First Love
Page 6
He was serious. I could tell. I knew him now. He was serious. He wanted to take me out. Not because someone forced him into it. But because he wanted to be with me.
Okay. Life can be pretty awesome sometimes. That was definitely one of those moments.
Forcing myself to not squeal nor jump up and down. I calmly said into the phone.
“I’d like that Eric. I would love to go on a sixth date with you.”
He laughed. “Really, sixth? You know what that means.”
Suddenly I blanched. What had I agreed too?
He laughed again and said, “See you about seven, Friday. Tell your mom I promise to have you home by four in the morning this time.
He hung up before I could tease him back. But that was okay. I had Friday to tease him. And hopefully, a lot of Fridays after that.
There comes a time in a girl’s life when she just has to squeal and hug her mother and jump for joy. This was my moment. So I did all three at once.
Yes, blind dates were my new favorite thing. As long as they were with Mr. Eric Johnson. Stud, and perfect boyfriend material.
The End
Rescuing My Best Friend
Chapter One
Amber
My hands were beginning to hurt from gripping the steering wheel so hard. I could feel my heart racing, beating in my chest like a base drum in hyperdrive. My mouth had gone bone dry miles earlier.
This was not the smartest thing I’d ever done. Seventeen-year-old girls shouldn’t drive on mountain roads during a blizzard, especially late at night.
I could hear my mother’s voice, “You think?”
Miniature white snowflakes danced before my headlights like a million fairies on meth. The wind whistled through a door seam, trying to push the car into oblivion while the dark green pine trees lined the side of the road. Looking down like some kind of sentinels waiting for me to screw up so they could shake their heads in disapproval.
They’d probably learned how to do that from my mother.
Reaching forward I tried to wipe off the condensation that was quickly building up on the inside of my windshield. Really doing nothing more than moving it around into a blurry mess. The defroster was set to max but couldn’t keep up.
My stomach turned upside down. What should I do? There wasn’t anywhere to pull over. If I just stopped in the middle of the road, I could easily imagine a logging truck come steaming around the nearest corner and hitting me in the dark, knocking me into the next universe.
Everything was conspiring against me, my little, very old, Honda, the Storm, Cindy getting to the library late, all of it.
Taking a short cut was not a wise move but then I didn’t have much of a choice. Not if I was going to make curfew. See this is what happens when you put a curfew on a grown woman. Besides, the storm wasn’t supposed to start for another couple of hours.
Sighing to myself I gripped the steering wheel tighter and focused. Five more miles, six tops, and I would hook up with the highway. Surely the conditions would be better once I got onto the bigger roads.
Taking a twisty turn to the left, I felt the rear wheels let got. Just for a micro-second, enough to send a shooting pain through me. That feeling of losing control made my chest hurt even more and my knuckles grow whiter on the steering wheel. I backed off on the speed and swallowed hard.
“You can do this Amber,” I repeated to myself.
I talk to myself, out loud and in public. I’ve tried to not do it. Spent the last few years consciously trying to break the habit and failed miserably. Especially when I get scared or nervous and at that particular moment, I was terrified.
The road was covered in a couple of inches of snow already. The yellow center line was gone. The white lines along the edge were quickly disappearing. It was impossible to tell where the edge of the road ended and the rest of the world began. The black night had swallowed it. The only thing that existed was the reflected storm and all of its fury.
Taking a deep breath, I gritted my teeth and tried to not talk. I knew that if I started, I’d never stop.
I honestly think I might have made it to the highway if not for the humongous tree that happened to be laying across the road, like a slumbering giant sleeping off his Thanksgiving dinner. It appeared out of nowhere. Obviously a casualty of the howling wind.
My heart jumped into my throat as I slammed on the brakes. I know, the wrong move, you’re supposed to pump the breaks on ice. But my mind wasn’t thinking about that. It was focused on the giant green and black monstrosity hurling towards me at twice the speed of sound.
The car started to spin to the left. I turned the wheel into the skid like they taught us in those driving films. Nothing, no response. I always knew those movies were wrong.
My insides turned to Jell-O as I yelled, “Oh Crap.”
There are those moments in life that are embedded in your brain. Those fleeting flickers of time that shape how you view the world.
Time, my life in general, all of it seemed to slow down even as my car picked up speed. Some things you can’t control, some things can’t be fixed. No matter what I did to the brakes, gas pedal, steering wheel, none of it mattered. I was going to slam into that tree and probably die. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right, but it was going to happen anyway.
Bracing my hands on the wheel, I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable. I could hear the roaring of the storm and the racing engine of my little car. The scrunch of metal being ripped, and wood popping as the tree limbs shattered, made me scrunch my shoulders waiting for the blow.
The car hopped and twisted as it was funneled by the limbs into the heavy trunk, hitting it with enough force to throw me against my seat belt. Whipping my head forward like a wet towel. The world exploded in a cloud of smoke and talcum powder as my airbag deployed, hitting me square in the face like a pillow swung by an enraged King Kong. I swear I felt it all the way down to my tailbone.
