Peace Love Resistance

by Jettie Woodruff

  The logical part of my brain assured me she was crazy, telling me to say goodbye. The irrational part of my brain begged for more. “Can’t you wake me up?”

  Tristan’s shoulders dropped and a nervous laugh escaped her lips. “I could wake the whole world up if they would listen, but smart people seem crazy to ignorant people.”

  That one also needed a minute to process. Smart people seem crazy to ignorant people. I sidestepped it with no idea what the hell it meant or what I was about to get myself into. “I’ll listen. I promise.”

  Tristan took another breath, her eyes shifting from mine while her fingers ran through her soft brown hair. “I know your type, Ty. This will be a lot for you, more than you can handle, I’m afraid.”

  I frowned down to her brown eyes, a quick puff of sarcastic air escaping my lips. “My type? You don’t know me.”

  “I know you wear sixty dollar shorts, name brand tee-shirts, and those shoes. Wow, Ty. How much did those puppies set you back?” she questioned, her eyes moving down my body to my orange Nike’s.

  Even though she thought she had the upper hand, I showed her otherwise. “And you don’t judge... What’s the difference between me judging you cross dressing Tobias and you judging my clothes?”

  “A lot. I’m not judging you at all. All I’m saying is, I think you’re so hypnotized, you’ll never get where I am in this life time. You’re going to need a few more. Maybe next time. We’re too far apart. Different journeys.”

  “Journeys?”

  “Never mind, Ty. I can’t do this,” she admitted, more to herself than me.

  “I’m sorry. Okay, fine. Show me your journey. Show me how to be where you are.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  I stood quietly behind Tristan, waiting while she paid for her small basket of feminine products. Lots of them.

  “Eleven, eleven,” the lady behind the counter said, pulling my eyes from Tristan to her in a strange way. I swore at that moment the number eleven was in the midst of haunting me. It was everywhere I went it seemed. More than I could ignore.

  Tristan unfolded a fifty, a ten, and a one dollar bill. “Do you have eleven cents?”

  My eyes locked with hers again, my hands sliding into my shorts. Low and behold, one dime and one penny. Eleven cents exactly. Our hands touched as the coins fell from my hand to hers, and although she would lie and tell me I was crazy, she flinched. I saw it with my own eyes. I took her bag, carrying it without being asked and followed her out.

  Without looking back, Tristan once again warned me. “My reality is nothing like yours.”

  “Yes, I know. You live in a rabbit hole. Take me there with you.”

  “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” she assured me, her eyes meeting mine while she fastened Tobias into a car seat, backwards in the passenger seat.

  “Can I come up to your camp site? I’ll bring burgers or something.”

  Tristan shook the secured, solid seat and chuckled, a slight grin to the left. “What’s wrong with you?”

  I only smiled down at her, countering with the same question. “What’s wrong with you?”

  She didn’t smile back at me. Instead she stared up to me, more troubled than not, two worry lines in the middle of her forehead. “You have to do everything I tell you, and you should know up front. Once you wake up, you can never go back. It’s just not possible.”

  Chapter Five

  This is your last chance. After this, there is no turning back. You take the blue pill—the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill—you stay in Wonderland, and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes. Remember: all I'm offering is the truth. Nothing more.

  ~Morpheus, The Matrix

  After much persuasion, I finally talked her into it. Tristan invited me to her camp with a warning and I didn’t care. If she was in the hole, I wanted to be there, too. It wasn’t like I had many other options knocking down my door.

  I watched her drive out of town with a smile on my face, a huge smile. Until my mom called…

  “What?”

  “Where are you? I want my car. I told you I wanted to take your dad lunch.”

  I frowned at my phone, surprised by the generous, out of character gesture. “What about the Internet? I thought they were hooking it up.”

  “They did. They’re gone already. Are you almost done?”

