by Lily Jenkins
He says good-bye to Mr. Watson while I lock up the shop. It’s still light outside—the sun doesn’t set until 9:30 or so—but the air is cool, and there’s the after-work, school’s-out bustle on the streets. I look at the passing cars and the busy people on the sidewalks for a moment. They feel so far away, so separate from my own existence.
I turn, hearing Levi’s steps coming down the stairs, and plaster a smile on my face. But I don’t listen as Levi chats on our way out the door, around the corner, and to the pizza shop at the other end of the block. We split the cost of a large meat lover’s and make our way by foot back to his house. Levi’s still talking, and I—I can’t listen. I just miss Erica so fucking much. I know I should just call her, but it’s not that simple. It’s almost more painful to be around her, to know what I’ll be missing.
Levi stops about a block away from his house. I look over at him, surprised, and see that he’s got a look on his face that’s half annoyed, half concerned about me.
“Dude,” he says, “you there? I feel like I’m talking to myself over here.”
I force a smile. “Yeah, man, sorry. Just tired, I guess.”
He doesn’t return my smile. He just looks at me for a full moment, then starts walking again. I have to hurry to catch up to him, and he doesn’t look or talk to me even as we enter the house.
Fucking hell. Now he’s going to be mad at me? I can’t take this.
He sets the pizza box on the kitchen table and goes into his room to change out of his work clothes. I’m left alone in the kitchen. The place feels so small, like the walls are closing in on me, and my chest starts to hurt like I can’t breathe.
“Shit,” I whisper, getting scared, and force myself into the garage and shut the door behind me.
I don’t want to freak out, but if I do, I sure as hell don’t want Levi to see it happen. I don’t want anyone to know.
I sit down on my bed in my work clothes and just spend a minute or so working to catch my breath.
“Pull it together,” I tell myself through gritted teeth. And soon enough, I do.
I change mechanically out of my work uniform and into a t-shirt and jeans. I should probably shower, but I don’t have the energy. I’m so fucking exhausted. I go back into the kitchen and find Levi pulling off a slice of pizza and setting it on a paper towel. He doesn’t look at me, and he starts to walk into the living room. I approach the pizza, and before I get there I hear a shrill beeping noise that seems to be echoing around the house.
I turn in a circle, thinking a fire alarm has been set off, and can’t find the source of it. Levi has turned back, standing midway between the kitchen and the living room, and has a look of utter amusement on his face.
“What is that?” I ask him, anger and panic in my voice.
Levi laughs, and I just get pissed. I don’t want to be in this shitty little house another moment.
“What the fuck, man,” I shout at him. “What the hell is that sound?”
But this only makes him laugh harder. He’s almost dropping his pizza, he’s laughing so hard. It’s not until I take a step toward him that he realizes how pissed I am, and he stops laughing long enough to put up a hand.
“Dude,” he says, “it’s your phone. Don’t you even know your own phone?”
I stare at him blankly. Phone? I don’t get it at first. Then I look down, and I can fully tell that the ringing is coming from my pocket. It’s the new cell phone, the disposable one. I’ve never had a call on it before, so I didn’t recognize the ring tone.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Levi asks, still amused.
“Oh shit,” I say, and fumble out the phone and press the green button to answer the call. “Hello?” I ask, putting it up to my ear. “Who’s this?”
There’s a moment of silence on the other line. Then a soft voice says, “Hi.”
Erica.
My shoulders slump and my heart starts beating like crazy at the sound of her voice. I can’t resist. It’s like putting food in front of a starving man. It doesn’t matter if it’s poison when you’re hungry enough.
“Erica,” I say softly, my whole tone different now. I think about apologizing for not calling, then reconsider. It doesn’t matter now. “Where are you?” I ask.
“Home,” she says. I hear her breathing on the other end, and the sound is so fucking sexy that blood starts to rush to every part of my body at once.
“You want to get dinner?” I ask without thinking.
“Now? I mean, I guess I could. Yes.”
