Gone Wild

by McCormick, Ever

  The jealousy went away. Some of the anger did too. It could be a lot worse, I told myself. I was suddenly very grateful that we had been the first people to come across this woman and not some dangerous criminal who would take advantage of her. There was too much of that in the world.

  I watched Adam walk to the woman's window on the passenger side and signal her to roll it down. They exchanged a few words and then she popped her hood, staying inside the car while Adam walked behind the hood where I couldn't see him.

  He'd left the truck running for me, but I just wanted silence. Even the low hum of the cars passing back and forth seemed so loud and unnatural to me after my days on the mountain. I could barely hear the wind through the leaves. Those sounds had been so clear and crisp on the mountain, but out here nothing could be heard but motors and tires and rumble strips warning cars back between the lines.

  I rolled down the window to let in fresh air. I turned the key, shutting off all of the interior lights and our own idling engine. I took a deep breath and tried to enjoy the dark silence.

  A small red light flashed from the center console. I sighed and leaned forward trying to see what it was. Up close, I realized it was a small track phone—one of those pre-paid tiny things that people only keep around for emergencies. I looked ahead to the broken down scene in front of me. I still couldn't see Adam behind the hood.

  I flipped open the phone and all of the lights blinked on. This baby had a full charge. I dialed the numbers I knew better than anyone else's and sat through three rings before Michael finally answered.

  14

  "Hello," he said in his confident all-business voice. "Michael Zenia here."

  I paused before saying anything and considered hanging up. I hadn't planned what I was going to say and it was so strange to hear his voice. It was so familiar that my body physically responded and I hadn’t counted on that. I felt excited and forgot why I called. Then I saw the poster in my mind and the anger returned. Suddenly I couldn't see the truck or Adam or the stranded car. I saw only Michael, sitting in his apartment looking smug.

  "How could you?" I muttered quietly.

  "Ina?" The business accent dripped from his voice, leaving behind only the regular voice I was used to. "Are you all right? Where are you?"

  "I am on the side of a major highway in complete darkness, wondering how the hell you could steal my ideas and pass them off as your own. Where are you?"

  "You saw?"

  "Yes, I saw!" My voice choked, but I covered the pain with anger. "How could you do that to me, Michael?" My voice dropped from its shrill questioning tone to a low confrontational roar. "Three months ago we talked about marriage like it was inevitable. Two months ago, you were banging my friends. Now you're stealing my ideas? What the hell did I do to you to make you treat me this way?" The tears were pouring now. I couldn't stop them from streaming down my face and into my lap as I let him have it, as I finally let him know what I really thought.

  "I'm so sorry, Ina. I was desperate."

  "What do you mean?"

  "This job is so difficult. On my first day, they showed me and a few other agents a huge loss the company was suffering and told us one of us had to fix it—and that one of us would still have a job next year."

  I didn't feel sorry for him. No way. I couldn't even get a job and he wanted me to feel sorry for him?

  "They hated all of my ideas," he went on. "Every time I came up with a concept, they trashed it, or laughed at it. The only thing that got their respect is when I started quoting you."

  I breathed. I closed my eyes. I tried to stop the tears.

  "I didn't mean to steal your ideas. I just meant to learn from them, to glean something from them that would help me develop an idea of my own that would help me keep my job."

  "Michael, it's just— I don't even have a word for what I am feeling right now."

  "You’re mad, and I don't blame you for being angry, Ina. Just please try to understand. I am under so much pressure here. It's so much more pressure than I thought it would be, and I'm doing all of this alone. I am doing this without you."

  "Because you cheated on me!" I reminded him.

  "I know, Ina. I know. Don't you see? What the hell is wrong with me? I screw up everything!"

  Yes, he did, but he was the one with a job. He was the one with the leading ad campaign. What they said was turning out to be wrong: Cheaters ALWAYS won.

  I breathed unevenly. I didn't know what else to say.

