head. “Nope. That is only good for one thing.”
I wait, but he doesn’t answer. “Well, what?” I ask.
“Puking.”
Laughter bursts out of me. “Are you saying that you, Dallas Baribeau, can handle an upside down super speedy roller coaster, but the Gravitron ride, that the little kids go on, is too much for you to take?”
He nods. “I’m not afraid to admit my shortcomings.”
“Have a little faith,” I say pointedly, and bump his shoulder playfully.
“Touché.”
I point to the photo booth buried in the games section. “Let’s do pictures after then,” I suggest.
“Lemme guess, you want to make different faces and kiss and be ridiculous.”
I pout. “Hey. What’s wrong with that? We didn’t bring phones. I have no pictures of this trip or you. It’s the perfect memento.”
Dallas’s face, all of it, the corners of his eyes, his lips, even his brows tilt upward into a grin. “I brought the disposable, but you’re right, babe.” Babe, the word catches me off guard in the best way possible and my belly feels like it has liquefied. “It is the perfect memento. I’ll do it on one condition,” he says.
“What’s that?”
“You get one kissy-smiley photo and the rest have to be dead serious.”
“Serious?” I squawk.
“Yup, like we intentionally do not smile or make faces. We do our best to look miserable.”
I scrunch up my nose. “But, why?”
He shrugs, grinning. “They’re funnier that way.”
I cross my arms over my chest as we inch through the line. “One smiley face. One kiss, and the rest can be mock serious-miserable. Final offer.”
Dallas’s brows arch. “You drive a hard bargain, City, but deal.” He holds out his hand for me to shake and I do.
“Six dollars,” the man in the truck says. I look to Dallas. I spent the cash I brought on our ride tickets.
Dallas hands the man cash and we take our giant plate of fried dough to the table off to the side.
“Powdered sugar or cinnamon sugar?” he asks.
“Powdered and cinnamon sugar.”
“Both?”
“Yup. If you skip the good stuff on fried dough, you’re not living your best life.”
He graces me with a smirk before turning his attention to the two canisters. Generously, he coats the dough in both sweet toppings. The waves crash along the beach behind us. The fair looks like a magical land made of twinkling lights, bold colors and peals of laughter. People hold hands, little kids giggle and tear through the games section pointing to toys they want to win as they beg their parents for money. A band plays on the other side of the food trucks, adults swaying together in practiced lovers’ dances.
“Wanna sit on the beach?”
“Yes,” I answer.
Dallas rips off a chunk of fried dough and hands it to me as we walk. The buttery dough practically melts in my mouth and I mumble my love for it around the food.
“What was that? Cause it sounded a lot like mmm ooomigod ilove friedough,” he mimics.
I cover my mouth and laugh, little bits of food splatter against my palm.
Swallowing I say, “That’s exactly what I said.”
Dallas looks around before deciding that our spot is good and plops into the sand. I sit next to him. He tears a piece off and says, “Here comes the airplane.”
No one’s said that since I was kid. I open wide and wait as he gently feeds me the piece. When his fingertips are just inside my lips I close my mouth and suck the buttery sugar from his fingers as he pulls them out. His eyes catch mine and in the moonlight, away from the crowds of the fair, something flares to life in them. Desires maybe, I’m not sure. He licks his lips as I swallow. I pull a piece off and hold it up for him. He leans in and eats it from my fingers, slowly. His tongue swirls around the tips of my fingers, hot and wet, and it makes my belly flip and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“Have you been with a lot of girls?” I ask.
Dallas blanches. “Where did that come from?”
I shrug. “I just wondered if all relationships are this intense, or just ours.”
“Well, what about your last boyfriend?” he asks.
I wrinkle my brow at him and frown. “I asked you because I don’t have anything to compare it to.”
He shakes his head. “No, City, it’s not always this intense. This is different. Special.”
I take the last bite of fried dough from the plate and pop it in my mouth. Licking the sugar from my fingertips, Dallas groans.
“What I wouldn’t give to be those fingers.”
I swat at him and lie on my back in the sand. “You didn’t answer me though. Have there been a lot of other girls?”
He blows out a sigh while rolling the paper plate into a tube and sticking it in the sand. He lies down next to me and tucks his hands beneath his head.
“I don’t see what telling you would accomplish,” he says.
Staring up at the stars, a wave of unease rushes through me, making my skin prickle.
“Can you just answer? You not answering me is actually freaking me out worse than you just saying fifty.”
He slides his arm through the sand making a one-armed snow angel type effect until his fingers find mine, clamped together over my stomach. I let him take my hand even though I’m not sure I want him to at the moment.