“Do you want me to come pick you up?”
There’s a brief pause. “Yeah. Give me half an hour though.”
“Okay.” I’m smiling now.
“Okay,” she says, and I swear she’s smiling too. “See you then.”
I hang up and suddenly I’m back in the kitchen. As soon as I heard her voice, it was like being transported somewhere else. Now I’m back, and I see Levi looking at me with a stupid grin on his face.
“Dude,” he says, “you should have just told me it was about a girl. I get it.”
I want to be mad at him, but I’m too excited about seeing Erica again.
Half an hour. She said half an hour. That gives me enough time to shower off the day and maybe figure out a place to take her.
But I don’t even care where we go. I’m so fucking elated just to be seeing her again. I don’t even care if it’s wrong. I just want to be near her so much.
I hear the motorcycle even before he turns onto my block. Its rumble reverberates in my bones, and it’s like some deep place inside me is waking up.
Then I snap out of it and rush around my room to gather my things. I stop by the mirror and double-check myself. I’ve got on a short pink skirt with leggings underneath—the wind from the motorcycle almost guarantees everyone will be looking up my skirt, and I don’t really feel like giving them a show—and a pastel green top that complements my red hair. I’m wearing it down—it’ll be under the helmet anyway, so I don’t have to worry about wind—and on my face I’ve got a light shade of lipstick. Coral.
In my half-second estimation, I look very clean and put together. I’ve already laced up a pair of teal shoes, so all I have to do is run downstairs and try to keep my heart from exploding on the way down.
I exit through the front door, and am about to lock it when I look over to see my mom in her normal chair on the porch. She’s got a quilt over her knees, and her eyes are blinking at the sound of the motorcycle’s engine idling.
“Bye, Mom,” I say as I take short quick hops down the front steps and along the path to the street.
And then I look up and see Adam on his motorcycle. His dark hair gleams in the afternoon sunlight, and his brown eyes, his look—it stops me in my tracks.
I take a slow step forward, taking in this beautiful guy who has suddenly and forcefully entered my life. Although I try to keep my eyes on his, I can’t help but notice that he’s wearing a tight white t-shirt that hugs his chest and makes his shoulders look huge. His muscular legs are hugging the bike in a set of dark blue jeans, and he’s got on tan work boots. He smiles, and his face softens with the expression. He’s shaved recently. His face looks smooth and boyish. But his eyes—his eyes look ageless and tired. Yet, in this moment, happy.
He hands me the helmet. “So,” he says, “I couldn’t really figure out a place to eat, so I figured we’d just ride downtown to the trolley and get off when we felt like it.”
“Sure,” I say. “I know a few places. And, to be honest, I’m not super hungry.”
He smiles almost guiltily. “Me either,” he says.
I put on the helmet and climb onto the rumbling motorcycle. It’s almost a familiar feeling at this point, and one that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to associate with anyone but Adam.
This is my favorite part: right before we take off, that moment of anticipation when I put my arms around Adam. Neither of us wears a jacket this time, and since we’re both in t-shi
rts, my bare arms are able to feel his body through his shirt like never before. Oh, he feels nice. His stomach is firm, and his chest—I have to work to keep my hands from finding their way upward to feel him.
Be good, Erica, I tell myself. I lace my fingers together to keep them from exploring, and grab tight around his stomach.
Then three, two, one—and we’re off! That first moment of movement, lurching us forward as if by accident, sends a delightful tickle through my stomach. Even though I’m prepared and expecting it, there’s something frightening about it nonetheless. But in a good way. It’s exciting. And I have the excuse to lean forward and squeeze Adam as much as I desire.
Really, I’m sure I could squeeze him as tight as I want throughout the whole ride and he probably wouldn’t mind.
We turn left at the end of my block and head downhill toward the water. This part I don’t enjoy as much. I know Adam is going slow, but it’s frightening for a whole different reason knowing that we have to cross a line of traffic to reach the downtown waterfront. As we get close, I close my eyes and just hold onto Adam. If a car is nearby, I don’t want to know.
