by Jackson, Meg
So that’s it. That’s the end of my grand Vegas adventure. I lose my virginity, start to fall in love, and then it’s over. Wham-bam, I thought, staring at the place Boon had just been. Tears pricked at my eyes but I wiped them away before turning back to Alicia and Becky, who immediately noticed my distress and jumped to encircle me in a hug. I felt myself wanting to sob, but held back, fortified by the strength of my friends.
“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened,” Becky said. Becky the walking bumper sticker, I thought to myself with a smile. It was so cliché, so corny, and so Becky. I felt love for both my friends welling up inside me and knew that it would be okay. As long as we three had each other, no boy could break my heart forever.
Not even Boon.
~ 13 ~
We took our time on the drive home, much less eager to get back to Missoula than we had been to get to Vegas. We took goofy pictures in small towns, pulled over to admire scenic areas, and tried our hardest to get one of those pictures where we all jump into the air at the same time. It never quite worked; inevitably, one of us would be on the ground when the shutter flashed. It didn’t matter; we had fun.
I mostly managed to put Boon out of my mind, but I will admit to having some steamy daydreams, especially when we’d be joined on the highway by a biker or gang of bikers. I found myself looking for the “Cold Steel” patch on passing leather jackets, but I never saw one.
Of course you’re not going to see one, dummy. They’re headed back to L.A., I thought to myself, reprimanding myself for being overly hopeful. And what was I hoping for, anyway? That Boon would have convinced his entire gang to move to Missoula? That he would just leave them, run away to start a life with me in Montana? Introduce himself to my parents, get a decent job, lead a boring life, for my sake? As if, I thought, you’re not that special, Samantha.
No matter how much we talked about dreading going back, I know that Becky and Alicia shared the same warm feeling I did when we started seeing the landscape that told us we were close to home. It had been a wild week, and we were tired of travelling, wanted to sleep in our own beds, hug our parents, see our friends.
That didn’t mean it was easy to hug Becky and Alicia goodbye when they dropped me off in front of my house. That trip really had changed us; but it brought us even closer together than we’d been before. Even though we’d probably see each other every day all summer, and then all the time while we were in school, having them around constantly had become normal to me, and I missed them the moment they pulled away.
That feeling was fleeting though, as I ran up the steps to hug my mother and father. It was the longest I’d ever been away from them, and I felt like we’d been away forever. They wanted to hear everything, see pictures, the whole thing: I told everything that I could tell without getting in trouble over dinner that night, and went to sleep happy and full of memories and happiness.
The next morning, though, I felt like I was hungover from the whole trip. I felt lazy, and listless, a little heartbroken. Mom and Dad tried to get me up and out, to go to a movie or a jog around the track, but really all I wanted to do was lie in bed, stare at the ceiling, and think. Let everything settle.
Think about how I was suddenly a different person: a sexual person, with a lifetime ahead of me of adventure and experiments. Think about how much I missed the smell of Boon on my skin. Think about how he’d vanished, without a word, in the hotel. Think about everything and nothing all at once.
I missed him. I didn’t miss him. I missed him more than I could say, I didn’t care if he died in a train wreck tomorrow. He was good news, he was bad news. He was the one, he was just another guy. He was special, he was lucky. He was bad news, he was good news. Over and over, my brain and heart flipped the coin, sometimes landing on love, sometimes landing on lust.
It was a fun time, you learned something about yourself, you don’t need him anymore, you know what you want. Someday, you will forget him.
He was special, you felt something deeper than just lust, he had those eyes that made you want to open up. You will never forget him, always want him.
I was up all night that night, pacing my room, watching Netflix, trying to fall asleep. I wished I had some pot, which, I’d learned, was a great sleep-aide. I hated myself for wishing that, because I knew it was wrong, and that Mom and Dad didn’t raise me to be this way. They didn’t raise a stoner, for one, and they certainly didn’t raise a little sex-kitten who would get all bent over shape over a big dick attached to deep, blue eyes. Deep, deep, deep blue eyes…
When I woke up the next day, I was almost surprised because I couldn’t remember falling asleep in the first place. I groaned, my head pounding from lack of sleep and a night of too-much-thinking.
“Samantha? You up yet?” I heard my mother call from downstairs. Rolling over, I looked at the clock. It was nearly noon. And yet I felt like I hadn’t slept at all.
“Yeah, Mom, I’ll be down in a minute,” I yelled back, then rolled over again. I couldn’t live like this. I wanted to just go back to sleep, lose my mind in dreams, not worry about anything ever again. But, I knew that I had to get up, be myself, be happy, move on. This is not a rehearsal, I thought to myself, another one of Becky’s bumper-sticker-mottos.
