by CL Walters
“Are you mad?”
“No.”
She’s turned away from me, staring out the window.
“Why are you being quiet and moody all of the sudden?”
She looks at me, chin high. “I’m doing an impersonation.”
“Of–” but I know what she’s going to say.
“You. Oh!” She points at the radio. “This is your song. Just listen to the lyrics.”
A guy rap-yells about running being easier than facing the pain. He wants to numb it. I glance at her.
“That’s what you did on Saturday when I got too close, SK.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“Isn’t it?” she asks and glances at me. “I’m not trying to be a bitch, Griffin. I’m trying to be your friend.”
And I know it’s fair; she’s nailed me down, and I don’t want to acknowledge the truth. I feel like I’m about to be dissected, but I also can’t get enough of it either. Her awareness makes me mad while at the same time feel seen, and I can’t remember the last time I felt understood and seen. Then again, recalling how things broke apart with Tanner, maybe that’s all he’d been asking for, and I hadn’t been able to do it. I hadn’t been able to let him see me either, and I don’t understand why. I’d been scared, but of what? Losing him? He’s gone. Losing something else? I’ve lost everything already, so none of it really makes sense.
“Fine,” I say.
I can feel her eyes on me again, and suddenly her hand is on my arm, burning my skin with her gentle touch that feels like the warm summer sun.
“Griffin?”
I turn to look at her, and my heart ricochets around inside my chest like a stray bullet looking for soft tissue to mutilate. “Yeah.”
“I won’t hurt you.”
But I’m beginning to think it might be too late for that. “You’re leaving.” Just like everyone else in my life that I care about.
She doesn’t remove her hand, but I have to look away, keep my eyes on the road, which is both a blessing and a curse. Despite my fear, I want to see her expression.
“Physically, maybe,” she says, “but I’m not going to stop being your friend just because I’m a few hundred miles away. Especially now that I know.”
“Know what?”
“What having a good friend is like.”
I swallow. Another string of kind words that haven’t normally been associated with me. I don’t think I’ve been a very good friend. Tanner, Danny, and Josh could testify against me in friendship court.
She removes her hand, but her touch has left a sunburn on my skin. “You have to be willing to trust me.”
I decide to open the box, look inside, and share it. “When I was fourteen and my brother left. I blamed my mom for making him go, and I blamed my brother because he left.”
“Like your dad.”
I nod, slowly. “I guess. I met Tanner my freshman year. Before that I was mostly alone because people were always talking shit.” I pause a moment before continuing. “Tanner and I had homeroom together and this teacher—he was such an asshat—was picking on Tanner. The thing was, everyone who went to school with T, knew that his big brother had died of cancer, and he and his family hadn’t ever recovered from that. So, when this teacher started giving him shit, I jumped in. We both got kicked out of class and somehow became friends.”
“Like brothers.”
“Yeah, I guess. We both sort of became the brother the other was missing.”
“And the fight?”
I sigh.
“I can’t think any worse.”
“You might.” I don’t look at her.
“Trust.”
“We had this agreement called Bro Code that we made during our sophomore year. It was me and Tanner and Josh—you met him the other night–”
“With Ginny and Emma?”
“Yeah. And Danny. My friends.”
“Bro Code. That doesn’t sound good.”
“You can probably guess.”
“Like a bros before hos thing?”
“Yeah, and some.”
“So how does that lead to the fight. Tanner take your girlfriend?”
“No girlfriends in Bro Code, and Tanner would never do that. He fell for this girl at the end of senior year, like right before graduation.”
“Emma?”
I sigh. “Yes. I wouldn’t let up about Bro Code. I wouldn’t listen to him when he tried to tell me how he felt differently about her. I just accused him of breaking the code.”
“Did he?”
“In my head, I thought so, but now, I don’t think so anymore.”
“What do you think now?”
“That I was just…afraid.” Admitting this sucks. The protective side of me threatens to make me clamp my mouth shut.
“Of what?”
Max’s response surprises me. Of what? Just matter of fact and lacking in judgement. I suppose I thought that if I admitted my fear, an asteroid might annihilate me from the planet and leave her laughing at my weakness. She doesn’t even blink, and I’m still driving down the road like nothing has happened.
“Things changing. Losing my friends. Ironic right?”
“So, that was the fight?”
“Ultimately, yeah, but it happened because we got drunk, and I said some shitty things to him about his brother. Then I told him we weren’t friends anymore.” I want to press my hand against my heart. My chest has tightened with the thought. I need relief, but there isn’t any. I’d broken my rules. I’d broken the friendship, not Tanner because I’d put him in a box too. I don’t want to look it, but now I can’t unsee it.
“Do you miss him?”
“Yeah.”
“You should tell him.”
“I think it’s more complicated than that.”
“Why? It shouldn’t be. You care about him. If it’s a real friendship, then it shouldn’t be more complicated than working it out.”
“Is that what you’d do?”
“I haven’t had many friends. Not like you and Tanner, anyway, but if it were someone who meant a lot to me, I would.”
But I’m not sure I agree with her. “I don’t know if it was a real friendship.”
