Take Me With You

by Nina G. Jones

  While I'm up there watching this pretty girl, I forget about the solitude. This is no different than opening a book, or turning on the TV. That's not true, it's better. This experience is one of a kind and in the flesh. Time disappears up here until she hangs up, and I have to end the conversation. It snaps me out of my state, but I wait for what's next.

  She sits up, looking at her vanity, the mirror edges bordered with polaroids of her huge social circle. She reaches back, twisting around to reach for her zipper. My heart and stomach dance in anticipation for the show. Finally, her fingertips find it and she drags it down. The dress parts to show her small back, and she bends over to slide it off. Underneath, she has a lacy bra, two small thin triangles covering her small chest. Below, she has on pale yellow panties. She opens a drawer and pulls out an old t-shirt, placing it on the bed. Then she reaches back to unclip her bra. I let out a breath as she reveals her breasts. I've seen breasts in magazines Scooter slipped me, but nothing is like the real thing.

  Hers are small, very small, barely coming off her chest, but the nipples are puffy and my dick aches at the sight of them. Her hip bones peek out from the waist of her panties. She's very delicate and smooth. I know all the things I would do to that body if I could. But no matter how satisfying the illusion, it's still not the real thing. I can't go in there and suck her little tits. So instead, I reach down to the urge that never seems to quiet and grab it. Under my breath I urge her to wait on putting on her t-shirt until I finish. As if connected to my thoughts, she stands in front of the mirror, and runs her hands through her hair. Admiring her own body, a hand makes its way to her little breast and she softly pinches her own nipple. I didn't know girls did this. Touched themselves like boys do. She takes her other hand and places it over her panties.

  My dick tenses up, I bite down on my lip so as not to moan. This is the most intense it's ever felt. For the hundreds of times I've jacked off, this is different. I am not alone.

  I jerk my cock, holding on to the tree with the other hand so I don't fall. So close to coming. And that's when she stops and furrows her eyebrows like she senses something. She drops her hands and turns to look out the window. She squints, coming closer. I freeze, hoping that the tree will shield me. But when our eyes lock, I can see her slowly make out my outline in the darkness.

  She screams at the top of her lungs. A horror movie type scream. I scale down that tree as fast as I can. I'm booking through their yard and into the woods before I even know what's happening next. I run through the untamed trees and fallen logs, the many nights my father forced this upon me, a lesson I never knew I needed. I get a satisfaction knowing this was never his intention. This is my rebellion.

  I run and run until I am back on our property, but as I near the house, I remember my bike is right by the road. If the police come, it could be suspicious. I cut back and grab it, riding it all the way back to my house. I wait at the porch for a few seconds to calm my breathing. Mom can't know I was out. I slip through the front door, up the old stairs that anyone else would cause to creak, but not me, I've learned how to move in silence. I slip into my bed, and when I lie down, the jitters hit. I laugh to myself that I pulled it off. My heart still quivers at the thrill. At the image of that girl touching herself. I grab my dick to finish the job, still riding high off of the adventure.

  Now that dad is gone, the night is mine.

  This pregnancy hasn't been easy. My morning sickness has been violent and unrelenting. My breasts persistently throb and I am always exhausted. Ironically, Sam has been the one to take care of me, spending nights here and taking me to the pond whenever he can. Floating in that cool water seems to help me recover from the rough mornings. He doesn't blindfold me, and he gave me a pair of shoes so I can walk alongside him. Discreetly, I've paid attention to the path. He changes it around a little bit every time, sometimes walking us in circles, but every day I get a little better at figuring out how to get to the water.

  Sometimes he leaves me for hours, but now he tells me via notes why: work. He's out there, in the world, working, probably interacting with people and they don't have the slightest idea of who he is.

  But he has been ever the doting father and lover. Preparing my meals, spending evenings with me listening to records. He brings books which I read out loud to us and the baby. They say kids don't fix what's broken, but me carrying his child has triggered a seismic shift in the way things are here. Maybe conventional wisdom doesn't apply to unconventional arrangements.

