My Blue River

by Leslie Trammell

  I finally freed myself from the fly and started to daydream about what I would be doing right now if I were at home in California. Would I be on a boardwalk experiencing the joy of a Ferris Wheel? Would I be at a beach party in front of a bonfire roasting marshmallows and laughing with my friends as glorious waves crashed to the shore? Surfing. That’s it. I would be surfing. There were so many fun and exciting things to do in California. What would I possibly enjoy doing in Montana? Herding cattle? Cow tipping? Would I watch the lazy Blue River flow by? Would flies mating on the windowsill be my new form of entertainment? One time, while Mom was completely frustrated about something, I overheard her say to her friend, “Something has to give.” I now understood the meaning of her words because that was exactly how I felt right now. I can’t take living in Blue River and something has to give, and that “give” is Mom and Dad giving up and moving us back to California.

  My eyes began to burn with tears as I thought of how hopeless that thought was. Mom and Dad would never give up and not follow through with their plan. I was sick of feeling weak. You’re stronger than this, Addy! I cursed myself and wiped my eyes. I shook my head to refocus. I would no longer cry about this move. Life was exhausting enough without all this crap. I knew it was pointless and in a way, it felt like I was letting my brother win some unspoken sibling battle. I was tough—tough as nails—certainly tougher than Aaron.

  I wasn’t certain I was right, but I thought Aaron felt a little pleasure in knowing how much pain I was in so, I resolved to make a plan that signified my departure from this one horse town. I had already assumed the boys I would meet in Blue River would be monosyllabic. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that dating wasn’t going to be part of my new social life. I made a mental note to start a countdown calendar when I got back to my bedroom and continued my drive to the supermarket. I suddenly felt invigorated that at least I had a plan and having a plan made me feel a little less anxious about how my senior year of high school was going to go. It felt like I had regained some control of my life and nothing would get in my way.

  It was easy to find a spot to park in the near desolate lot. By my count, there were about a dozen vehicles and the image was so stereotypical that I laughed out loud. Most of the trucks were larger than necessary, caked with dirt, gun racks in the windows, and some even had a patiently waiting dog in the back. As I entered the store, I laughed again. I never thought I would shop at a store this small. The store had mini shopping carts and even those made me laugh. It was like they were made by a toy company. I walked slowly in order to kill time. I wasn’t very anxious to get back to my dad’s “to-do” list. His list was a mile long with each chore a painfully dull task. Since there was so much work to be done before my parents started their new jobs, my dad had hired a handyman. He would start tomorrow. I smiled at that thought because it meant less work for me. I felt overworked and under-appreciated and Aaron had been next to useless. So much for Mom and Dad’s “busy hands” rehab program.

  I found the film I needed for my camera, a bottle of sun block, a can of bug spray, and a fly-swatter. I shuddered as I thought of all the bugs. They were gigantic and swarmed in groups, like little gang bangers who were out to cause trouble. I had just been attacked by a fly on the drive over here and then there was yesterday. Yesterday, I used my tanning oil and little gnats stuck onto my skin as if the oil had given them renewed life. If it wasn’t the gnats sticking to my skin irritating me, it was the cotton from the huge cottonwood trees. I couldn’t forget to add that Montana was hotter and more humid than I had expected it to be, as well. It all added to the list of un-pleasantries I had already anticipated.

  I paid very little attention to the girl who rang me up but we did exchange typical greetings.

  “Hi, how are ya?” she asked in a really cute, almost sticky–sweet voice.

  “Fine, thanks. How are you?” I replied when what I really wanted to say was, “Well, actually, I’m quite depressed. In fact, my mom would refer to this as the depression phase of grief. Are you familiar with it?”

  I popped a piece of spearmint gum in my mouth as she rang up my purchase. She told me the total and continued to offer pleasantries. I think I heard her say something like, “I haven’t seen you before,” so I threw in an “uh-uh,” but I wasn’t really paying attention. Finally I heard, “Have a great day.”

  I responded with, “Yeah, I’ll try but I doubt it’ll be that great.”

  I sauntered to the Aston Martin, got in, started it, pulled it into reverse and began to back out when I heard the screech of tires and the blare of a horn. It was shocking how much it sounded like the horn in my dream. Then I heard, “Hey! California! What’s your problem?”

  I looked back to see someone no older than myself stomping toward the car. Oh, great. What’s his problem? I popped the car into park. He was now at my side and since I had put the top down, I could see him clearly. His sandy, blond hair had a natural wave to it that left it lying in any direction, with no clear order. Had he not been so angry, I probably would have found him attractive, maybe even down right hot, but right now, he was just huge irritation in my already aggravating life.

  “Did you hear me? What’s your problem?” he demanded.

