My Blue River

by Leslie Trammell

  I smacked them both up the backsides of their heads to which they only laughed harder.

  We turned to go up the next aisle and there it was—a vehicle I could live with. It was a white Land Rover Discovery. A Land Rover must be cool, right? It’s better than a stupid truck.

  “You want me in something big then how about that one?” I asked Jack, pointing to the Land Rover. I knew excitement was written all over my face.

  “Hmm…not bad, but pretty pricey don’t you think? This is way more than you need,” said Jack.

  He didn’t say, “Yes, Addy. It’s the perfect choice,” so I ignored him and called out to Dad. “Hey, Dad! Over here!” waving my arms in the air. He looked up and responded, pulling Mom along with him.

  I could tell from her face she didn’t like it. I could always count on Mom to wipe out any possible hope and happiness that would find me. Dad’s expression gave me some hope. He immediately looked at his all-knowing source, Jack.

  “Well, what do you think, Jack?” asked Dad.

  “Well, it would be an okay choice, I guess. It has eight cylinders so fueling it will be expensive. She’ll only get about twelve or thirteen miles per gallon. It does have traction control and it’s four-wheel drive. There’s towing, rear defroster…” Jack rattled off additional details that didn’t really matter to me so I stared hopefully at my dad.

  “I wish it wasn’t white,” Jack concluded.

  “Why’s that?” asked Dad.

  “I won’t find her in the ditch when she goes off the road in a blizzard.”

  “Yeah, whatever, I’ll tie red ribbons to the top. I want it. Please? Please? Please?” I clasped my hands together and begged like a little girl.

  “You need to take it for a drive don’t you think?” asked Mom. Jack and Dad nodded in agreement. Aaron wandered the lot connected to his life-line—an iPod. “And take him.” She pointed to Aaron who was deaf to all surrounding sounds. He didn’t hear us so I kicked him the butt to get his attention then nodded in the direction of the Land Rover. He rolled his eyes but responded by walking with us.

  Jack made the arrangements with Pete who sells, and before long we were off on a test drive. I couldn’t help but think about what he said. Would I really end up driving in a blizzard? The thought made me nervous. I wasn’t looking forward to a Montana winter, not even for a fraction of a second.

  “So would you bother to look for me if I ended up in a ditch?” I asked, settling into the driver’s seat and buckling my seat belt.

  “Of course, who else would I pick on if I didn’t have you?”

  “Claire,” I replied without hesitation.

  “No, she’s known me too long and at this point, my jokes are no longer funny to her. I’ve got you now, babe.” He gave a gentle poke in my side.

  “Here’s some 4-1-1 for ya—they’re not funny to me either.” I smiled and poked him back.

  “That’s only what you say, but you know I’m funny. I make you smile.”

  I couldn’t help myself from smiling because he really did make me happy. “So, what do you think of my sweet ride?” I asked.

  “It’ll work. A smaller all-wheel drive would have been better, but hey, I’ve learned that you’re stubborn.” He paused and all joking seemed to leave the air. Jack seemed lost in thought then added, “I think you just like it because it’s a Land Rover.”

  “Yeah, I do. Is that a problem?”

  Jack muttered, “You’re so spoiled.” I didn’t miss it and I didn’t like hearing it but instead of admitting it I chose to attack him.

  “What’s your problem?” I demanded.

  “I don’t have a problem. Why do you ask?” he sarcastically inquired.

  “I heard you—you said, you’re so spoiled.” The wheels in my head began to move. I should take this moment to argue with him and emotionally push him away. I didn’t want to fall for him anymore than I already had and maybe this moment was making me realize I had allowed myself too much freedom over the summer. I felt hurt that he thought I was spoiled. I suddenly decided if he liked me less, then I would like him less and that would help me leave with complete ease in August. I was letting myself get irritated more than necessary by his words that had been all too honest and true.

  “Never mind,” said Jack.

  “No, it’s not never mind. I think I’ve sacrificed a lot by moving here. The least they could do is buy me a freakin’ Land Rover.”

  “Oh, cry me a river, Addy. What did you sacrifice? Traffic, pollution, and crowds? Please. You moved here and still have the important things in life—a home, food, family, friends…” he whispered, “You have me.”

  “Hmpf,” I snorted. He was part of the problem. I knew I had Jack and I wanted to have him. I liked him being a part of my life yet I couldn’t be more than his friend. It would only lead to pain when I left at the end of my senior year and I didn’t want to shed one tear when I left Blue River.

  “Are you jealous, Jack?” I baffled myself. Why am I being so mean? I was becoming nastier by the minute.

  “That’s bull, Addy. Let it go.”

  I looked in the mirror to gauge Aaron’s reaction. He was still listening to his iPod, bobbing his head to the music, looking out the window. I was glad he seemed to hear nothing of our conversation because being a guy, he would have been on Jack’s side.

  “I won’t let it go,” I said curtly.

  “Well, I am letting it go.” He hesitated then added, “Okay, Fine. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said you were spoiled.”