I took a deep breath and jumped out of bed, then quickly did some jumping-jacks and ran in place for about a minute. I figured the best way to shake off my doldrums was to literally shake them off, and in a few minutes I was feeling (pretty much) good-as-new.
I bounced down the stairs, knowing that breakfast was long over and that I’d have to prepare something for myself.
“Well, there she is, our little sleepyhead,” Dad said when I almost ran into him rounding the corner to the kitchen.
“Hi, Dad!” I said, pushing past him, food the only thing on my mind. I’d barely eaten anything the day before, too wrapped up in my thoughts, and was starving. I immediately pulled the peanut butter out of the cupboard and grabbed two slices of bread from the fridge. PB&J was my go-to snack.
“Don’t fill up, now, we’re grilling this afternoon!” Dad said from the hall as he watched me spread the peanut butter over the bread. Perfect, I thought, a day relaxing by the pool and eating hamburgers with my parents. Exactly what I need!
“Don’t worry, I can eat four meals in four hours. You know that,” I said, taking a huge bite out of my sandwich. Dad laughed. My insatiable appetite was a running joke in our family: I was always so involved in cheerleading and sports that I could eat way more than my relatively small frame showed. I was always hungry.
“This is true, my dear,” Dad said, shaking his head as he watched me finish the sandwich in five huge bites. “Man, I don’t know where you put it all.”
“Well, talking burns a lot of calories,” I said playfully. That was the other running joke in my family: my 5-miles-per-hour mouth.
“Okay, well, I’m going to fire up the grill in an hour or so. Do you want to invite Becky and Alicia over, or have you had enough girl time for one summer?” I thought about it for a moment, and decided that I wanted today to be just about my family.
I did miss Becky and Alicia already, and knew, from their texts, that they were missing me, too, but I wanted to get back into things one step at a time: Becky and Alicia would almost certainly want to talk about me losing my virginity to Boon, and I wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. It was enough just thinking about it.
“I think I’ll just chill with you and Mom today,” I said, trying to push thoughts of Boon away. Why couldn’t I just forget him, why did he have to keep popping up, even when I was doing something as innocent as eating peanut butter and jelly and talking to my Dad?
“Okay, well, I’m gonna fire up the grill in an hour or so,” Dad said, moving away. I stood in the kitchen for a moment longer, listening to the clock tick, trying to ground myself in the room. This is my kitchen. This is my life. This is where I live.
An hour later, I was lounging by the pool,
smelling hamburgers on the grill, not a care in the world. I had my phone with me, obviously, and was lazily texting with Alicia about getting Thai food the next day. When my phone buzzed, I expected a text from Alicia confirming that she would be at the restaurant at two the next day.
Which is why I just about had a heart attack and nearly imploded my own stomach when I saw that the text was from an unknown number, the same number Boon had texted me from in Vegas, the same number that I still hadn’t had the heart to save in my phone as his…
Tag, you’re it, the text read. Attached was a photo. With shaking fingers, I tapped the link. The photo that popped up made my head spin. It was a photo of my house. The very house that I was currently lounging behind.
How did he find me? Why did he find me? What…my mind was spinning. He must be joking, I thought. Not only did I not know how he could have possibly found my house, I also didn’t know whether or not the picture was real or just a joke, a picture taken from Google Maps or something.
My heart pounded in my throat as I sent back the only text I could think of: ???
The seconds seemed to pass like months as I waited for a response. When my phone buzzed again, I jumped out of the chair like I’d been bit by a snake.
“Woah nelly, what’s wrong with you? Someone post a picture of their engagement ring?” Mom said, watching me as I shook in my flip-flops.
“I…I…uh…hold on…” I said, my brain working at half capacity. Without answering my parent’s puzzled looks, I rushed around the side of the house, not even caring about how much I would be showing the neighbors in my bikini. I didn’t take my eyes off my phone until I reached the front of my house. Then, slowly, I lifted my gaze.
And there he was. In all his muscled, tattooed, masculine glory. Boon. On his bike. Helmet in the crook of his arm, white teeth gleaming in the sun, blonde hair bouncing rays of sunlight, a picture-perfect moment. My heart was full. My jaw dropped. I giggled like a schoolgirl. I can’t ever remember being happier in my entire life. I looked down at my phone.
Come and see, the text read.
~ 14 ~
I remember the feel of the hot cement and street against my bare feet. I remember the glare of the sun off Boon’s helmet. I remember the heat of his leather jacket, the smell of his sweat, his stubble scratching my chin as we kissed. I remember, I remember, I remember.
And I remember my parents’ shocked faces when I turned around and saw they had followed me to meet Boon. I remember my mother’s bemused my look, my father’s narrowed eyes and sneer. I remember my father suddenly disappearing into the house as my mother laughed at me. I remember turning back to Boon, apologizing.
“My parents…” I said.
