by Tim ORourke
Page 2
“That blows. You eat yet?” I asked.
He again shook his head. “Nah. ”
“Order a pizza. I need to hit the shower. Bad. ” I secretly smelled under each arm when he wasn’t looking. Damn.
Austin laughed and said, “Okay. ” His eyes moved to the screen as he found the Domino’s website.
The shower felt fantastic. I could literally see the dirt and grime circling the drain as I soaped up every part of my body. I dried off, wrapping the white towel around my waist. I set about shaving the stubble off my face but left the goatee. I squirted some goop into my hands and tousled it into my thick, brown hair. Man, I needed a haircut – bad.
I braced both hands on the sink and leaned in towards the mirror. My brown eyes stood staring back at me in the reflection, and the image of the blonde in the coffee shop popped into my mind again. She was hot, but there was something about her I couldn’t put my finger on.
I had seen her on campus a few times, and even though her two friends were kinda hot, too, she was the one who always got my attention. Typical college girl, always had her phone in her hand. I used share a class with her – American History, I think – and I could swear one time I caught her snapping a picture of me with it. She had the camera up level, as one does when taking a photo, but she was probably just checking her makeup in its reflection. Yeah. . . it was probably just my ego wishing she wanted to take my picture. After all, if she wanted a picture of me, all she had to do was ask.
But of course, I’d ask for one in return. A devilish smile reflected back at me. I left the bathroom to find some clothes.
I heard the doorbell chime just as I finished getting dressed. Plain jeans and a red and gold Florida State Seminoles tee – school colors – was all I was going to be wearing tonight.
Austin was just paying the Domino’s delivery guy as I walked out to the living room. I fished a ten dollar bill from my wallet and put it on his laptop.
I made my way to the kitchen and plucked some paper plates from the pantry and two Cokes from the fridge, setting it all on the dining room table. We both dug into the pizza.
I was on my third slice when my phone buzzed with an incoming text.
We’re going to Rowdy’s tonight – be there @ 10 p. m.
Trent, always the partier. My kneejerk reaction was to stay in tonight, tell my good buddy Trent that I was dog-tired, but it was Friday and I knew I’d never hear the end of it from him.
I looked up from the phone. “Hey, Austin. Want to go to Rowdy’s with us tonight?”
Austin’s pencil froze in mid-scrawl. He looked up and smiled. “That sounds great, but no. I have a huge project due Monday. But thanks. ”
“You sure, man? Hot cowgirls, drunk chicks, dudes in big-ass ten gallon hats we can make fun of… last chance, bro,” I said with a salacious grin.
He smiled and shook his head, then went back to what he was doing on his laptop.
On the way to my room to change into more appropriate club wear, I texted Trent back to tell him I’d be there. Shit, I’m gonna need some serious Red Bull to get me through the rest of the night.
I rolled my truck into the parking lot of Rowdy’s. I was going to take my bike, but the sky had clouded over and looked brooding, so I fired up my old ’75 Ford F150 instead.
Because of the impending rain, I knew no girl would get on my motorcycle if it was pouring. I did have an extra helmet, but still. They were usually apprehensive in the rain no matter how adventurous or drunk they were, and I wasn’t taking any chances. I was going home with someone tonight, period.
My dad had helped me restore the old beast right after I graduated high school. The thing was a wreck – rusted from the salty Florida air and had a completely useless engine. We replaced just about everything on it, right down to the door handles, then put Flow Masters on it just to make it sound extra badass. It was jacked up tall, painted candy-apple red, and the chicks dug it. It was hands-down the best memory I had of my dad. He was a genius with any type of automobile, even the newer ones with the “damned computerized engines” he complained about all the time. Still, cars were his hobby, too, and he taught me well.
I looked at the interior of the truck and smiled, remembering how my father had helped me pick out all of these things. The radio. The seats. The floor mats. The steering wheel. The visors. The entire dash. My smile fell as I realized how much I missed him. It’s not that he was dead … he was missing. Disappeared one day over a year ago – never came home from work. He had been distraught since my mom died of cancer three years ago, but he would never leave me like that. The police were looking into his disappearance, and I had done some digging of my own, but all my leads were dead ends. One day he was at work, and the next day he just wasn’t. Disappeared into thin air, it seemed. I missed him every day and prayed he would be found.
Dammit. I punched the steering wheel in frustration. “Get a grip,” I mumbled to myself. I shook free the memory and got out of the truck. I needed a beer. STAT.
The club was a huge converted warehouse with a large red and blue lighted sign that sat on the top and simply read: “Rowdy’s. ” A cowboy boot complete with spur sat under the name and it flashed on and off. I wasn’t a huge country music fan but I had been known to listen to country rock like Blackberry Smoke and Kid Rock. I quickly located Trent and made my way over to him.