  "Ina," he asked is a small hesitant voice, "what are you doing on the side of the road? Are you okay?"

  My eyes flashed up to Adam in front of me helping the woman in the broken down car. He had leaned around the hood and was yelling something to her. "I'm fine," I whispered. "I'm driving home from dinner. I saw one of your—or should I say my—ads while I was in town and I was so mad I had to pull over and call you. I still can't believe it, Michael."

  We didn't say anything for a minute or two. We just listened to each other's breath. The anger subsided and there was something else underneath it, an old habit, I suppose, the way we used to be when we'd listen to each other's problems and then try to talk each other through them. "I know it must be hard to be in the real world."

  "You have no idea, Ina. It sucks."

  I tried not to take that as a dig—that I had no idea what the real world was like. Personally, I thought I'd gotten a taste of the real world when my thesis went viral and random people I’d never met felt they had the right to call me a stupid, spoiled bitch in public forums on the Internet.

  "I wish everything would have gone differently. God, if you had been here, it would have been so different. You would have talked some sense into me."

  I kept telling my inner voice to shut up, to not show that I cared about the answer in any way, shape or form, but I couldn't stop myself from asking the question. "Are you seeing anyone?" I shut my eyes again, preparing myself for the answer.

  "No," Michael said quietly. I could hear his pen hitting his desk over and over like a drumstick. It was an old nervous habit of his. "Are you?"

  My eyes flashed open and took in the scene in front of me. Adam now crouched down next to the passenger's side window. The woman had turned on the interior light so I could see that Adam was smiling and talking to the child in the back seat.

  I wanted to say yes just because it would hurt Michael, but I was a bad liar, and as much as I was lied to, I really didn't want to start doing it to others. As much as I was learning that cheaters win and liars prosper, I was still holding on to the possibility that I didn't have to succumb to that kind of behavior just because everyone around me did. I could be an exception.

  "No, I'm not seeing anyone." I said.

  He exhaled a large breath. "How is your wilderness escape?" he asked.

  "It's perfect." As much as I wasn't prepared to lie, I didn't feel like telling him the whole truth. He didn't need to know about Roadsie. I didn't want him telling me I had to get out of there. He'd probably call my mother and tell her. She'd have the National Guard out here searching for me. "I'm learning a lot." That much was true.

  "Are you rethinking us?"

  "I don't know what to think of us. I thought I knew you and then you ended up being a completely different person from what I thought."

  "I was confused. Cheating on you was the biggest mistake of my life."

  I'd never heard him say anything quite so remorseful before this moment. He had apologized, but he never called it the "biggest mistake of his life" before. To be honest, I didn't think he had all that much remorse in him for his behavior. "Where is this coming from? If you thought you made a mistake, why didn't you call?"

  "I don't know," he admitted. "I figured I blew it. What was the point?"

  "Yeah, you did blow it." The tears from my eyes had stopped, but a single one escaped as I spoke. "We had something good, Michael. We could have saved the memories at least, but now whenever I think of you, I think of you banging Cara in
my dorm room. You sullied the whole idea of you in my head."

  "I know, and I'm sorry. I wish I could take it back. Like I said, biggest mistake of my life."

  We just breathed on the line for a while longer. I hoped one day I could be around him without this big wave of hate mixed with another feeling—a longing. It made it impossible to relax around him.

  "I better go," I said. "I don't want to use all of his minutes." The car in front of me roared to life suddenly. I saw the driver hold her hand out the window in a thumbs up while the child in the backseat flung her arms around in celebration.

  "His? Who's phone are you using?" Michael asked.

  "A friend's. I lost mine."

  He waited for me to elaborate, but I refused.

  "Do you still think about me, Ina?"

  "Of course."

  "Do you still love me?"

  I sighed. "I don't know. Maybe. No. Yes."

  "Don't let me be sullied, okay?"

  I couldn't answer. I closed my eyes again and took a deep breath. I had to keep it together.