  “I got sidetracked. I didn’t make it there yet. I can work on something else. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

  I drove back over the mountain with a new agenda, a purpose for the first time since I’d stepped foot inside that court room. Six o’clock was a long way away, but at least I had the van. That would keep my hands busy, but would do little for my mind. Tristan would be there. No doubt about it. She’d be the center of my mind’s attention, and there was no sense in wondering why. The answer wouldn’t come anyway. It just was.

  My mom met me in the driveway, a little cooler full of food in hand. “What were you doing? You didn’t even get your part?”

  I slid out of the driver’s seat, telling her nothing. “What’d you make? Did you make me something?”

  “Ham and cheese sandwiches. That’s what he wanted. I think you can handle that, huh?”

  “Yeah, I got it. Watch going out the lane, there’s a big branch around the turn to the right.”

  After eating a half-pound of ham and a couple handfuls of chips, I walked out to the barn, a fudge cycle in hand. Even though I knew I couldn’t see her camp, I glanced through the thick trees, across the river anyway.

  “What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you see that I don’t like you?” I asked, my leg shoving Kota away. Not that it mattered. The stupid dog followed me into the barn where he stayed, asleep on the dirt floor while I worked. Idiot dog.

  I slid behind the wheel, trying to adjust the seat. To my surprise it swiveled, locking toward the back. It didn’t take much to excite me with this thing. That was huge, making for more seating for when I was parked. Hoping to the passenger seat, I boasted when it did the same thing, spinning to the back. Not only did they lock that way, they reclined, too. A vision of my new television just past the doors in the back brought a smile to my face, visible from here or my new bed.

  Just when I was about to spin the custom seat back to the front, my hand pulled out a manila folder with one silver tab missing from a side pocket. With a frown, I opened it, breaking the other tab off between my fingers. Sliding the papers out, I read the header.

  Calling Course Media.

  Actor/Role Player – Shane Swan

  Tentative work dates – September, 9th thru September, 13th

  I read through the contract, trying to figure out what this guy did. An actor of some sort. My frown deepened when I read through the duties, my eyes scanning the contracted pages. Must support military in instructional exercises in nearby location, role player will be in moulage, and transported to nearby location, only scripted dialogue will be tolerated. I wasn’t sure what moulage meant, but it was pretty blatant. This guy was put into makeup and taken to the scene. What scene? I wondered while I read through the shady document. Role player must be able to withstand all types of weather, prop clothing may be cut off, must be U.S. citizen, may be subjected to real life injuries, suffering and pain, must participate with the Department of Homeland Security’s E-Verify program, all actors must be authorized to work in the US, defense scenarios which include, but are not limited to simunitions, such as AK 47 style rifles, M-4 carbines, M-9 side arms, pyro and other simulated RPG, manikins. What the fuck did that mean? Manikin assault rifles? I still didn’t get it. Was he CIA or an actor?

  Feeling all eerie, like I’d come across something off limits and top secret, I shoved the papers back into the envelope, tossing it to the cubbyhole between the seats with the rest of the strange papers. I wiped my hands down my shirt, trying to rid myself of the immorality, only I didn’t even know why. It was stra
nge, a feeling I didn’t like. Although I knew it wouldn’t work without the battery, I turned the knob on the radio to nothing, pushing the button for the tape. My eyes focused on the old cassette tape, fear of what may be on it. Like it was a bomb about to go off in my hand, I slowly slid it from the small slit with a relaxed breath. In blue ink, tape two, eighties, our songs, three of four on one side, and eighties four of four on the other. I wouldn’t be needing the missing first tape. There were two types of music I hated. Eighties and pop. Pop only because of my mom listening to it. Pink used to be one of my favorites. Not anymore. Not since she became my mom’s favorite, too.

  I slipped the tape back into the holder, but not all the way. Tapping the baby shoes, hanging over the rearview mirror, I thought about Tobias. They were just little white ankle like shoes, gender neutral. A boy or a girl could have worn them. I planned on taking them down, but decided to wait for whatever reason. They gave the van character.