“I don’t care, don’t apologize.”
“How did you find me?”
“I have my ways.”
We were locked in each other’s eyes, each other’s embrace. We were filled with each other, in that moment. It was a perfect moment.
“What’s your last name, kid,” I suddenly heard from behind me. It was Dad, I could tell that without needing to turn around. What made me turn around was the sudden look of fear that came over Boon’s face. I tried to take everything in at once. My mother running across the lawn, my father’s face looking like pure hatred, the gun in his hand, the gun he was pointing at Boon.
“Dad! Stop! This is…” I said, throwing my hands up to protect Boon, who was staring straight back at my father.
“What’s your fucking last name,” Dad repeated, using his Sheriff’s voice. The voice that meant business. Serious, serious business.
End of Part 1.
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PART 2
~ 15 ~
Did they make you read Romeo and Juliet in high school? They made us read it. I hated it. I thought it was stupid. I mean, these two kids just suddenly fall head-over-heels in love? They barely know each other! And then all that drama, all that pain, and they just wind up dead. What kind of story is that?
I’m not here to tell you that “once you have real love, Romeo and Juliet makes a lot more sense.” It doesn’t. It doesn’t make any more sense to me now than it did in tenth grade English. That’s not how love works. No one ever needs to wind up dead. If you’re in love and you wind up dead, you weren’t doing it right. At least, I’m pretty sure of that. After everything that’s happened though…I guess I could see myself winding up dead.
And “star-crossed lovers?” Sorry, but as easy as it might seem to blame fate, I don’t believe anyone winds up where they are because of things outside of their control. I mean, sure, oxytocin is a powerful drug, and a lot of the time you feel like you’re being compelled to do things, like you don’t have a choice, but you always have a choice.
I guess that’s one of the best things I learned from all this. You always have a choice.
But there is one bit of Romeo and Juliet that makes sense to me these days, on the rare occasion I think about it…
O, I am fortune’s fool!
~ 16 ~
“Dad, no!”
My father was standing, one eye closed, the other narrowed to a slit, with a shotgun aimed at Boon. Actually, the shotgun was aimed at me, and I was standing in front of Boon.
“Get in the house, Samantha,” Dad said, not taking his eyes off Boon, who was gently pushing me away.
“Do what he says,” Boon said to me, under his breath. I could feel his heart pounding against my back as I stood between him and my father.
“Dad, you stop this right now. This is my friend, Boon, and whatever you think…”
“Samantha, I’m going to tell you one more time, get in the house,” Dad said, his voice increasing in fury with each word. My mother was hopping around in a frenzy, unsure of whether to try and calm Dad down or swoop in and yank me away. I could see terror in her eyes, and knew it was reflected in my own. Dad could be strict but this was…well, it was unusual, to say the least.
“Tell me your last name, kid,” he repeated, menacing.
“Culver,” Boon said from behind me, his voice betraying no trace of anxiety or pressure. He finally reached out and physically pushed me to the side, breaking eye contact with my father to look at me.
“Get inside, Samantha. I don’t want you seeing whatever this is going to turn into,” Boon said. His voice made my heart freeze. He sounded like a man who was used to doing what needed to be done. Dirty things. Things that you wouldn’t want your kids to know about. He sounded, for the first time since I’d met him, like a scary biker. It was so different from the bemused, inquisitive, clever guy I’d hit it off with. I was sobbing by then, unaware of anything but the barrel of the gun, Boon’s wide, cold eyes, my father’s anger like a physical force.
Boon suddenly softened, his face seeming to melt into pleading. He reached out for me.
“Don’t fucking move,” Dad cried out. I could see the situation was beginning to wear on him, could see his hands shaking as he held the gun. Ignoring him, I took Boon’s hand. He slipped something into my palm. Then he dropped his gaze, turning back to my father.
“My last name is Culver, sir. My father is Tank Culver. Of the Cold Steel Motorcycle Club,” he said, swallowing hard but not giving up the staring contest. My mother rushed to me, and I folded into her arms, wanting her comfort.
“Daddy, please,” I managed to cry as my mother struggled to corral me away from the scene.
“Do you love him, Samantha?” My father suddenly asked, not turning his attention (or gun) away from Boon. His voice, though, was softer, almost as though he was anticipating my answer, and was already disappointed in me. I guessed he had seen everything he thought he needed to see in that first moment he saw us
together. After all, the way I’d rushed into Boon’s arms, the way our eyes had been locked together, it probably did look like love.
But was it? In a second, I knew I had my answer.
“No, Daddy, but he’s my friend,” I said. This wasn’t, of course, nearly the whole truth. But it was some sort of truth. I didn’t love him, at least not then. After all, I’d only just met him, and it was going to take a lot more than one huge romantic gesture for me to start confessing undying love.