Her First, His Last

by J. M. Worthington

  “Maybe, he prefers odd. I’ve seen the girls that attend your shows, and it is me he likes.”

  Sawyer cut his eyes over at me, then smiled. “Maybe, so, but I do know you have your claws deep into that boy.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “You really don’t see it. Do you?”

  I laughed and shrugged. “You’re not dumb, Sawyer. He will grow tired of me fast now that he’s touring.”

  Sawyer raised his eyebrows. “I hope not. Myles’s best work is when you are the inspiration.”

  I laughed and shook my head. “I see now. You want me around to keep Myles writing those sappy ballads.”

  Sawyer smiled. “Of course, I’m always looking out for myself. Those dreadful love songs and your grandmother’s butter cookies.” The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Sawyer stood and kissed me on the top of my head. “Myles is lucky you picked him to love.”

  The end of school didn’t come soon enough. Other than Sawyer, the only people to speak to me either had a vulgar comment or asked a question about one of the lies swirling around.

  When the bus pulled up to our trailer park, I sighed. That 1970’s trailer was the closest I ever had to this side of Heaven to a home. Taped to the front door was a note.

  Gone with some ladies from church to play bingo. There is a roast in the crockpot.

  Granny

  Relieved, Granny chose to have fun and stop hovering. I slammed my backpack down on the counter and kicked my flip flops across the kitchen floor, watching them land in a nearby basket. The runts from lunch had left my stomach sour. I poured a glass of sweet tea, and as I started to take a drink, the phone rang. I leaned over and grabbed the headset before wrapping the cord around my wrist. Couldn’t Granny at least invest in a cordless phone? It was 1983, after all.

  “Hello, I’m not here,” I said. “But leave a message after the beep. If the message is thought-provoking or even funny, I might call you back.”

  “Em, my sweet Blue Eyes. How was your day?” he asked. Myles. The sound of his voice alone produced a face splinting smile to break out.

  I walked over to the nearby sofa, pulling the phone cord with me, and slumped down, tucking my feet underneath me. “I said thought-provoking, not a gag me with a spoon thought.”

  Myles called as often as he could, but the long-distance cost was too expensive to call more than once a week, even with a phonecard. He would tell me about the tour he was on. Since Sawyer couldn’t travel yet, Myles had taken a gig with an up and coming band that Jay also managed while their drummer was having back surgery. I would tell him about life here with Sawyer.

  “Sawyer been an ass since I’ve been gone?” Myles asked.

  “An ass? He’s been a regular prince charming. We haven’t even noticed you’ve been gone. How’s your week going?”

  “Oh, the usual. I bang out a beat, women scream my name, and beg to give me babies. And backstage? I will leave that up to your imagination,” he replied with a laugh.

  I nibbled on my bottom lip to avoid the cussing. He was joking. I had to believe that anyway.

  Myles was silent, and then he cleared his throat. “So, how was your first day? The bitches leave you alone?”

  “Yeah. Though I don’t know if it’s because of my cool, calm demeanor.” I sighed. “Or the rumors of my mom killing herself because she couldn’t handle my wild outbursts,” I said, serious about the mom rumors. I had overheard two girls talking about it in third period, and some jock flat out asked about it at the end of the day. I told him it was true. People enjoyed gossip more than the truth anyway.

  “I can’t wait to see you, Em. I miss you.” I could practically hear his pulse over the phone line. Then the phone went dead.

  Strange, usually the operator warned us when we were running out of minutes.

  I went to hang the phone into the receiver when I heard a knock at the door. “Em, open up, or do I need to knock on your window?” Myles said from the other side of the front door. I wiggled the chain, unlocking the door, and swung it open. Standing on the small porch of Granny’s trailer was my Myles. His hands tucked in the pockets of his jeans. Did I fall asleep and not realize it? Was I hallucinating? Was Myles truly standing there like some Disney prince ready to save the day?

  “Myles,” I said, unable to hide the grin that lit up my face.

  “Surprised?” He stepped into the trailer with his hands still firmly stuck in the pockets of his jeans.

  “You.... you’re… you’re here?”

  He took his hands out of his pockets and wrapped his arms around me, lifting me in the air. I inhaled deeply, taking in his scent as he held me close to his chest.

  “I’ve only got four hours,” he breathed in his heavy and smooth southern drawl.

  “What?” I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. You’re really here?”

  He stroked his lips over mine. “I rented a car this morning. I knew you were nervous about school, and I had to see you. I’ve got a gig in St Louis tomorrow and a lunch meeting with Jay and some record executives.”

  I snaked my arms around his waist and closed my eyes, soaking him in.

  I pressed a kiss onto his chest, then said, “You did this for me?” I tilted my head back to look up at him.

  “I would do anything for you except listen to country music. Every man has his limits.” He winked and cupped my face in his oversized hands.

  I bit down on my lip. “I missed you, but not listening to those damn drums has been a relief.”