“I’ve dated lots of girls. I’ve slept with five.”
“FIVE?!” I yell. Astonishment sweeps through me, followed b
y a hefty dose of jealousy. I swallow back a sour taste rising in my throat.
Dallas jackknifes to a sitting position and runs his hands through his hair. “It’s not that many.”
“What were you, ten when you lost your virginity?” I sit up and brush the sand from my hands.
He gives me an apologetic look. “I was twelve, actually. And the kids in the neighborhoods I grew up in started earlier and have double my number.”
“Twelve?” My heart cracks. That’s so young. Too young.
He nods. “None of them really meant anything. I wasn’t dating any of them. I didn’t love them. It was just… what you did. Those kids had food and heated trailers. Parents who bought them beer and weed. It was better than going home. But, it meant I had to fit in with them, so I did.” A tear spills down my cheek. “Why are you crying?”
“I thought my childhood was fucked, but yours was worse.”
Dallas chuckles and slings an arm around me, drawing me to his side. “You said fuck.”
A smile creeps in, tugging my lips upward. I nod.
“You know that’s not what we’re about right? I don’t expect sex from you.”
“For now. You will.”
“You’re so dark sometimes, Charlotte,” he says.
“I know. But I prefer to be a realist. It’s easier to acknowledge truths than be hurt by disappointment.”
Dallas reclines, taking me with him, until we’re pressed into the sand—still warm from the heat of the day.
“I’ve told you before—whatever the lady wants.”
“What if I want it?” I ask, rolling to my side and lobbing an arm over his chest.
“You don’t. Don’t joke about that. When you do, you’ll be sure and it will be right. All of it. The timing, the guy, the place. Don’t settle for anything less than magic.”
I drop my head back into the sand. Curiosity swells in my head, lust in my gut and that stubborn twinge of jealousy still lurking in my chest.
I sit up and wipe the sweat from my upper lip. The air is thick and oppressive already. Tossing the sheet aside, I relish the feel of the cool breeze on my skin. I love summer, but I hate the heat. It’s ten of five, the sun not quite up and it is already warm outside. The deer will be feeding soon. I should wake Dallas so we can watch them. It is much more comfortable at this time than when it’s sweltering hot and the mosquitos and gnats are buzzing around you.
There is a tiny spider sitting in a small spider web in the corner of the truck bed. I mouth ‘thank you’ to it silently, because I know it’s eating all the mosquitoes that came during sleep. I count my breaths. Slow and steady. In and out. One by one, always the same, yet unique too, and I wonder if next year, when I’m seventeen, I will still be the same—if Dallas will still be by my side.
His face is relaxed and peaceful with sleep. His breaths rhythmic and calming. I grab the disposable camera, lie down again and snap a selfie. I grab my journal hanging in the outside pocket of my bag that’s wedged near my feet. The photo strip from the booth is tucked inside the cover and makes me giggle every time I catch sight of it. There’s one photo in particular that ended up being my favorite. I was attempting a ‘serious’ face like Dallas demanded, staring straight into the camera, and I thought Dallas was too, but in the photo, he’s staring at me, a Mona Lisa smile tugging at his features, that beholden look all over his face. It’s sexier than the kiss picture. It’s happier than the one we smiled in together. If it were another couple and I saw it, I’d long for someone to look at me the way their boyfriend looked at them in that picture, despite the mock serious face I tried for. Tiny sunbeams splash the empty page on my lap.
Dear D,
I’m with Dallas. My heart seems to beat a quick steady beat these last twenty-four hours. I worry about Eve and Nora. Are they sick with worry right now? But the majority of me hasn’t thought of them at all and I wonder if that makes me a bad person. Mostly I watch Dallas, I study him and listen to him and try to figure out ways to scootch a little closer to him because it feels like I’m never quite close enough for my liking. Is this the obsessive budding of love that Dr. R was talking about? Am I losing myself to this sensation? I don’t think so. Dallas makes me think bigger and better, and I crave the things he has to teach me. I dreamt of Holden last night. It wasn’t a nightmare though.
At night, after supper, Nora brushed my long silky locks and braided them. Holden watched. He loved to play with Nora’s hair and told her often how much he liked it long.
“What do you think Lotte? Should she do mine, too?” he asked.
I giggled and nodded. Nora patted my back to signal she was done, then patted the bed between her legs at Holden. He grinned and sat on the floor in front of her. She made long slow strokes through his shoulder length, wavy hair. When she was done, she let me braid it for him. I secured it with an elastic and mimicked her by patting the top of his head.