Chapter Four
Mina
I left Evelyn and Mandy to their coffee and cleared out of Starbucks. It didn’t seem to matter where you went in the world, the coffee bars were all the same. My personal favorite was the one on St. Pancras Railway Station, London. It seemed like another world away now. I had spent many hours sitting at that station, just beneath the ‘kissing’ statue, watching the world go by. I liked people watching. I liked to secretly film those people. It was amazing what I could see. I would try and figure out where these strangers were going or where they’d come from. Some were rushing to work, some late for an appointment, others were lovers who were secretly meeting. I watched them all. I filmed them, took their photos on my iPhone. I would study those pictures later. Some I would download and keep. Others didn’t interest me so they would be deleted. I had thousands of pictures of people – strangers.
Thinking of London made me feel homesick. Not that I missed anyone back there, but I missed the place – the vibe – that I had only ever felt back home. Christ, I even missed the wind and the rain and the constant grey skies. Orlando was like another world and one that, at first, felt strange to me. The first year had been difficult and I felt out of place. Not because the people were unfriendly – they were the complete opposite. I had found all of them to be warm and welcoming. I felt uncomfortable because I believed I had been banished here – sent to Orlando as a punishment. I’d had little choice in the matter.
I had gotten myself into trouble back home – the sort of trouble that most seventeen-year-old girls would want to run away from. I didn’t want to run away – I hadn’t done anything wrong. If only my mother had seen it that way. Perhaps then she wouldn’t have been so keen to send me packing to Florida to live with her brother.
As I had stood and cried at the airport, hoping that her anger might suddenly subside, she told me to grow up.
“For goodness sake, Willamina,” she had barked.
I’d hated it when mum called me that. I preferred Mina.
“I don’t want to go,” I’d sniffed back my tears.
“Consider yourself lucky I’m even speaking to you. What you did was unforgivable,” she said, trying to keep her voice low so as not to draw any unwanted attention from the other passengers. “Most girls your age would be grateful to be going to live in Florida. It will be like paradise – not that you deserve such a thing. ”
“We did the whole Mickey Mouse thing when I was six – just before dad…” I started, but couldn’t finish. I knew if my dad were
still alive, he wouldn’t be sending me away. Because that’s what she was doing. She was ashamed of me. She was ashamed of what I had done.
“I’m not talking about bloody Disneyworld!” my mother hissed, her face turning white with anger. “You’re going there to study. To start a new life!”
“But what about my friends…?” I sniffed.
“You haven’t got any friends,” she remarked, as if swallowing something foul.
“Please don’t make me go, mum, I don’t know anyone…” I tried to plead with her.
“Pull yourself together,” she snapped under her breath, looking sideways at a group of passengers who were now watching us. “You’re embarrassing me – and yourself for that matter. ”
“Please…” I said, tears spilling onto my cheeks.
Then with a sigh of relief, she pointed up at the departure board and said, “Your flight is boarding. ”
There was a long, uncomfortable silence as we looked at each other. If she was going to change her mind, it would be now.
“Well don’t just stand there,” she said. “Get going or the plane will leave without you. ”
Knowing she wouldn’t be turned, I stepped slowly forward and kissed her gently on the cheek. “I’m sorry, mum,” I whispered in her ear. Then turning away, I headed for the departures lounge. With every step, I hoped she might call me back. She didn’t. Reaching the door of the lounge, a steward took my ticket from me. I glanced back over my shoulder. My mum had already gone.
Uncle Rob was waiting for me at Orlando airport. He was a stranger to me. The last time I’d set eyes on him was at my dad’s funeral more than ten years before. He looked like my mum. As he led me out of the airport, the heat hit me like a punch to the face and I knew I was here to stay. That was almost two years ago now. I was no longer the immature seventeen-year-old who had cried in front of her mum. I had grown up – become a woman. I had changed, although some of my bad habits had stayed the same.
Pulling onto my uncle’s drive, I climbed from my car and made my way inside. Both my uncle and aunt were out and I had the house to myself. I went to my room and closed the door, sliding the lock tight. Taking my iPhone from my pocket, I watched the footage I had filmed in Starbucks. It was better than I first thought. I could clearly see the guy – who I knew to be called Jax – as he came towards the table where I had been sitting with my friends. I played the footage again, delicately drawing my thumb over it. Hitting the share button, I emailed it to myself. Springing onto my bed, I flipped open my laptop and retrieved the email. I replayed the footage of Jax, my heart thumping every time he came into shot. I hit the pause icon at just the right place. I was right; he did look straight at me as he left.