  It wasn’t a lack of words that left me speechless, it was him and now that he was even closer, there was no, “despite his anger” about it. He was attractive—extremely attractive. I refocused and cleared my throat. “Uh, I guess you’re my problem since you’re blocking me,” I said testily. I looked back to note the color of his Jeep Wrangler. I may need to report this to the police, sheriff, or whatever these people called someone of the law around here. This guy may be hot, but he may also be a freak. The Jeep was brown and the soft top was off, revealing the roll bar.

  “Yeah, well.” He seemed to forget what he was about to say, then he shook his head and began again with, “You just about got nailed. You need to watch out for other vehicles when you’re backing out.”

  “Well, if everyone in this stupid little town didn’t drive enormous trucks, I could actually see while backing out, but since I can’t, you’ll just have to watch for me instead. Got it?”

  He was clenching his jaw; his very square, well-defined jaw. His big, brown eyes were thoughtful a moment, considering his next words.

  Finally he spoke, “You just better watch out. The next guy might not be so nice. He may just go ahead and ram you. I’d hate to see your precious sports car turn into a pile of crumpled metal. And yes, we drive trucks in Montana. If a convertible and a truck run into each other you’ll lose.” He was pointing his finger at me, and it seemed like he was trying to sound tough, but it wasn’t really coming across that way.

  “Yeah, I’ll put that advice in my journal just as soon as I get home, cowboy. Now, do you mind?” I nodded in the direction of his Jeep.

  He rolled his eyes then turned around to return to his vehicle, but not without muttering “Dang Californians.” I watched him walk away in my rear-view mirror and couldn’t help but appreciatively examine the backside of his faded Wrangler jeans.

  “Stupid rednecks,” I grumbled.

  Mr. Jeep Wrangler backed up and allowed me to back out of my parking space. As I was leaving Brody’s parking lot, I noticed he was driving behind me. Every turn I took, he took, too. Even though I had planned to drive around town and kill more time, I decided I better get back to the “prison.” He still followed and I was now getting nervous. I grabbed my cell phone only to discover I had no bars—no signal what-so-ever! Crap. What if Mr. Wrangler is really “Mr. Psycho, Mr. I stalk and kill girls who piss me off?” Was this the exciting event of the day? Was my anxious feeling really a warning I didn’t listen to?

  My anxiety level rose as I pressed the accelerator harder. I could feel my heart thumping. I was relieved to reach the driveway of 48 Cottontail Road. Whew! He passed by! I truly questioned what he was up to by following me home. Small town people are weird. They probably track down California
ns and harvest their organs! He had definitely been angry with me and unfortunately, he now knew where I lived.

  I parked the car and ran into the house. I told my dad about how some redneck idiot nearly plowed into his car, and how the guy followed me home just to scare me. Dad gave me his speech on being more careful—the speech I was certain I had heard a million times in my seventeen years of life, even the years of life a child doesn’t truly recall. I rolled my eyes and stormed off to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me. I felt so alone. It was like being stranded on an island that no one would ever discover. I was left here to suffer in complete solitude.

  That night I dreamed about the guy from Brody’s Supermarket. I wanted to be mad at him, but the feelings wouldn’t come. His eyes kept twinkling and his lips smirked but I didn’t find his smirk the least bit irritating; I found his smirk attractive. Maybe he isn’t from Blue River and that’s what makes him different. Maybe I will never see him again.

  ********

  Jack’s Journal

  Friday, June 4

  I’ve learned two things for certain today:

  Blondes really are airheads

  Californians really do suck at driving

  I nearly took out the backend of a car with California plates today, and since it was an Aston Martin, I nearly wet myself in the process. Its driver was a blonde, who, had she not been such a little rich, snob, I otherwise would have thought she was totally and completely beautiful. Seriously, I have never seen anyone so beautiful except in magazines. Her eyes were so blue, like clear blue water—clear, icy, cold blue water. The kind of water you wouldn’t mind taking a dip in because after the pain of the freezing cold temperature faded away, it might actually feel kinda good. Yeah, she was that cold and mean! She was really pretty though. I felt like an idiot when I started to rant at her because I lost my train of thought. Dang! She was amazing to look at though.

  Since she had California plates, I’m guessing she’s the daughter of Mr. Davis who hired me to do work at the old Anderson place. Her dad mentioned a daughter who’s going to be a senior and a son who’s going to be a sophomore. I can tell already, Miss California isn’t going to fit in very well here. Talk about ATTITUDE! She thinks she is the crème that rose to the top. She made some crack about how all of us Montanans should watch out for her. I’m sorry. Were we supposed to roll out the red carpet for the new family in town because they came from sunny California? I don’t think so. Who does she think she is? She’s so full of herself! I don’t even remotely look forward to breathing the same air as her.

  I didn’t make the best first impression. Wait, why do I even care about that? What the hell is wrong with me? Some out of town snob comes around and my brain goes numb just because she is drop dead gorgeous? If I could kick the crap out of myself I would!