My eyes are squeezed shut, and I try to keep track of where we are by the sensation of movement. Moving forward here, stopping briefly there (probably a stop sign), then loud noises and the feeling of sun. When we stop again and the engine cuts out, it feels much too soon to be done. I open my eyes and see that he has pulled into a parking spot in a lot right by the water. I let go of him and set my feet down. Adam hops to the ground and helps me off.
“Thanks,” I say, my voice muffled by the helmet. I pull it off and say thanks again so he can hear me.
Without the tinting of the helmet, the world seems too bright at first. I squint over at Adam and see that he’s looking at something in the distance.
“I figure we’d take the trolley from here.” He turns to me and smiles. “That is, if you don’t mind playing tour guide.”
I smile back and look out toward the water. It’s a beautiful day; the sun sends slanted light that feels warm and friendly down to the water. There’s a slight breeze. I feel it in my hair and see it chopping up the surface of the water, creating ripples of light like hot diamonds in the afternoon sun. Adam locks his bike and we start to walk along the pier, until we get to a set of rail tracks set into the platform. I cross them to a little bench and stand next to it.
“Is this a trolley stop?” Adam asks.
I look at the bench. “Doubtful. But it doesn’t matter. It’ll stop anywhere.”
Adam considers this and nods.
There’s quiet between us, but it feels peaceful with the sound of the gulls and the waves in the distance. We face back toward the town. The trees are a deep summer green, and low-hanging clouds drift past the peak of the hill. Again I can’t help but notice what a gorgeous day it is.
And then I think of how Conner will never have a gorgeous day again. How he’s never going to see this. Because of me.
I have to sit down on the bench. I can feel the splintery wood through the thin fabric of my skirt, but I don’t care. I take my head in my hands, and just breathe for a moment.
When I regain myself, I look up to see Adam staring at me. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes are full of a mixture of pity and confusion. I think I make him feel uncomfortable. Guys like to be able to fix things. I’m too broken for that.
After a moment, he looks back to the town, his face a blank mask to hide his emotions. I think about ending the date early. I’m not ready for this. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m not ready for anything.
But before I can speak, I hear the ringing of a bell. It’s the trolley. I stand, unable to think of an excuse to leave while the little red car makes its way toward us.
“It doesn’t look like it’s going to stop,” Adam says.
“It won’t normally,” I tell him, and reach down into my purse. I take out a dollar and hold it up, waving it above my head for the trolley driver to see. The vehicle slows and creeps up to us at a snail’s pace. Then it stops and the door opens.
“Thank you,” I tell the driver, and hand over my dollar, and then an additional one for Adam. We climb onto the trolley and find a seat in the back row on the side facing the town. We’ve barely sat down when the trolley begins moving again.
I’m on the seat by the window, and I gaze out as we leave Adam’s motorcycle and start to make our way across the town.
“Where exactly does this go?” Adam whispers to me.
I open my mouth to answer, but I’m cut off by the screech of the trolley’s intercom system. The driver, an elderly man dressed in a vintage trolley conductor’s uniform, blares out a welcome to the new travelers—that is, us—and continues with a peppy narration of everything we’re passing.
Which, naturally, only forces Adam and me closer in order to talk without disturbing anyone else.
As we pass by the sights, my mood lightens. I point out a restaurant on the pier with a great view and even better baked Alaska. “It’s kind of pricey,” I tell him, “but it’s fun.” We stop a few times as we pass by the hotels. Some people get on, some get off. And before I know it, my hand is in Adam’s and we’re both blissfully looking out the window at the town.
“There’s where Nicole works,” I say as we pass the coffee shop.
“There’s Watson’s!” Adam whispers excitedly a few blocks later, and points up the road to his repair shop.