  Today is another morning, just like the others in the routine that started fourteen weeks ago.

  Sam rises out of bed, his back facing me. I don't make a peep, but I watch him, and just past him, against the wall, the crib he presented me with the night before. It’s exquisite. I could tell he wanted to downplay his pride in making it, but he wasn’t very good at it.

  Actually, it was kind of cute, the way he brought it in, matter-of-factly, looking down before casually passing me the note. It’s not finished yet. I’m going to paint it whatever color you want. Just let me know.

  “Did you make this?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “It’s incredible,” I muttered, as I ran my fingers along the freshly sanded, blonde wood.

  He shrugged modestly.

  “Actually, can we keep it like this? The room is so white, I like the wood against it.”

  He gave me a half smile and nodded.

  The sun beams in from the skylight on his naked taut frame. His skin, so smooth and tan from his days out in the sun, abruptly grows violent and marred on his left side. He is a puzzle made of pieces that don't fit. Handsome yet scarred. Intelligent yet animalistic. Full of stories, yet taciturn.

  The breadcrumbs. He's been scarce with them since he gave me his name. Though a few days ago, while walking a new, longer path to the lake, we came upon old wooden structures. They were overgrown and neglected, but I could still make out their shapes. A wall, pillars, horizontal beams. If I wasn't mistaken, it looked like an obstacle course of sorts.

  “What's all that?” I asked, pointing to the ruins.

  He was quiet for a moment. I could see the internal debate about what he could share. Finally he stopped and pulled out a notepad.

  It's a playground. Old one.

  “A playground?” I asked skeptically. His answer felt like it was hiding something, but he didn't acknowledge my skepticism, so I added it to the list of crumbs. I also decided it was a better use of my efforts to stay concentrated on its relation to the lake in the event I found myself out here.

  Sam turns sharply as if he knew all along I was watching.

  He scribbles on his pad. Work today. Want to show you something first. Do you need to puke first?

  I chuckle at his lack of tact. But no, this morning, I'm feeling surprisingly stable and curious.

  I get up, rinse myself off, and put on one of my dresses.

  “Ready!” I declare.

  He lifts up a bandana, folded into a narrow strip, gesturing to his eyes. I'm going to blindfold you.

  “Why?” I protest, my gut sinking for new reasons.

  The look in his eyes tells me this is not up for discussion. He's been too good to me lately to suddenly want to hurt me. It must mean he's taking me somewhere new. So I throw my hands up in the air and relent. This could be another breadcrumb. A potentially huge one.

  “Fine, but this is stupid.”

  I climb on his back as he instructs me to. The first thing I notice is we make a left instead of a right outside of the cabin. But being blindfolded, it isn't long before I lose track of distance and space. Suddenly, a smell hits my nose as a door creaks open, the sound of a goat bleating and huffing comes from beyond the threshold.

  He sets me on my feet. The door creaks again as he closes it behind me. Then he pulls off the blindfold. I look around the small barn. A horse is tied up on one end, in a stall. Two small goats trot over to us.

  “Oh my god!” I howl as one tries to gna
w at the hem of my dress.

  He swats it and makes a hissing sound.

  “We—you—have animals?”

  He generously gives me a grin and nods.

  “Do they have names?”

  He nods, pulling out his pad. Small goat, Trixie. Other, Hilda. Horse, Beverly.

  “Wooooow,” I gasp, petting the goats who have since stopped trying to feed on my clothes. He gestures towards the horse, who he pats gently before letting her out of her stall. She huffs a bit, letting out some energy. He saddles her up and motions for me to mount her.

  “Really?” I ask.

  He gestures more forcefully. Yeah, hurry up.

  I go towards the horse and try to hoist myself up. My belly isn't too big, but it's surprising how hard it is to keep my balance and work around it. He catches me as I fall back. The second time he gives me a hardy boost and I manage to awkwardly slide my body onto Beverly's back. He mounts her in one swift motion behind me, and reaches over me to show me the blindfold. It has to go on again. Once he's done that, I feel him give her a gentle kick to the hip and lead us out of the barn. We trot gently for a while, in this odd limbo where he extends another part of himself to me, while still keeping me shielded from any true knowledge of my circumstances.

