my life as a country album (my life as an album Book 1)

by LJ Evans

  We had to travel to Zones. My parents allowed me to bring Wynn. It was fun to have someone in the stands to cheer me on like you used to. You still cheered me on. But a text and voicemail weren’t the same thing.

  I felt like our worlds really were far apart these days.

  Dear John

  “Wonderin’ which version of you,

  I might get on the phone, tonight.”

  - Taylor Swift

  To everyone and anyone, I swore I was fine. I tried not to have my life revolve around thoughts of you. I did. I swear to God, I did. I remember when my mom said that I was too young for all the emotions that came with sleeping with someone. And yet, I felt just as tied to you as if we had gone that far. And sometimes. Sometimes I did feel too young to love you like I did. Do. Sometimes… sometimes I wished it would go away. I can’t believe I can even say that now. But they were just brief moments. Seconds. Nanoseconds really.

  A happy, or unhappy, coincidence came when the Junior National Dive Championships were announced. They were to be held in Knoxville. How the gods decided to grant me that one, I’ll never know, but my parents booked a hotel for the five days. And for the first time, in a very long time, you were in and out of my meets. You had to twist it around your own schedule, but you were there when I made it to the final round.

  The sad thing was that you usually brought Kate with you. You did it to be safe. To put a barrier between us. Afraid the cotton wall would disappear. Kate was always confident and happy about being there. About being included. She’d put her hand through your arm and cling to you like a puppy to a rawhide bone. I felt like I’d been through all this before. Seemed like we’d gone back three years instead of forward.

  Because you hadn’t seen my dives all year, I was determined not to let Kate being there ruin it for me. I wanted to show off for you. I wanted you to see me dive as you’d never seen me dive before. I was on the young end of my new age group of 16 to 18-year-olds. But, it didn’t matter. I’d been doing this a long time. I wanted to be your beautiful dolphin.

  When I came out of the water after my last dive, you were there, on the side of the pool and you hugged me so tight. You didn’t care that I was dripping wet, and that I was ruining whatever clothes you had on. You whispered, “I’m so proud of you,” in my ear. and it sent shivers of delight through my body. It was all I cared about.

  I didn’t make it to the top six. I was one spot away from the alternates. But the girls who made it were older than me. More experienced at the Zones and Nationals. I was thrilled that I’d made it that far. Probably helped that even though I usually didn’t care about competitions that way, lately, all I’d wanted to do was dive because it helped me forget for a few hours.

  My parents took us out to dinner that night. Our last night in Knoxville, and Kate couldn’t come. Darn. She had to go do some sorority thing. I couldn’t believe you were dating a sorority girl. And I razzed you about it when my parents had gone back to the room, and we were sitting poolside in the Tennessee humidity.

  “Dating?” you look truly puzzled.

  “Puh-lease!” I said with disgust.

  “Really. She’s just a good friend.”

  “With benefits?”

  You at least had the decency to look a little chagrinned.

  “She thinks she’s your girlfriend.”

  “No,” you said with vehemence.

  “You really are still an idiot when it comes to girls.”

  And that’s when you pushed me into the pool. But I was quick, and caught your t-shirt as I went over, and you ended up coming in as well.

  We came up spluttering and laughing.

  “Idiot!”

  I called and took off for the other end of the pool as fast as I could with my summer dress tugging at me and my sandals weighing me down. You caught up to me faster than I thought you would. I hadn’t been able to race you in over a year, and you’d been working out tons with the football team.

  You pulled at my dress and caught me back to you, and when I turned around laughing, you kissed me. It was the first kiss we’d shared in over a year. But, it felt just like it always had. Hot and zingy. Just like I’d come home.

  I reached up and wrapped my hands behind your neck and tugged at the hair at the nape of your neck. It was long. Longer than you usually wore it. I moved myself tight against your body. All my nerve endings came painfully awake as if they’d been hibernating, waiting for you to reclaim them.

  When we came up for air, you looked angry and disgusted.

  “I am an idiot,” you said. And I laughed.

  You lifted me up onto the side of the pool effortlessly, and then pulled yourself up beside me but a little bit away, and you stretched out on the cement in the heavy night air instead of continuing where we’d left off in the water. You didn’t look at me. You looked up into the sky. I drank you in and eventually came to the realization that you weren’t going to continue kissing me, so I just laid down next to you.

  “I’m sorry I kissed you, Cam.”

  “Don’t be. It reminds me what kissing is supposed to be like.”

  You laughed. “Not dog slobbers?”

  “Definitely not dog slobbers.”

  We lay out in the warm air for a long time till the Tennessee summer night air dried us off, and I could head back to my room with some respect. At the hotel room door, you looked at me for a long time.

  “You’re amazing, Cam. Don’t ever forget that,” and you flicked my nose with your finger and strolled away.

  I didn’t know whether I should be crying, screaming, or laughing. I felt like I was on a roller coaster ride.

  ***

  I went back to school my junior year more confused than ever. I knew that you wanted me. I knew that you still had feelings for me, but were purposely denying both of us happiness because of some stupid thing about our age and where we were at in life. Stupid.