Someone in front of us snaps a picture, and I realize we might be the only locals on the line. I look out again, at my home and the streets that hold so many memories, and wonder how it looks to a stranger. Does it look like any other town to them? Do they think it’s a dumpy little place, and that they should have stayed in Portland? Or is it “quaint” and “cozy,” in a way that makes good pictures but they’d never actually want to live here?
I don’t know. To me, it looks like home. And that is both its biggest plus and its biggest minus.
We travel past the downtown. The narrator is quieter here, and we pass by a newer housing development with properties facing right out to the water.
“Wow,” Adam says. “Imagine what it’d be like to live here. The view.”
I look out at the freighter ships and the view of Washington state across the water.
“Yeah,” I say, “it’s very pretty. But you should see it in the fall, when all the leaves change. Or spring. Spring is the best, when everything’s blooming.”
Adam stares out the window, and it’s like his body shrinks into itself. His shoulders hunch and he takes his hand from mine. His eyes, oh his eyes are painful to see.
I could kick myself. He won’t be here for the spring. He’s leaving at the end of the summer, and I don’t even know where he’s going. I’m almost afraid to ask. I don’t want to talk about it at all. But I have to say something. I’m trying to think of the way to phrase it when suddenly Adam’s eyes open wider, and life flows back into his face.
“What’s that?” he asks, pointing out my window.
I turn and look at the hill. It takes me a moment to see what he’s talking about. Then I see it.
On the top of the hill is a high column. It’s one of our few actual tourist attractions—a tall cylinder with a lookout tower on the top, visible from almost any section of town.
“That’s the Astoria Column,” I tell him.
“Can you go up there?”
“Yeah, it’s open to anybody. I used to volunteer there sophomore year, in the parking lot. I still have the key, actually, even though I haven’t been up there in ages.”
“What’s it like?”
I shrug. “I haven’t been to the top since elementary school. All I remember is a lot of spiral stairs, and how Stephanie Barnes freaked out because she stepped in gum, and was whining at the top of her lungs the entire time like it was the end of the world.”
I look up, and Adam’s looking at me. “It must be pretty nice to have lived in one place all your life. T
o have one place that holds all your memories.”
I think of Conner. Adam must see the change in my expression, because he takes my hand again and squeezes it.
“I guess it goes both ways,” he says. He leans past me and pulls on the cord to request a stop. It buzzes, and the trolley slows down. “Let’s get off here,” he says.
We make our way off the trolley, and I realize we’re probably the only people under sixty on this thing. We step down onto the gravel that surrounds the tracks and wait a moment, watching the trolley continue down the line. Then Adam takes my hand and leans down to my ear.
“You want to check out the Column?” he asks. His voice is husky, his breath tickling my ear. I shiver a little but don’t move away.
“Sure,” I say, and we start the long winding walk up the hill.
To my relief, we’re far enough away from downtown that there’s only one street that’s even got cars on it to cross before we’re practically the only people within view. This is an older residential neighborhood, and we make our way up with no particular hurry, our fingers laced together.
The shadows of the neighborhood are getting longer now. Cool air rises off the lawns, and I feel it on my bare arms and through my leggings. It smells fresh, like honeysuckle and newly mowed grass. There’s still a breeze going through the air, and it’s just cool enough to keep this walk from feeling like an exertion. I take a deep breath, letting the air out slowly, and listen to the sound of our feet on the pavement, the sound of the birds calling to one another.
“So have you lived here your whole life?” he asks.
I groan. “Yes. I mean, it’s nice and all. But it’s boring sometimes.”
“I don’t know,” he says. “I’m having a good time.”
He smiles at me, and my breathing quickens. He’s so sexy. I remember our kiss, and my body starts to ache a bit. The things he can do to me, with just one look—it’s almost frightening. Especially since I feel like he’s experiencing this too. But who is he? Is it wrong that I feel so attracted to him without knowing him better? Or should I just go with the flow with the time that we have left? I remember what Nicole said about how limited time adds a pressure to everything, and I definitely feel that now. I have so much to ask, so much I want to do; it feels like if I don’t do it now, I’ll miss my chance.