  But it does feel nice, the gentle rocking of the horse, the wind in my hair. How is it in this moment, I feel more at ease than I did in my previous, safe life?

  After a couple of minutes, he pulls off the blindfold. We are on a trail in the forest. It emerges to open field. I can see roving fields for miles. Then hills with trees. No roads, no houses. Is this what is beyond the lake? Is my escape plan a hopeless endeavor?

  I try not to panic. This could be another direction. I have no idea how we got to this area. I can't let despair sink in when I've found a way to maintain hope. Instead, I choose to appreciate the bright yellow sun blazing my cheeks and the occasional huff of the Palomino under us. There was a time my world was just a fourteen by ten box. It's already become so much larger.

  Once we're done, he blindfolds me and takes me back to my cabin which is now regularly stocked with basic food to keep me happy when he can't make me a fresh meal.

  Back by evening, he says.

  I wave him off with a smile and he latches the door behind him. Taking the rare opportunity to possibly eat something without losing it in the morning, I grab a box of crackers, an apple, and snack on them while listening to my ever-growing record collection. I'm biding my time here, but I have to admit, even now that I have things to keep me entertained without losing my sanity, it's not the same when he's not here. Human company is as essential as air, water, and food.

  Eventually, after filling up on snacks exhaustion hits and I doze off to the sounds of Carole King.

  The intense pain in my abdomen jolts me from my nap. Though it's been longer than a nap as I can already see the bright sky dimming through my roof. I grab at my stomach as panic sets in.

  For most of the time after I learned of my pregnancy, I didn't care about this baby. It was an obligation. A tool. But a feeling of dread comes over me, and suddenly I want to do everything in my power to keep it alive, not just for my protection, but because this baby has filled me with promise. I was just starting to get to know him or her. Just beginning to feel something grow inside of me. Watch its mere existence change a monster into the kind of man who would take me out for a surprise horseback ride. It can't leave me. Not after giving me a glimpse of that life, in between a girl confined to a cabin all day, and one out in the world, trying to please a mother who never wanted her.

  I tell myself it's going to pass. I'm (almost) a nurse and I know there many reasons for abdominal pain. But as I feel my innards contracting, I can't avoid thinking the worst.

  I run to the door of the cabin, slamming my palm against it as hard as I can. “Sam! Sam!” I cry out, knowing my voice is simply echoing through the trees.

  I listen at my mother's bedroom door for the sounds of the sewing machine to die down. Once she's asleep, I'll do what I've been doing for almost a year now, slipping out into the night, living a second life. The one I can't when the sun is up and shining, when my mother's only remaining sliver of sanity comes from knowing I am home with her. Ever since dad died, she lives more in the tiny world inside her bedroom walls and less in the one outside of them. While I go through the motions all day, tending to the ranch, reading, riding, doing things to keep my hungry mind occupied- I am living less and less during the day and more at night.

  I convinced mother that it would be safe for me to go to a local college during the day. I'm strong now, stronger than her. But if I am even a minute late returning home, it sets her off into a frenzy. I don't have to worry about that when she takes her pills and sinks into a deep sleep. My time belongs to me again.

  The whirring stops.

  “Sam! I'm taking my pills and going to sleep!” she calls out, thinking I'm in my room. I wait a few beats, then open her door.

  “Good night,” I say. Ever since dad died, my stuttering has improved even more at home. I keep quiet at school, staying to myself. I sit in the back or on a bench on the quad and watch everyone else. Socializing, smiling, communicating. It all comes too easily to them, the way the words just pour out of their mouths. Now that he's gone, the constant tension I used to feel in my neck and throat has eased. I think I can do it. I think the words can come out of me with maybe a stammer here or there, but I can't bring myself to try. It's been so long since I've tried to make a friend, the thought of it makes my heart race and my palms sticky with sweat. So I watch. It's better than being alone at home. I fill in the blanks from a distance, pretending to be part of their conversations.