She doesn’t say anything, just waits for me to continue.
“When Bella said what she said the other night about me–”
Max rolls her eyes and scoffs.
“–I believed it. And I think I have for a long time. Tanner’s a good guy. I’m not, though. I’m not a good friend. And maybe I’ve always wished I could be more like him.”
She doesn’t say anything, just makes a humming noise. Then I feel her hand on mine. She isn’t looking at me when I glance at her. She’s looking out the window at the landscape of farmland sliding past. Though I feel her touch and could interpret it to mean something, I don’t. It feels like comfort, like a simple way to say: I’m here. You aren’t alone.
I choose to believe it. For now.
7
““You ready for this?” I ask her after I’ve gotten us a day pass for a hike to The Bend Ghost Town Trail. I open the map of the park from the visitor center.
“I was born ready.”
With our backpacks and our map, we set off down the dusty trail. It’s a beautiful walk, a wide swath of dry earth outlined by tall green grass. Butterflies dance across the top. The river curls like a blue ribbon through the meadows and aspen trees. Birds chirp and flutter about, flitting from tree to tree, the leaves still summer green. The sky stretches clear overhead except for a few clouds that seem to hang suspended by invisible strings.
The day has been strange. First the conversation with my family and the realization we are all hiding from secrets and feelings. Then opening up to Max, allowing her to see the part of me I’ve spent most of my life protecting. The strangest part, I don’t feel terrible about it, but rather closer to her somehow. And clearer headed, as if sharing it—even though I’ve stripped away the tape I was using to hold myself togethe
r—offered freedom to own it. I wonder if this was what Tanner meant when he asked me if I’d ever thought there as more to life than Bro Code. I’d ridiculed him for it. The thought shames me.
“So,” Max says after some time.
“So what?” I ask.
“I’ve given some thoughts to your rules.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, I feel like perhaps they are limiting you.”
“They’re for parties, Max.”
“Right. But if those are the only rules you’re living by, you know, I think maybe you need to expand. Especially because of what we talked about on the way here.”
“Okay,” I say, drawing out the word and trying to find a clever argument against it. My skepticism is just because all of this openness feels unnatural and frightening. But Max hasn’t really steered me wrong yet, so I can’t find one.
“I’ve decided to share my rules with you.”
“I wasn’t aware you had rules.”
“I definitely have rules.”
“Wasn’t the whole purpose of me sharing my rules because you hadn’t been to parties? If you have rules, I didn’t need to share mine.”
“Oh. These aren’t for parties.” She glances over her shoulder at me a moment with a sly grin.
“What are these rules for?”
“Relationships.”
“Because you’ve had so many?”
“I beg your pardon. I’ve had a boyfriend. You haven’t even had a girlfriend.”
“You had a boyfriend? When was this?” This news upends my perspective and makes me feel like I might lose my footing, though I’m not sure why that would be so. I glance at her, thinking about this fact. A boyfriend. Someone who wanted to be with Max exclusively. Someone who kissed her. And… maybe other stuff, too. My stomach clenches and twists.
“Yes. Last year.”
“How long did you have this boyfriend?” I want to put a clamp on my mouth. It’s none of my business, but my brain spins on the information. I can’t stop thinking about some guy who captured Max’s heart.
Her head turns to look at me, and she offers a strange smile. “Six months, give or take. So, your objection is irrelevant and overruled.”
“Did you just lawyer and judge me at the same time?”
Six months, I think. I want to know so much more, curiosity curling through me like car oil keeping my engine running. I wonder if she loved him, but I don’t ask.
“I did.” She laughs. “I’m going to school you on my rules.”
We come to a fork in the trail.
“Hold onto that for a moment,” I say and open the map. “Let’s figure out which way we have to go.” After a quick study, we veer away from the river. “It says here that resources dried up, and that’s why everyone moved away,” I read.
“Isn’t that why most ghost towns become ghost towns?”
I shove the map pamphlet in the front pocket of my backpack without removing it. “It isn’t because everyone mysteriously dies, and then the town is haunted by the remaining ghosts? I thought we were going to a massive, haunted house.”
She laughs. “That sounds more imaginative.”
I grin and wonder if her boyfriend loved her laugh. I sure like it. It’s musical. When it’s real, it comes from her belly. Plus, I’ve never been considered the funny one with my friends, so making her laugh sort of feels like winning something, like when she smiles that real smile, the one with the dimple.
“Okay. So, your rules,” I say.
“Yes. My rules. First rule, you have to trust.”
“Okay. Trust. Got it.”
I wonder why they broke up.
“Do you?”
“I trust you.” I say it and mean it. I’ve never said or thought this about a girl before.
“Because I coerced you into it.”
I look down at my feet to hide my smile. “Well, I allowed myself to be coerced, by you. If I didn’t trust you, I wouldn’t have shared. I haven’t shared it with anyone else.”
Max’s eyes leave my face and return to the trail. “Rule two is that you have to talk.”
“I talk.”
“About real stuff.”