  “Jesus, Ty,” I said aloud, chastising myself for the insanity, pulling them from the window and tossing them to the cubby hole in the middle.

  It didn’t take long for me to get into the build, taking the back seat out, and finding more clues. A pink rattling teddy bear, a woman’s pearl earring, a full pack of Camel cigarettes, an unopened can of Pepsi with NCAA Women's Elite Eight from 2001, and a post card written out to, Savana. A short note from Vegas, telling her how much he loved her, how he wished she was with him, and how the job would be over in two more days. He’d be back with gifts for his two favorite people. The corner looked like it had been chewed, but not by a mouse. More like a slobbering baby.

  My mind went back and forth from my new project to Tristan and Tobias. Mostly Tristan and what she had in store for me. I had no idea whatsoever what she had planned. None. For all I knew, I’d be walking on rattle snakes or hot coals, something crazy like that. The only issue with that was, I didn’t care. As crazy as that sounded, it was true. There was no doubt a pull there, something realer than I had ever felt before, and I knew with everything in me, she felt it, too. Even if I didn’t understand it. Whatever it was.

  I hadn’t even realized how much time I’d spent working in the barn until my dad pulled in at a quarter after four. Looking at the time on my phone, I groaned. Why did it have to be six? She didn’t even work. What the hell was wrong with two, three, or even four. As long as I was busy, I was fine. Time seemed to stand still, but when I thought about it, about her, it dragged and dragged. Two more hours. Ugh.

  My internal rant was over when I peeked through the door. Seeing my mom meet my dad in the driveway, the way he wrapped his arms around her, and the way they kissed made me nauseous. Hearing their conversation intensified the queasiness caused by ridiculousness.

  “Give me a fucking break,” I quietly murmured, overhearing my dad tell my mom he was going to the barn to help his boy. Mumbling under my breath, I swung the socket in my hand like a bat hitting a ball midair, only it wasn’t a baseball I envisioned it making contact with. To keep from having to talk to him, I crawled under the van, busying myself with the catalytic converter that I hadn’t planned on starting on yet. “Fucking boy. I’ll give you a fucking boy.”

  “How’s it coming, son?”

  My hand cranked the rusty nut, jolting at the son comment. I shoved hard on the socket in the wrong direction, dropping the heavy metal right below my left eye. “Ahh, fucker,” I yelled, my hand instinctually covering the pain.

  “You alright?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, watch your mouth. What are you doing?”

  I breathed in the scent of oil and rust, exhausting a breath of, go the fuck away. “Working on my van. Did you find the title?”

  “Yeah, the secretary at the shop notarized it today. Need any help?”

  My eyes glanced to his jeaned legs, covering painted splattered work boots. “Nah, I’m good.”

  “Do you remember, Greg Newberry?”

  Naturally, I rolled my eyes. “Um, no. I haven’t lived here since I was seven.”

  I hadn’t even realized my mom was there, not until she put her nose in it. “God, Ty. Stop being such a dick. He’s trying to make an effort.”

  A laugh actually came from that one. “Oh, well in that case. Thank God we came here then.”

  Me getting the last word with my mom wasn’t worth the struggle, and I normally didn’t even try. I knew without a doubt, my dad silenced her. Looking for her feet, I knew I was right, seeing my dad’s fingers wrapped around her ankle when he squatted, shushing her with a squeeze.

  “Greg works down at the shop. He’s got an old motor home out back of his property. I was telling him about you turning this thing into a camper van and he offered it to you. It’s been sitting there for years, but the inside is good. No leaks. He said you could come and take anything you wanted.”

  That one caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting him to throw a trump card. My heart beat a little faster with the excited notion, the tiny sink at the top of my list. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

  “Alright, I’ll tell him we’ll come by this weekend.”

  I rolled my eyes again, but didn’t say anything. If he had to go with me, it might not be as important. “Cool.”

  Thank God neither of them cared about pursuing this any further. They walked off, my dad telling my mom to stop doing that. She sidestepped it, asking him if he wanted a beer, but she knew what he meant, and so did I. That would never happen. My mom would stick her nose in the middle every single time. I guaranteed it.