  That's what I was doing yesterday, hypnotized by the moving lips of a cute girl talking to a guy, when someone called out my name.

  “Hey, Sam!” It's distant, the voice, as if muffled by a smothering pillow. I'm so caught up in what I'm watching, I think it's just another part of the fantasy. “Sam!” the voice is right beside me now, and a hand slaps my back. I jump to my feet ready to defend myself. My mother's beliefs have been ingrained so deeply in my psyche, that even now that I'm not sure any of it was real, I don't trust anyone.

  I spin around to meet the person accosting me. Scoot.

  “Wh—what are you doing here?” I ask.

  “I'm seeing a girl here. She used to go to school down by me, but she transferred. What are you doing here?”

  “I'm taking classes.”

  He tucks his chin in a bit, as if he's taken aback. Scoot went back to school a couple of weeks after dad died. He calls home every week, but I never told him about this. I don't know why.

  “Well, that's great. What for?”

  “Thinking electrical engineering,” I say. “Mom d-didn't say you were coming home.”

  Scoot's smile morphs into a frown as he breaks eye contact. “I didn't tell her. Ya know, I was just going to visit for a night. I didn't want to make a thing of it.”

  A thing of it. Mom is my burden to carry. Scoot does everything he can not to be bothered by us. Just like the rest of the family. The only difference is he has no choice but to at least call once a week.

  “Yeah,” I answer.

  Scoot glances down at his watch. “Shit, I'm already running late. I'll call later this week.” He slaps me on the shoulder. “I'm happy for you, man. You look—you sound— good.”

  I give him a reassuring nod and watch him jog off.

  Now that mom's gone to bed, my heart vibrates with anticipation. I have to be patient, make sure she's deep asleep. But this ritual, it makes me feel a type of thrill I have never known before.

  I hop into the shower, a productive way to pass the time. Just as I am wrapping a towel around my wet body, I hear the house phone ring.

  “Shit!” I hiss. It's unlikely she'll wake up. But a late night phone call will send mom into a frenzy of paranoia if I don't grab it. And who the fuck is calling at this time? No one calls
this house, especially after eight.

  I race to the phone. I hate the fucking phone. It reduces me to my greatest weakness.

  “Hello?” I answer.

  “Sam, it's me,” Scoot replies.

  “Oh, ss-something wrong?” I ask.

  “No, I mean nothing serious. You have any plans tonight?”

  He's expecting me to say no. He knows how things are. And that's true as far as plans I can express openly.

  “Mom's asleep.”

  “Good. Listen, that girl I was meeting today when I bumped into you — I want to go out with her tonight. But she made plans with a friend who doesn't want to be the third wheel. Will you do me a favor and come out tonight?”

  A date. It's something I've craved. To know what it's like for guys like my brother. It's what I imagine as I watch people, inserting myself into the Sears catalogue snapshots of their lives. But now that it's here, presented to me, I don't know what to do with this. I'm so much better in my thoughts than I am in person. In my thoughts, words flow effortlessly. My curious scars vanish from my face. The nagging feeling that I'm being silently ridiculed withers away.

  “Come on, Sam. You are finally getting out there. You're going to school. You can't always do what mom wants. Don't let her control you.”

  Control. My chest tightens at the word. It's only been within the past few years that I've begun to realize that what I've seen as caring for mom and her protecting me—maybe it's been a way to keep me here, surrounded by nothing but trees and animals. Safety is a prison.

  “Uh…okay,” I say.

  “Sweet. She actually lives closer to you than Sacramento. I'll come get you.”

  “Okay. Pull up to the…d-driveway. I'll meet you out there.”

  It's hard not to fidget as we pull up to Cindy's house. That's the name of his friend. Almost as soon as he puts the car in park, the front door opens and two girls come prancing out, their long hair swishing side to side as they take bouncy steps towards us. It's hard to make out their features in the night, but I see shapes. Curves and slopes. Nothing hard or sharp. Lithe limbs punctuated by round edges. Their nonsensical chatter gets louder as they near the car.