The comment hits me like another bullet, and she’s full of them today. Same shit. More reality that forces me to look at myself and my own choices. I clear my throat and keep to the banter rather than slide down into a broody rabbit hole. “What isn’t real about ghost towns?”
She stops, and I catch up with her. “Griffin. You know what I mean.”
“Okay. Okay. Talk. Next.”
“Third rule: you have to be willing to share the hard parts of yourself.”
I nearly stumble and raise my eyebrows when look at her. “The hard parts, Max?” I smile and can’t help but grasp onto the suggestive innuendo in her comment, even if it was unintentional.
I wonder if she and her boyfriend had sex, and this thought cinches my muscles tighter, because I’m so curious now. I know it’s a dumb mind trail to follow, but I can’t seem to control my thoughts about it.
“Griffin!” Her cheeks have turned, red and I discover I like it. “I didn’t mean it like that.” She tries to hit me.
I laugh and dodge her playful smack, so her fingertips slide over my backpack. “You said ‘hard.’”
“You’re a child. I meant–” she says the last words louder to get my attention. “I meant, the difficult stories, the harder things to share about ourselves.”
“Hard.”
“Griffin.” She all but stomps her feet, her hands on her hips.
I smile and keep walking. “Fine. I get it. Be willing to share. How many more rules are there, because this seems like a lot to remember.”
“Really? You had four. I’m only at three. Trust. Talk. Share.”
“Trust. Talk. Hard.” I dart forward to get away from her, but I don’t make it.
Max’s catches me and wraps me in a bear hug from behind. “Stop it.”
I grin and cover her hands clamped around me with mine. “Share.”
She releases me.
I ignore the part of me that misses her being so close. It’s dumb to want something like that. I’m trying to be a good friend, not a jerk.
“Rule four: allow others the space to mess up.”
“Huh?”
“Case in point: Saturday night.”
I wrap my hand around the back my neck and rub it, feeling the heat of embarrassment. “Oh. Got it.”
“And the last rule.”
“Thank God. My limited brain capacity just can’t take anymore. It’s just too hard.”
“Griffin! You’re obnoxious.”
I bark laughter as she comes after me again. “Go. Go. Sorry!”
“Rule five: forgive.”
I glance at her. She forgave me for acting like an ass. Max has demonstrated every one of her rules. I stop and face her. “I think for someone who says they haven’t had very many friends; you have some pretty smart rules.”
She stops too and looks at me. Her eyes search my face, measuring me for something only she knows, which I hope turns out in my favor. Then she says, “Well, I’ve recently had the opportunity to test them on this really unruly guy I met.” She smiles and walks past me, her shoes crunching on the gravel. “Plus, I have Cal.”
I follow. “I bet you had a chance to practice them with this boyfriend. Was that hard?”
She chases after me, giggling while she does.
I stop, and she catches me then pushes. We’re both laughing, and I can’t remember ever having this much fun. Ever.
We keep walking, talking about normal stuff. Favorites and stuff like that. I’m still wondering about this boyfriend, but I don’t consider why I’m fixated on it.
The trees thin the further we walk, the blue sky, collecting with more ominous gray clouds, a stark contrast to the faded greens, yellows, and browns into which the world around us melts. Eventually we reach a ridge that descends into a valley. From that
vantage, the many weathered buildings of The Bend lay like a forgotten toy town in the distance.
“There it is,” Max says.
We walk the switchback down into the valley. I’m not looking forward to hiking back up and out to the car but seeing this ghost town seems even more important than before. We take the last of the hike down the curling path in silence. I’m in my own thoughts, but I’m not sure where Max’s head is. It looks different than my dreams, which seem more like the perfect movie version of the Western town I grew up watching. This town doesn’t look like that at all. The closer we get, the more desolate and emptier it feels.
When we reach the first building, I stop.
Max’s steps crunch along the dirt road ahead of me until she realizes I’m not following. She stops and turns. “What is it?”
“It’s creepy.”
She turns and looks. “Is this what you imagined?”
“I thought there would be a boardwalk.” It’s a dumb statement. The walkway has always been such a big part of my dreams, but there isn’t one here. As I stare down the main street of this ghost town, reality looks different, but the desolation of how I’ve felt most of my life is accurate.
“Do you still want to go?” she asks.
I nod.
Max waits for me so we can walk side by side.
The clouds are more ominous. The wind has picked up, swirling the tall grasses and trees. A breeze howls between the buildings like an echo of a ghost.
“I don’t know that we have a lot of time before the rain hits.”
“We’re here and walked all this way.” Max shrugs. “Might as well look around.”
We stop at a house and peek in a window. It’s dusty inside, old, the walls peeling with damage, and the floor littered with grime. Another building is a steepled wooden church and cemetery. The wooden crosses marking graves. “They were left behind,” Max says. “It’s so sad.”
“Couldn’t exactly take them.”
We walk along a wooden porch that juts out from the building like a tongue and peer into a saloon through plexiglass. The bar laid with glasses that are murky with dust, a few tables with hands of cards lying fanned out on top, an old piano, the keys warped with disuse. All of it trapped in time.