  I dicked around, working on my piece of shit bike for a while and then showered, digging through boxes of clothes for something nice. There was nothing. Everything I owned was wrinkled except for the one shirt I’d just carried up in a pile. Tristan had already saw me in that one. My stubbornness about unpacking seemed to be hurting me more than my mom. She didn’t care. She didn’t even come up there.

  Once I’d decided on a pair of casual ripped jeans with bleach spots down the front, I stretched a black Abercrombie tee, trying to free it from the wrinkles. Still, after pimping to look and smell good for Tristan, I had time. Forty minutes.

  I rolled a pin joint, trying to stretch it for as long as I could, and walked up to the attic to see if I could see her. Deciding to get stoned before I went was a back and forth battle. Getting high won when I thought about snakes and hot coals again. Tristan was right there in the opening, a long flowing dress to her feet, standing in the sunlight with Tobias in her arms. My hands automatically moved the binoculars from my eyes. The same time my jaw relaxed, my body reacting to the awe. She was stunning, but not in the same way as Avery. She didn’t need long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, fake nails, or designer clothes. All she needed was a simple sundress and a baby in her arms. It didn’t get much prettier than that.

  Again, I shook my head at the notion, trying to put some sort of normalcy on it. There was nothing normal about this. None of it made any sense, yet here I was, staring at her and the baby I delivered with a stirring that I wanted more than anything to explore. I flinched from the binoculars pressing against my sore cheekbone, wondering what it was, an instant smile as she came closer. She was singing to him, words I wished I could hear. Without being sure, I knew she had an amazing voice, soft and angel like. I watched her for five good minutes, nurturing her tiny baby, singing, cooing, and kissing him. Seven times I watched her lips touch his body. His little lips, his fuzzy head, his fingers, the bottoms of both his feet, his lips again, his bare belly, and his forehead. There was no denying the love she had for him. It was a little overwhelming for me. I didn’t know anyone who was a mom, not like this. My friend’s parents didn’t really count. Mason’s stepsister had a baby, but I’d only seen him once, and definitely not interested. I couldn’t even tell you what the kid looked like, but I could Tobias, from his head to his little toes. Every single feature.

  Once Tristan walked back to the thick shade, I went back to my room and surfed the Internet,
but nothing particular. I wanted to do some research on van builds, but I knew I’d get caught up in it, and didn’t want to be thinking about it while I was with her. Instead, I surfed Facebook, posting pics of the mountains, one of the falls, and a pic of my puny bike, the silhouette in front of a darkening sky. The uphill shot made it look beefy and badass. At least my friends would think I was having as much fun as them. I went to Avery’s page, but I didn’t stay there. Her photos and all my friends there having a good time without me just pissed me off.

  My own page seemed like the safer place, and it was. Sort of. I frowned at the red notification catching my eye, and sat up straighter, a spurt of energy rushing through my veins. During my long, tortuous drive there with my parents, I had made a video with some photos I’d taken during a skate board rally. Just something I enjoyed doing. I posted it a couple days before from the diner in town, right before I’d seen Tristan at the light. It had almost a thousand likes and sixty-five comments, one asking for the rights. Go Skateboarding Day was a big thing in L.A. An annual thing. Although I did my fair share of skating, I mostly filmed it. Over seven hundred skaters made their way east from downtown and I caught some awesome footage. Some from a seven story parking garage, some from the ground looking up, and some of the most awesome tricks I’d ever seen. Experts everywhere. Changing shots of people zooming in and out of traffic and putting it to Korn with some sick photo shopping made a pretty stellar clip, even if I do say so myself. I sat there and read every single comment with a huge, proud smile, losing all track of time.

  “Shit,” I called to the empty room, five minutes late. I’d spent the entire day in anticipation and here I was showing up late. Forgetting that I was going to look at the hits on my YouTube channel, I rushed out.