  “Good. That’s better.” I glanced in his direction. He was shaking his head and rolling his eyes. I was really beginning to be annoyed by his eye rolling. I had achieved my goal. I had emotionally pushed him further away and out of a potential romantic relationship, or so I believed.

  We rode in silence all the way back to the car lot. When we arrived we found my dad beaming over a deal he made on a maroon Chevrolet Silverado 1500 crew-cab pickup truck. This was one of the last vehicles on the planet Earth I could have pictured him driving, but it worked for him and he was happy. His greatest thrill was the heated, leather seats. I shook my head in disbelief that I would no longer see that glorious red convertible in the driveway. Without much debate, my parents agreed to the Land Rover, to which I got another eye roll out of Jack. I agreed it would be best if I kept the job at Brody’s Supermarket.

  “You’ll need gas money,” said Dad.

  “Got that right,” Jack muttered. This time, I gave him an eye roll.

  ********

  Jack’s Journal

  Saturday, October 2

  When someone can give me the reason why women are so mental, please let me know. Addy went postal today when we went car shopping. She went from excited about driving a Land Rover to a snotty, little brat. Okay, I may have provoked her. I did say she is spoiled—but SHE IS! She has everything she needs and more, and it’s never enough. She feels like her parents owe her because of this move to Montana, but she doesn’t realize this move will probably be as good for her as it will be for Aaron. Maybe she’s the one detoxing. They have different addictions—hers is an addiction to her own selfish needs.

  She makes me crazy. She is maddening. She is an insane, moody, snotty, beautiful, smart, crazy, funny, and the most amazing person—she is everything I’ll ever need or want in life.

  So the questions are: just how patient am I and in the end, will it even matter?

  14. Regret

  I knew if I spoke with Sheridan about how horribly I had treated Jack, she would validate my decision to distance myself from him. It was best not to involve myself with Jack romantically. He may have been a perfect gentleman with the perfect face, perfect body, and perfect personality, but he could not possibly be the one for me. I needed to end it before it even began.

  It almost seemed like a cruel twist of irony. I had often fantasized about what the perfect boy would look like and where and when he would make his appearance in my life. Jack possesse
d so much of what I wanted, but those little exceptions would become big exceptions come August. He didn’t want to go to college and if he did, it wouldn’t be outside the State of Montana. It wasn’t even so much that he didn’t want to go to college that bugged me, it was that he had no intention of ever leaving Blue River. He wouldn’t even consider it.

  I picked up my cell phone and thanked God once again that service had been restored. For some reason, this new version of my parents didn’t think long-distance service on the house phone was necessary. They argued the telephone was one more way for Aaron to connect with his former life. In a way I agreed, but in another way, it just increased how angry I was with Aaron for ruining my life.

  I punched in the ten-digit telephone number of Sheridan’s cell phone. No surprise at all—she was at Bloomy’s, her name for Bloomingdales, one of her favorite department stores.

  “Speak up! I can’t hear you very well!” Sheridan yelled into the receiver.

  I now regretted calling her. If she was in shopping mode I would never have her full attention.

  “Ya know what? I’ll just call you later,” I offered.

  “No, no, I want to hear this. It sounds like something is up. I just need to go somewhere quiet. Hold on while I give up these Ferragamo sandals, which are pretty freakin’ sweet, so this had better be good.”

  No. It wasn’t good and my heart pounded at the idea of sharing my feelings with Sheridan. It had finally hit me that I think on some level I had always known she was a heartless, shallow, snob, but the reality of that fact was striking me in the face. Yet here I was, about to pour my heart out to her because it wasn’t like I could share this with Claire.

  “Well…um…there is…well…sort of,” I said timidly.

  I could tell Sheridan was still relocating and wasn’t really hearing me so I patiently waited to begin my story until she asked, “Okay. I can hear you now. What’s up?”

  “It’s Jack.”

  “Who?”

  “Jack, you know. The guy I told you I met who was totally hot and nice, but that we were just friends?”

  She let out an impatient sigh. “Oh crap. What are you about to tell me? I thought there wasn’t a Jack. Did you cross over the friend zone?”

  “Well…um…there’s not…really…I mean, there is but there isn’t a Jack…what I mean is…it’s just that he’s like a bad disease I can’t get rid of. He’s here all the time—the house, school, where we eat—my dad thinks he can’t get through one day without Jack.”

  The reality was I couldn’t either. All I thought about everyday was when I would see him next. What would he be wearing? Would he be going with the casual look of jeans and a form fitting t-shirt? Would he be going with the cowboy look—boots, Wranglers, plaid shirt—the look that a year ago would have made me puke?

  “Okay, so tell me what happened so I can fix it for you,” she demanded.

  I relayed the day’s events that occurred at the car lot, and of course, I made it sound like Jack had provoked me. I made it sound as if he’d been nastier than he actually had been with his “you’re so spoiled” comment, not that it mattered. Sheridan would have been on my side anyway.