  "I know I screwed up, but what we had was better than good. It was perfect, and I know that you deserved much better than what I did to you." His voice cracked. "I'm sorry, Ina. I'm so sorry." His tears came without hesitation now, and I had a hard time staying mad at him. I kept picturing the poster with my stolen words on it, but hearing his sobs, I knew that my Michael was in there somewhere, and he was hurting. He was at a crossroads, too, but he was choosing all the wrong steps along the way.

  "Thank you, Michael. That means a lot." I opened my eyes. Adam was still standing next to the car ahead of me, speaking to the woman. Then he stood back and the car pulled out onto the highway, spitting out gravel. The woman waved out her window.

  "I have to go. Goodbye." I clicked the phone shut.

  I stared at the phone wondering if that had helped at all. All this time, I had thought Michael had no remorse at all. He'd just gone on as if our time together hadn't mattered to him. When I saw the poster, the feeling in me wasn't just anger that my ideas had been stolen. It was anger that I had meant so little to someone who had meant so much to me. But the sound of his voice during our conversation told me that wasn't the case at all. He did miss me. He was sorry for what he had done. I felt so confused.

  The tears I'd been holding back began to stream out and down my face. Adam pulled open the passenger door with a loud squeak and pulled me close to him. He hugged me so tight. I figured he wanted me to stop crying. Some guys cannot stand the sight or sound of a woman crying. But I didn't stop. I cried for an awfully long time and he just held me and didn't say a word.

  The sounds of the cars behind us crisscrossing in the night were like a lullaby. They made me feel like I had finally gotten off the merry-go-round of life for a second and we were hiding over here in the dark, listening to it spin on without us. It was over there, whooshing by, while I hid in a safe pocket on the side of this random route in the arms of Adam.

  *

  After a while, we got on the road again. He didn't ask why I'd been crying, so I didn't tell him. The phone call had given me a new not-so negative perspective on Michael. That complicated things. I suddenly had a secret from Adam, and that felt odd.

  Adam had slipped in a CD of mellow guitar music and guys singing out poetic heartfelt verses. It was bluegrassy and folksy. Fresh air blew into our open windows and around the cab of the truck.

  Despite the fact that I had finally talked to Michael and instead of getting closure, I might have reopened the wounds of my broken heart, I felt sort of good. I mean, the air, the music—I was having one of those perfect moments when even though so much is screwed up, right then I felt safe.

  "This is me," he said. I looked over and watched his face, trying to figure out what he meant. "This is me and a few guys in college. We started a band together, played some gigs all through school and moved apart when we graduated." He kept his eyes on me, waiting for a reaction.

  “Is there anything you don’t do?”

  He laughed, easy and free. He was so happy. A weight had been lifted. “I’ve filled up the big empty with everything I could find.”

  "You're pretty good," I complimented him. I could hear a familiar twang in the singer's voice now. "You were the lead singer?"

  "I was on guitar. We took turns being the lead singer." He smiled as I felt my lips turn up at the edges.

  "Why am I just hearing this now?"

  He shrugged and returned his gaze to the road. "I don't go around telling people things. It was just something I did in college. Sometimes when I put this old CD into the radio and listen, though, it's like I have to remind myself it was me. It feels like a totally different life I lived a hundred years ago, but it's not. It's me."

  "Do you think I'm a different me now than the me I was when I was with Michael?"

  He shrugged again. "I barely know who I am. I don't presume to know who anyone else is. I think we are always changing, and it’s like—well, it’s like finding an old favorite t-shirt in an old suitcase. You know, you haven’t seen it in years, so you put it on. Even though you feel like the same person, and you remember how comfortable that old tee was on you a few years ago, the shirt’s tight now, and ripped. It rides up in the back and shows the top of your ass. It just doesn’t fit anymore no matter how much you want it to."

  I laughed, but it was a sad laugh.