I couldn’t breathe, it was as if I’d forgotten how. What? Who? My arms felt like frozen stones, still gripping the steering wheel at full extension. My ears were ringing from the explosion and I felt confused. Unable to remember exactly where I was and why I was there.
Why was my car full of smoke and powder? Why did my face hurt?
Drifting in and out, I fought to push back the blackness. An overwhelming urge to lay back and go to sleep kept tugging at me. Why did my car smell like pine? The thought kept running around inside my head. I couldn’t solve the puzzle, I should be able to solve it. Really it wasn’t that hard.
Awareness slowly began to seep back into me, bit by bit, until I remembered everything.
Once again, the onrushing tree trunk, the exploding airbag. All of it came back to me.
My heart refused to slow down and I couldn’t swallow. Taking deep breaths, I closed my eyes and tried to regain control.
“You’re alive Amber,” I said to myself over and over. As if saying it aloud might convince me.
It was the cold air rushing in through the broken passenger side window that brought me back to reality. The whipping wind in all its fury making the car shake.
I slowly started taking stock, trying out different parts of my body to make sure they still worked. Other than a sore head and an overall feeling of soreness I was in pretty good shape. Nothing broken, nothing bent beyond repair.
Bringing my hand to my face I felt for blood, coming up empty. Either it was a miracle or it had already frozen solid.
“You’ve really done it this time, Amber,” I said to myself as the reality of my situation hit me.
I was in a wreck on a back mountain road, at night, in a blizzard and absolutely no one knew I had come this way. With my luck, they’d find me next spring, frozen in my car like a Peruvian mummy.
The weak smell of gasoline forced its way into my consciousness. Where was that coming from? Could my car explode? My breath hitched. Get out I told myself.
As my fingers fumbled with my seatbelt, I looked
for the first time at my true situation. A tree branch had poked its way through my passenger window. Only inches from my face. Showering the inside of my car with small square pieces of glass.
One headlight was still on but buried under a thick pine bow. It gave off just enough light to see that I had hit the tree trunk with the driver side corner of my car.
Steam was coming out of the radiator area. In the cold night air, it looked like dragons breath.
While one hand fiddled with the seat belt, the other tried to open my door. I pulled on the handle but nothing happened. Throwing my shoulder against it, I was able to open it an inch but then it stopped, dead solid. Something was obviously blocking that way out.
The passenger side was blocked by the tree limb filling what used to be my window. No way was I getting out that way.
“Calm down Amber,” I said to myself. Of course, I never listen to myself so I don’t know why I even bother. I could feel my shortness of breath and racing heart returning. The smell of gas seemed to be getting stronger and I still couldn’t get the darn seat belt off.
I felt like a trapped animal in a small cage. I fought with the seat belt while continuing to push against the door.
“Are you all right?” A deep male voice yelled above the storm.
Joy, pure joy, surged through my bloodstream, I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t going to die forgotten on some back road.
The sharp snap of a branch told me he was working his way to me.
“Yes, I’m okay, but I’m trapped,” I yelled back.
“Hold on, I’ll be right there,” he said as another branch snapped. His voice sounded confident like he rescued idiot drivers every day. Storms, huh, no big deal. Giant trees that swallowed cars. A mere inconvenience.
Smiling to myself I twisted in my seat to try and get a look. My neck twinged, making me wince.
A large man in a black leather jacket over a blue hoodie had made it to the rear end of my car. He held a flashlight in one hand and a gleaming red ax in the other. My world took a sharp turn as my stomach dropped into a deep void.
I was all alone on a back road, at night. No one knew I was there. For the first time the true reality of my situation sunk in. What if he was an ax murderer? In fact, what if he’d used that very ax to cut down the tree to trap idiot young girls driving at night in a storm. My insides clenched up into a ball as my mind raced with a thousand possibilities.
Fumbling for my purse, I brushed off the glass shards and tried to find the Pepper Spray mom had given me. Okay, you were right mom, I did appreciate having it when I needed it.
Question, though. Do I spray him now or do I wait until he’s got me out of the car? I twisted it in my hand, making sure the sprayer part was pointed the right way and waited.
I’d decided that since there was only circumstantial evidence he was an ax murder and no definitive proof, I would wait until after I’d been rescued.
Holding my breath I waited, watching as he slowly made his way through the tree, swinging the ax easily, cutting through the limbs like they were Popsicle sticks. Each time he would swing, my chest would tighten up.
Two leather gloved hands worked their way inside my door and started to pull. The scrunch of twisting metal echoed throughout the car. The car rocked from side to side and I gripped the Pepper Spray harder. This was a strong man, no way could I ever overpower him.
Once again that knee knocking fear crept through me. Suddenly the complete destruction of my car no longer seemed like the worst thing that could happen to me.
He worked the door open then leaned in, I got a faint whiff of cologne and leather. He reached to my dash and turned to keys to off.
Why hadn’t I thought of that? Then his arm reached across my tummy. I squealed until I realized he was releasing the seat belt. My face flushed at my embarrassment for squealing. What would he think of me? Then I wondered why I was worried about an ax murderer’s impressions of me.