  Your coach had you playing about half the time. The senior QB wasn’t very happy about this because he was looking to get drafted, and you were inching in on his stats. This made football tough for the first time in your life. The team was divided between the two of you. He was the team leader who’d earned his spot and put in his time, and you were the new talent who almost always led the team to a win. Not always an easy win because your offensive line still stunk, but they were wins.

  And on top of the team tension, your glucose levels were still all over the board these days. You were having a harder time managing and controlling it. Some days you told me that you even had tingling and loss of feeling in your left hand. At least it wasn’t your throwing hand.

  Your doctor wanted you to go on an insulin pump. But, that would mean the end of your football career. You can’t go careening around a football field with a pump and a needle in you. Even Kate had mixed feelings about this. I think it was because as a wanna be doctor, she knew you needed the pump to stabilize your levels, but she’d started dating you as a freshman because of the status of dating a superstar QB.

  All of this made you super moody. If I talked with you on the phone, I never knew what mood you were going to be in. Sometimes you were normal, happy, teasing Jake. Other times you were this person I felt like I’d never met. This dark, thoughtful, Jake who I still loved but pulled at my heart in a completely different way.

  You were struggling. Drowning. And, all I wanted to do was to help you. I wanted to be the dolphin bringing you to the surface. To make sure you were safe. And I couldn’t. Not only because we were two hours apart in miles, not only because we were three years apart in age, but also because you wouldn’t let me.

  On the outside, I was still doing what you’d asked. I was living the high school life. I’d been selected to the homecoming court. And, Mia was selected to homecoming court as a freshman too. Even though she wasn’t an athlete, Mia had your easy way of smooth talking everyone, and your smile. And your wink. It was fun having her at school with me.

  Anyway, I got all d
ressed up and did the homecoming thing. My daddy used the ’58 corvette that was the icon of our car dealership to drive Mia and I in the parade. She was good for me. It was like I had a little piece of you with me when Mia was there. She could keep me sane like you used to be able to do.

  I went to the dance with a guy named Keith who was the junior homecoming prince. He was nice. Polite. But, honestly, I thought he was gay. He’d never had a girlfriend that anyone could remember, dressed nice, and had the best taste in everything. That might be a stereotype, but it seemed to fit for him. Of course, as part of the football team living in Tennessee, he’d never admit to being gay in high school. Regardless, he was a lot of fun.

  Before the big day, the homecoming court and leadership teams had been working hard on the floats and stuff. Keith and I were having a great time leading the group in laughter and adventures. We started water fights, food fights, and wrestling matches that made me think of you with longing. Keith was just a good guy. Maybe he felt as safe with me as I did with him. Neither of us wanted anything to come of the relationship. Mia took lots of pictures and pasted them all over Instagram the morning before the big game and dance.

  You called me that morning right after she posted the pictures. You were crabby as hell. I asked what was wrong, and you said nothing, life was just peachy.

  “It doesn’t sound like it.”

  “Well, guess what, Cam, you’re not always right.”

  “I’m never right when it comes to you these days.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Why are you angry with me?”

  You sighed. “I’m not.”

  “You are. Did you call because you need someone to fight with? Or have you not checked your levels lately?”

  “God. Not all of my moods have to do with my God-damn glucose levels,” and I knew you were in a rotten mood because you hardly ever swore around me anymore. Not since middle school when I’d picked up your bad language. You hated it when I swore.

  “I’m hanging up,” I said.

  “Fine. Go have a good time with Keith,” and you were so sarcastic, I could tell you were jealous. I wanted to laugh because Keith was so obviously gay, and I could easily tell you that, but the stubborn side of me was tweaked by the whole conversation and glad that you were jealous. So, instead I egged you on.

  “Isn’t this what you wanted? You wanted me to go get a high school boyfriend and do all the things a high school girl is supposed to do.”

  You didn’t say anything. I could tell reality was hitting you. I could imagine you sitting there cursing yourself and wanting to apologize because I was throwing back at you every last thing you’d been saying to me for a year.

  “I gotta go,” I said.

  “Cami.”

  I froze. And you knew I was still there. That I would never hang up on you when you called me that.

  “I’m sorry,” you said.

  “I know.”

  “Have a good time tonight.”

  And I did. Sort of. Because Keith was fun. And not threatening. But at the back of my head I was thinking about you and worried about your moods and what the hell was going on with you.

  You didn’t come home for Thanksgiving again. I guess I had expected it this time. But, when you came home for Christmas before the bowl games started again, you were not yourself. You were shaky at the drop of a hat, and you’d drop things from your left hand. You’d growl at Mia or I over the stupidest things.

  The night before you left to go home, I confronted you again. We were in the tree house. Hanging out, looking at the stars. My star wasn’t out tonight, the best time to see it was really in September. When we were never together.

  “Jake,” I breathed out as we snuggled under a blanket together.

  “Yea?”

  “I’m worried about you.”

  You didn’t answer right away. But eventually, it came out soft and emotional, “Me too.”