  “What a jerk!” I cringed at her words. “Well, you did the right thing,” she reassured.

  “Yeah, I know I did. He’s not right for me anyway.” I was wrong. He was very right for me.

  “Excuse me? I didn’t know you were worried about whether he was right for you or not.”

  “Well, there’s an undeniable chemistry. There’s something about him that draws me to him, but I’ll get over it.” I wouldn’t. I didn’t picture a day any time soon that I would get over Jack.

  “Oh, girlfriend. You are not going to marry some country bumpkin, I mean seriously, Addy. Can’t you see what hooking up with this guy will do to your future? You’d be miserable. You’d be living in that dumpy little town living in some love shack with six scraggily kids clinging to your leg. Get real. Here’s the answer to this problem. He’s not who you want. I mean, if you want to play around with him a while then cut him loose, I’m all for you doing that, but you can’t be serious about there being any actual relationship.” Sheridan said it with such finality that I knew she wasn’t really looking for me to respond.

  All I could say was “that’s true.” I tried to sound confident, but I wasn’t sure she was right. Besides, that wasn’t Jack. He would have built me a mansion on the river’s edge if I wanted him to, but that was a fantasy for another day.

  “Tell me you don’t feel bad about this,” she demanded.

  “Oh, I don’t,” I lied. I felt bad. I felt very bad. I deeply regretted every word I had said to Jack, and it wasn’t just the words I said, it was the way I had said them. Each sentence was filled with an edgy bitterness that Jack in no way deserved. I couldn’t shake how hurt he looked. Jack was perhaps the best person I had ever met in my life but because I had convinced myself it could never go anywhere serious. I was on a mission to destroy any chance of not just romance but friendship. I must be certifiably insane or just really, extremely confused.

  “Well, get over it!” snapped Sheridan.

  “I already am,” I lied again.

  “He’s not worth it.”

  “I know.” That was another lie. Jack was worth it and then some.

  Sheridan had obviously reached her limit of compassion for a conversation that didn’t revolve around her so she shifted the subject to describing her latest victim. His name was Brad. He was a lot of fun and best of all his family was rich which made her feel that he was her equal. I spoke the occasional “oh, really” and “uh-huh” but truthfully, I had drowned out her words while I pictured Jack. I pictured him laughing at something my dad had said while they planted trees, I pictured him while we fought with the garden hose; I pictured every moment we had shared together over the summer until I felt physically ill. I was so disgusted with myself I couldn’t focus on anything Sheridan was prattling on about and I didn’t even need to hear what she was saying to know I was disgusted with her, too. I finally managed to interrupt her. I lied and told her my mom was calling for me. She reminded me once again to use Jack as a boy-toy then dump him in August. I offered a fake laugh.

  I wasn’t sure which I regretted more—hurting Jack or calling Sheridan.

  15. I Love You

  I looked out my window to check on the weather and saw Aaron sprawled out on the lawn, lying on his stomach, drawing in his sketchpad. It must be an unusually warm autumn day because he was only wearing jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt.

  Aaron was an incredibly gifted artist. It had been a very long time since I had seen him drawing. I often envied his talent and couldn’t believe he never talked about pursuing a career somewhere in art, but since he didn’t even seem to think past where he would score his next fix, it was unreasonable to believe he would be thinking of anything past high school.

  I grabbed a sweater off the back hook of my bedroom door. I was learning that looks could be deceiving in Montana and when I stepped out onto the back porch, I learned I was right. I still felt a slight chill in the air. When I reached the backyard, I decided to sneak up on Aaron. I measured each step slowly, but since Aaron and I hadn’t raked the leaves like Dad asked us to, I kept crunching brown, red, and orange leaves under my feet. I snapped the occasional twig, but he was so deep in concentration that he didn’t hear me or notice my presence until I yelled, “Boo!”

  Aaron’s body visibly jumped from the ground. He looked up at me with a scowl.

  “You suck!” he yelled at me.

  “I know, sorry. I couldn’t resist.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” he said sarcastically.

  “So what’s up, twerp?”

  “Not much, snoberella.”

  I laughed. It had been a while since Aaron had called me snoberella. He started calling me that long ago because he hated the relationship I had with Dad and he was tired of him calling me princess. Since he thought I was
a combination of Daddy’s little princess and a snob, snoberella was a by far more fitting name for me. I spent years hating it but today, I found it amusing. I sat down on the lawn beside him and gave him a gentle smack on the arm.

  “What are you drawing?” I asked as I peered over his shoulder. He had a number of different drawings on one page. In the upper right hand corner was a Cannabis plant.

  “I’m drawing my future tats.”

  “Dude, you are not getting a tattoo of a pot plant.”

  “Hell yeah, I am. I’m getting one just like this as soon as I turn eighteen.”

  “Yeah, well, good luck with that.” I continued to scan the page of drawings. “Are you getting a landscape tat too?” I pointed to the completely awesome drawing he did of the nearby mountains.