“Get a grip, Am…” I began to mumble to myself until I remembered where I was and who I was with.
“Anything hurt? Anything broken?” He asked as he pushed his hood back.
A young face that I would have known anywhere, even with the four-day growth of scruffy beard and snow-covered eyelashes. The chiseled chin, collar length black hair, and sparkly blue eyes that could melt a person’s soul. All of it offset by a permanent scowl that could frighten little children or storm trapped teenagers.
On No! Why him? Of all the people in the world to be rescued by. Why did it have to be Johnny Benson?
Chapter Two
Amber
While he might not be an ax murderer, he was dangerous in so many other ways. The poster child for Bad Boys. Rough around the edges and tough enough to take it. Johnny Benson was only interested in three things. Fast cars, breaking rules, and girls. Not necessarily in that order.
My heart skipped a beat when he held out a hand to help me exit my demolished little car. He pushed a branch out of the way and asked, “You sure you’re okay?”
I looked up into his eyes. Nodding, trying to swallow, remembering the day in fifth grade when they came and took him from class. Telling him there had been an accident. I’d been sitting next to him, the both of us working on a project. His eyes had flashed with fear before he gathered himself and left with the assistant principal.
He’d hesitated at the door for a moment and looked back at me. A weak, sad smile crossing his face making my heart break for him. I hadn’t seen him again for four years.
His father had been killed in a logging accident. A choker chain had snapped and a load of logs had crushed him. Johnny’s mom had moved them to a trailer on the other side of town. Johnny Benson, a good friend, and my first crush had walked out of my life. Leaving a hole that was never totally filled.
Slipping the pepper spray back into my purse I took his hand and let him help me out of the car. The airbag had collapsed, giving me enough room.
A warm tingle traveled up my arm as I held onto him for support. The storm was continuing to blow, snowflakes dancing around us. A quick look towards the front of my car made me cringe. The rumpled metal was bent and twisted like used tin foil. Mom was going to be so upset.
Taking a deep breath, I turned back to Johnny and said, “Thank you. I was trapped in there.”
“Come on,” he said, his voice rising above the storm. “Let’s get you into my truck. I can’t do anything about your car tonight.”
When did he become so cold and distant I wondered. We’d been best friends once. What happened? It couldn’t have been just because he ended up going to a different school.
After they took him away that day, the next time I saw him was a week into freshman year at high school. A fight erupted in the cafeteria. I’d been shocked to see my old friend attacking a senior, one of the football team who must have outweighed him by fifty pounds. The both of them were wrestling on the floor when Johnny landed a solid punch to the other guy's face.
Another one of the team had pulled Johnny off and then several of them started hitting him. It made my stomach queasy just remembering. Somehow he escaped from them, breaking free he looked around and identified his original opponent and attacked him again.
If several teachers and school guards hadn’t arrived, I don’t know what would have happened. That was the first of many school suspensions. When he was in school, it seemed he had a reserved seat in the detention hall. Mr. Thompson had even taped his name to the back of a chair.
Besides the shock of seeing Johnny again for the first time in five years. It was the shock of how much he’d changed that had the biggest impact. The Johnny Benson I’d known was a kind, smart, cute boy who everybody liked.
He’d become an angry, very hot, rebellious young man, who hated the world for some reason and didn’t care who knew it.
My mind was wandering and I wasn’t paying attention. The slippery road and roaring wind reminded me as my feet began to fly out from underneath me.
He towered over me, making me feel small. My stomach lurched but not in fear.
“Come on, I’m freezing,” he said with that gruff voice of his that sent chills down my back.
Still holding onto my arm, he guided me to the passenger door of his pick-up truck. Firewood filled the back to almost overflowing. Why did he have a load of firewood? Why was I worried about firewood at a time like this?
The warm air inside the truck beckoned me like a long lost friend. He helped me up then hurried around to his side. As he walked in front of the headlights, I got a glimpse of my little car swallowed up by the tree.
What now? Do I call the police? I knew from experience that there wasn’t any cell phone coverage on these mountain back roads. I’d call them when I got home.
How was I going to tell my mom? She’d paid for half the car, meeting me dollar for dollar. Money I’d earned over two years of babysitting and occasional house cleaning for Mrs. Turner. Was it salvageable, and if so, how was I going to pay for it? My insides squeezed into a ball and my palms began to sweat.
Johnny jumped in and turned his truck on without looking at me. Did he even remember me from fifth grade?
I know for a fact that he’d seen me in the halls at high school but he’d never acknowledged me, never smiled. I could never figure out why, maybe it was as simple as he didn’t have any idea who I was.
We’d never had any classes together, you’d think four years of school and the luck of the draw would have put us in the same room. But no, never happened.
I was on the valedictorian track of honor classes and college prep. Johnny was more of the basics and every shop class he could get.
Throwing his arm over the back of the truck bench seat and looking out the back he slowly started turning the truck around. I got nervous as he made a forty-three point turn on the narrow road. Backing a few feet then turning the wheel all the way he’d slam the truck into gear and pull forward a little. He repeated this over and over until we were pointed the other direction away from my car and the killer tree.