  I turned in the blanket so I could look at your face. You wouldn’t look at me. Eventually I took your chin in my hand and forced you to look at me. Like you had me all those years ago when I’d admitted that you were breaking my heart.

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  You looked into my eyes with that intense look that still made my heart skip beats. Today I could see more than just desire in those eyes. I saw pain. Fear. I wasn’t used to you being afraid. It rarely came out. Only around the stupid diabetes because you couldn’t control it.

  And instead of replying, you kissed me again. Strong and hard and full of so much more than just the teenage longing that we’d shared so many times. It was like you were trying to draw strength from me. I was usually the one relying on you for strength. It freaked me out at the same time it made me feel important. Needed.

  You were the one to push away. You always were the one to push me away. It was so ridiculous. The stupid dramatic ups and downs were killing me. I felt like we were in an ABC Family drama that we’d always made fun of before now. I stood up and threw the blanket at you.

  “What the hell? I’m so tired of being a ping pong ball. You want me. You don’t want me. You want me but you feel like you shouldn’t want me. Make a God-damn choice and stick with it.”

  I stormed out.

  I felt guilty as hell. You were hurting. You needed me, or rather, you needed something. And, I had not only walked out on you, but I didn’t even talk to you through the whole bowl week. But, a girl can only take so much. And I was irritated. And stubborn. And you know when I get like that there isn’t much that can bring me around. Usually it was you. But, as I was mad at you, there was nothing to stop me from being the Cam that both our mamas had wanted to lock in a closet.

  When I think about all of that now. I hate myself. What a waste of time. We wasted so much time. Both of us. God! We were both idiots, weren’t we?

  UTK did pretty well at the bowl games, but you weren’t quarterbacking most of the games. Your coach was finally trying to help that senior QB to the draft too. When I saw you on the sidelines, you looked pale. It twisted a knife inside me. Maybe I was partly keeping away because if you told me again that you were scared, I’d be running to Knoxville to try to save you, and I knew that you’d be as happy about that as you were the time I punched Brian in the face.

  I called you on your birthday. You were pretty short with me. You called me on my birthday, but it was brief and to the point. We’d put up yet another, thicker wall. It felt like, even though you’d been gone for a year and a half, that this was the first time I really felt without you. Like you were truly leaving me. I had forced you to leave, and you’d taken me seriously. It made me easy prey for everything that followed.

  I Knew You Were Trouble

  “Once upon a time, a few mistakes ago

  I was in your sights, you got me alone.”

  - Swift, Martin, Shellback

  Where does that deep frustration lead a person? To mistakes. Mistakes with boys who are there and who can make you feel good for a while. And the truth was, in the end, it was only going to end up bad. For me. For everyone. So… I guess I knew it was trouble from the moment it started. But. I wanted it. Needed the trouble to lead me astray from you. It was self-defense, but ended up with me on the ground in a whole new way.

  Trouble’s name was Seth, and he showed up just after Christmas my junior year. He’d moved in from New York City. And the rumors came with him. He’d been in and out of trouble back East. His parents had sent him to live here with his grandparents, yada, yada, yada. Your typical bad boy. It wasn’t normally my thing. After all, you were truly my only “thing”, and you were the opposite of a bad boy.

  I will say this. He was gorgeous. Dark like you, but in a totally different way. I think his family was Cuban or Puerto Rican. He was muscled too. But, more like I’ll-beat-the-crap-out-of-you muscles than jock muscles. Your five o’clock shadow only appeared at the end of a very long night and was all scruffy Southern farm boy.
His five o’clock shadow seemed a permanent fixture.

  He rolled in on a stereotypical bad boy motorcycle complete with a black jacket and black combat boots. He had a tattoo of a tiger on his arm that peeped out below his black t-shirt and made every single girl in the parking lot that day sigh a deep, lusting sigh. Not many high school boys in our Southern town had tattoos. And he replaced his helmet with dark glasses that made you wonder constantly what was going on behind them. He rarely took them off. Mostly when teachers demanded it, and even they seemed to be too intimidated to ask him sometimes.

  Maybe it was fate that I wasn’t there when he first pulled up. I pulled up after him. And he was in my spot. We had assigned spots. He probably didn’t know that being his first day and all, but I’d paid good money for my spot in the parking lot, and I’d be damned if I was going to let him take it.

  So, he was just walking away from his bike when I hollered out the window of my jeep at him, “Yo, stupid!”

  And he turned back and gave me the laziest smile I think I’d ever seen. He lowered his glasses to show off a pair of brilliant blue eyes that contrasted with the rest of his heritage and gleamed like sapphires hit by a ray of sunshine.

  He sauntered up over to my jeep and put his tan, muscled arm on the windowsill. He had his leather jacket flung over his other shoulder in a careless manner that added completely and absolutely to his, I-don’t-give-a-rats-ass-about-anything persona.

  “What can I do for you little lady?” and his attempt at Southern manners with his New York Bronx accent just made me laugh. Right in his face. This made his smile lower a level, and I saw a glimmer of something in his eyes before he hid the brilliant blues behind his glasses again.

  “You’re in my spot,” I said with as much condescension and Southern-daddy’s-girl attitude as I could muster.