“All done,” I chirped.
“A guy could get used to this,” he said with a grin. And for the briefest moment, the world felt right. We felt like a family.
He was gentle and patient and encouraging. It made me feel loved and protected but it also stoked hatred. How could he keep me in limbo so easily? Was I that weak? One day he reigned terror and the next he became a doting father figure. I couldn’t trust him. I couldn’t trust the patience he was giving me nor the safety. It was like water—it would disappear between your fingers when you tried to hold on to it.
I count my breaths and stare at the tiny spider. I wonder what happens to all the blood when they catch their prey. Do spiders drink it up or does it evaporate over time while they sit trapped in that web helpless?
17
Dallas
My eyes blink themselves open. Warm lips tenderly graze my jaw and neck. Little freckles of sun slip through the leaves of the trees. A sleep-heavy groan slips out. Two fingers, delicate and warm rest at the pulse point of my neck. They don’t explore or move, they just rest on that spot as if taking my pulse.
“Shhh,” she whispers, pressing her lips to mine. “You’ll spook the deer.” Her honey-colored hair hangs around our faces, hiding us from the outside world. I could live here, just like this, forever.
Her lips are so soft as they move against mine. My fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of her neck. She drops her body weight on top of me. We’re just two horny teenagers enjoying ourselves in the back of a truck. It sounds like the worst country song that ever was. Yet, I’d change nothing. She pulls her head back and looks at me in a way that makes me wonder if she’s able to reach into my soul with those blue eyes and tear out all the secrets and pain that hide in the darkest corners.
“Do you want to see the deer?” she whispers, a smitten smile, just for me on her lips.
“Are there really deer?” I rub the sleep from my eyes.
“Come on,” she says in an excited rush of air.
Charlotte carefully wiggles her way from the bed of the truck without making it creak. I follow suit. The sun is weak in the sky, just letting little beams of light through our forest spot. It must be really early. I’m surprised I out-slept her. Then again, there is something about having Charlotte near me—it makes me feel like it’s safe to sleep. Safe to be vulnerable enough to close my eyes and lay my body out in the open and render myself defenseless to life for a while.
She creeps barefoot, soundlessly from our spot to the tree line, towing me behind her. Every twig I step on makes her pause, her head whipping around, her expression imploring me to be quiet. It’s almost laughable how serious she is about it all. When we’re just beyond the tree line, Charlotte squats and tugs me by the hand down with her.
“Look,” she breathes. I follow her finger until a mother and baby deer come into focus. “Aren’t they beautiful?” she asks.
They are, but so is she. The appreciation and wonder in her eyes is palpable as she watches the majestic beasts graze the dew soaked grass.
“That’s a mule dee
r.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
She opens her mouth but no words come out. Her eyes cloud like she’s lost in her own head. I nudge her out of her thoughts. “City?”
“I learned a lot on the mountain,” she sighs.
“From Holden?”
She nods and stands up, wiping her hands on her pajama pants. The deers’ heads snap up and seemingly stare right at us. Charlotte stands frozen, and I hold my breath. The mother takes a few steps toward us, sniffing and making weird grunting sounds. The animal is huge. All muscle and shiny coat. It’s peaceful and graceful, its eyes soulful, and it makes me hurt that anyone can willingly kill such a beautiful creature. Charlotte’s hand slides into mine.
“Incredible,” I whisper. Charlotte grins.
After a couple bananas, Charlotte and I decide to pack up and get back on the road. She determines that we’re to take only back roads from here on out, citing the highway to be too boring for her liking. I tend to agree with her so we stop at a gas station outside town which looks more like a shack on the side of the road to buy a map.
It’s sweltering hot already and it’s not even ten yet. The windows are rolled down, Charlotte’s hair blows around her head like a tornado. The radio volume is up as high as it goes and we’re belting out “Sweet Home Alabama.” And laughing while we do it. Charlotte plays air guitar while I drum on the steering wheel. City pulls an elastic from her wrist and twists her windblown hair into a knot on top of her head, blue eyes blazing as they catch mine briefly before I force myself to keep my gaze on the road.
We’re nearing Greene, and with it a slew of messy memories from my youth, but I don’t want to say anything to Charlotte about it. I want her to experience whatever she decides on this trip. Unfortunately, I know that will mean a pit stop in Greene. It’s quaint Main Street with its picturesque shops will be no match for City. I steel myself as we pass over the town line. This was the first town I lived in as a ward of the state. My first foster home and family. I was scared and felt unease nearly every hour of every day the first few weeks here, but the Johnston’s were, in comparison to other foster parents, nice.