  I didn’t think about it until I was following her home that she doesn’t know I live a mile down the road from her. She probably thought I was some sort of psycho. That thought makes me laugh. She must have been freaked out! Okay, that’s not nice, but it’s funny!

  I have to admit, I can’t wait to see her face when I show up at her house tomorrow. I hope she’s there. This should be fun. I guess I do want to share the same air with her…maybe just for a little while.

  ********

  After waking up to the actual sound of a rooster’s crow, I threw on some clothes—jean shorts and a green t-shirt that read, “You may think I’m sarcastic, I say I’m funny.” I didn’t bother with makeup and pulled my hair up into a ponytail. I begrudgingly went downstairs to the kitchen where I found my dad’s “to-do” list on the counter. I read it as I ate a bowl of Cheerios. I mentally checked his chores off in my head. I’m not doing this, I’m not doing this, oh, hell no, and I’m for sure not doing that! I groaned when I finished breakfast because finishing meant starting to work outside.

  When I walked into the living room, I saw the flash of sun reflecting off metal. The front of the house had large windows that allowed for a fairly good view despite the obstacle of trees. There was no mistaking the vehicle that had just entered the driveway.

  “No…freakin’…way!” I exclaimed, dragging out each word. “This guy is such a jerk!” It was Wrangler Boy from the Brody’s parking lot near accident incident. I could see the now familiar brown Jeep Wrangler come to a halt. He got out and headed straight for my dad. My dad’s face lit up with a huge, friendly smile. Figures. This guy is a complete stranger arriving unannounced and of course, my dad is acting like he’s about to meet the local priest. They exchanged a hand shake and began conversing. Unbelievable! I wish I could read lips. But I knew exactly what he was up to. He was here to complain about me and my driving when he was the one who nearly hit ME. A light bulb went off. I knew it! He followed me home. He wanted to know exactly where to go so he could make my life even more miserable. Let’s pick on the new girl in town. I hated him already. Well, that answers the question of whether or not he lives here.

  I pounded out the front screen door, letting it bang behind me. I stomped over to where my dad was seemingly enjoying the conversation with psycho boy. I needed to stop him before he said anything damaging about me. If he ruined my chances of ever driving the convertible again, he would soon learn who could challenge him in the psycho department.

  “Hey!” I hollered over them.

  I opened my mouth, ready to defend myself but was stopped short when Dad said, “Hey, Addy, glad you’re here. I have someone I want you to meet. This is Jackson Cooper—the handyman.”

  I was sure my gaping expression gave away my shock as I stared at Jackson who said, “You can call me Jack.” He winked and smirked at me, knowing I recognized him. He recognized me, too, that much was obvious. I couldn’t believe he was here and worse, he was the handyman my dad hired.

  I couldn’t help but notice that without the expression of anger on his face, he was even more attractive than I originally thought, not to mention the amazing dimples that made their appearance with his smirk. As much as I found his dimples adorable, I also wanted to smack them right off his face and ask him to stay away from my miserable life.

  “Jack it is then,” said Dad. “Jack, this is Adelaide. We call her Addy. Jack comes highly recommended. He is known around town as a Jack-of-all-trades.” Dad and Jack chuckled in unison. He was genuinely laughing with my dad and for some reason that irritated me even more.

  “Figures,” I mumbled. The entire statement sounded just so typically country to me.

  “Excuse me?” Jack asked, but I knew he’d heard me. He was still beaming his obnoxious grin that showed his perfectly brilliant teeth. I looked down at the ground, not wanting to make eye contact with my enemy because frankly, given the chance, the enemy might make me blush.

  “Oh, it’s nothing. Nice to meet you, Jack.” When I finally looked up, I noticed he was probably six feet tall, as he stood nearly head-to-head with my dad, who was six foot one. I again noticed his eyes were brown; as brown as mine were blue, with long, thick eye lashes. Why do boys always get the great eye lashes? I turned to leave before he could respond but I wasn’t quick enough. He still called out to me.

  “Nice to meet you too, Addy.” He almost sang the words, mocking my departure.

  “Yeah, sure it is,” I mumbled. I kept walking away, unwilling to look back.

  Once inside the house I let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Why did the handyman have to be the guy from the supermarket? And why did he have to be so—so—appealing to look at? I looked out the window to get another look and all I could think was, WOW! He’s gorgeous!

  ********

  Jack’s Journal

  Saturday, June 5

  No. I was wrong. Miss California, who I now know is named Adelaide, nicknamed, Addy, is every bit as beautiful as she was yesterday. My heart started beating pretty fast when I saw her fly out of the house. I didn’t know rage could look so beautiful. And her body…man, long, tan legs in those short shorts compl
imented everything else about her quite nicely. She’s got an attitude and I was certain she thought I was there to cause problems for her which in all honesty, I probably could have. I’m guessing Mr. Davis is rather fond of his car, but he looked fond of his dear Adelaide, too. He looked at her like she was a princess. I’ll let it go. I was just as much at fault in the parking lot.