  Other than that, we didn't talk much on the ride home. I stared out the window for long periods of time. The CD played through its entirety twice and neither of us moved to change it. I enjoyed it just for the music, but I also loved hearing this other Adam that was different from the Adam I knew. He sounded innocent, wide-eyed, optimistic.

  At one point a voice I knew was Adam's had a solo where all of the music stopped and he sang just four lines. His voice was steady and strong, but a little scratchy. I looked over at him the second time we heard that song, and when the solo came on, he mouthed those words perfectly in time with his voice from the past.

  He looked at me when the words finished. He reached over into my lap and grabbed my hand and he squeezed it. Then he held my glance for a bit longer than I expected and he let my eyes and my hand go. That was the only time he touched me on the ride. The next time he touched me was in the cabin, and that touch in the cabin is when things started feeling out of my control.

  15

  When Adam's truck turned onto the dark mountain road, I leaned out my open window and inhaled a deep breath so the familiar air could calm my nerves.

  We moved slowly down the long dirt road, and I stretched out my legs and back and gathered my things from around the truck. I noticed Adam was driving to my cabin instead of his. I don't know why I expected him to take me to his cabin, but I had, and now I felt panicked as he continued to head toward mine.

  So much had happened tonight and the idea of being alone with my own thoughts, with no reality shows or Internet gossip to drown them out, scared the hell out of me.

  Even though we'd spoken only a few words to each other during the trip back, I'd really enjoyed his company. The thought of being without it scared me. I cleared my throat and looked over at Adam. He appeared deep in thought.

  "Adam?"

  He turned to me. "Yes?"

  "Can we go to your place? Do you want to have coffee or something?"

  He didn't answer at first. He seemed to be thinking about what I was asking, whether I was asking for coffee or coffee. Maybe I was asking for coffee. I was open to the option at least. Maybe. Possibly. Maybe not. I don’t know. I just didn’t want to be alone.

  "Sure," he said. He turned up ahead onto a small overgrown dirt road with two tire tracks worn down it and grass growing in the middle. I could tell this road didn't get used much. We emerged from the trees in the small clearing in front of his cabin.

  I gathered up all of my things and by the time I was ready to get out, he was opening the truck door for me and helping me down. I looked down at
my dress and made a face. I'd have to pack it away and it suddenly felt like a too extravagant purchase. Even though I didn't even know its cost, I was sure it was expensive. The whole experience—the surreal dinner, the walk through the town, the poster, the phone call—all seemed like part of a dream. Now that I was here on the mountain, I was waking up. I wished the Michael fiasco were a dream. Just the thought of it was making me irate again.

  "How much did the dress cost?" I asked.

  "I don't know," he answered.

  "What?"

  "Didn't even look, but I know it was worth it. Only dinner out I've had in three years. I think it's fair to splurge." He gave me a conspiratorial look, and I grinned.

  "Well, thank you."

  "You're welcome, and anyway, I think that dress was made for you." He ran a finger across the top of it, skimming my breasts so lightly, I sucked in my breath. His voice dropped lower. “I feel as if I reunited that dress with its rightful body.”

  Adam took the bags from me and walked up to his porch, taking out his keys. The porch creaked. An owl hooted, and I moved closer to Adam, grabbing his arm and holding it tight. I was suddenly freezing.

  "Still not used to the dark out here?"

  Instead of answering, I leaned into him and breathed him in. I pictured him pulling the beautiful dress over my head and dropping it on the floor of his bedroom. I wanted him, and the night had made me want him more. On one hand, that was because we fit so well, and the night had been easy and fun and breathtaking. On the other hand, it was because the Michael pain was creeping back into my heart, and I wanted to dull it.

  It was not my style to sleep around. I'd even made Michael wait more than six months, which was unheard of at college. Another disturbing thought followed after that one. Maybe Michael hadn't waited at all. Maybe while I'd assumed he'd been waiting for me, he was biding his time with other women.