  “I’ll give you some relief, babe, and it has nothing to do with drums.”

  He led me to the couch in four, even strides before sinking down with me in his lap.

  Myles held me as he stared up at the water stain on the ceiling and started talking—telling me things he hid buried somewhere in him. He spoke about his father and how he used to love him. He told me about his first set of drums. He was only three, and how his mother would hide his sticks when she couldn’t take the noise any longer. He told me that it was in grade school when he started drafting poems. He hated to read but lived to write. What caused him to get psyched over music was when Rush’s A Farewell to Kings album came out. His dream was to be just like Neil Peart. His mother finally decided that music was his life and signed him up to take piano, and he had never looked back. He had a bad trip on weed once. Sawyer’s older brother Wyatt sold it to him. He saw that it had little crystals or something in it. But he was so naive; it didn’t raise any red flags. So, he bought a few joints. He and Sawyer hid in the shed they have their band set up in and took a couple of hits off those crystallized joints. Instantly, something wasn’t right. He felt like he was floating and couldn’t feel his limbs. He started crying because he knew he had lost his arms and would never play the drums again. He promised me that it was his first and last time to try drugs. He got a natural high from music anyway. The best day of his life was when his mom finally left his dad. They had to move from a nice four-bedroom house to a trailer park, but he was free from the fights and watching his dad beat his mom. He wanted to give me a reprieve from being the newest freak at good old Maple Grove High.

  Chapter 8

  I n 1983 alone, 42,589 fatalities were caused by drunk drivers, but my Myles was the lucky one. My life had never been bubble gum and fairytales. My childhood had sucked. But I meander through the rough times and even managed to make the world believe I would be okay. I didn't need anyone. That all changed when the ringing of the phone woke me out of a deep sleep.

  I scraped the palms of my hands over my eyes, trying to get to the telephone before Granny heard it. She worried if she didn't even have anything to worry about and didn't need to know Myles was driving back to St Louis on no sleep and caffeine.

  "That didn't take long," I said and was stopped upon hearing the words.

  "Is this Emma Murphy? I'm Officer Phillips with the Pemiscot County Police Department in Missouri."

  Sadness could be heard in the officer's
voice. I slid down the wall and plopped on the floor. I couldn't survive if I lost Myles too. Why did God take everyone I loved?

  "I'm her." The room around me spun as if I had taken a ride on the tilt-a-wheel of life. Sweat beaded on my forehead.

  "Myles O’Conner." Officer Phillips responded.

  I screamed before it clicked that I was even capable of uttering a sound. It was a blood-curdling scream. Granny moved faster than I dreamed possible and grabbed the phone from my ear. I started praying.

  "This is Abby Priddy. Can I help you?"

  God blessed me, I couldn't hear the officer on the line, but I could listen to my frantic Granny repeat the words wreck, drunk driver, broken bones, and surgery. The good news was the awful epidemic of addiction didn't kill this time. A three-time DUI offender didn't kill my Myles but did cause him to break his leg in three places. He was in surgery to correct the damage, but he made sure I was the one they called before he was put under.

  Myles picked me even over his mother because he wanted to prove that I was the most important person in his life. He loved his mom, but he understood what anguish addiction had caused in my life.

  No sooner than Granny had the phone hung up, Coraline was banging on our front door. Granny answered it, knowing who it was at one o'clock in the morning.

  "Jay just called." Coraline spotted me cowering in the corner. "Oh, sweetie, he is going to be okay. Jay is with him and will call with any updates."

  I had it wrong. I wasn't the first he had called. Jay was. The man who didn't want me around.

  Sleep secluded me for the next eight days as I lay on the floor under the telephone, waiting to hear any news. Jay might have been his first call when he was in trouble, but I was the voice he wanted to hear. He called my home phone first and every time since. Coraline had made a permanent spot on our couch as we waited for Myles to call.

  A foot lightly tapped me on my shoulder. I pushed off the shag carpet and reached for the phone when I heard a laugh. My nose wrinkled.

  "Calling your boyfriend," Myles said as he smiled down from his shiny new wheelchair. “Surprise.”

  I leaped up and dropped back down onto his lap. He made a loud audible grimace. "Sorry." I stood up, noticing his left leg was not only in a cast from hip to toes, but he also had several screws sticking out the side of his knee.

  "Babe, I'm just glad you are happy to see me. But why the floor?"

  "I fell asleep waiting for you to call. What are you doing here?"

  He popped a wheelie and turned his wheelchair to go back out on the porch. I jerked the handgrips. "Where are you going?" I asked.

  He flipped back around. "Oh, I thought I needed to make a reservation." He yanked me back down on his good leg and laughed.

  "You're full of yourself," I hitched my ass cheek on his left hip.

  "Glad to be home." He paused to smile up at his mom, who was walking into the kitchen from the living room, squealing in pure delight. "Hey, mom, Jay has some nurse putting all my gear into the trailer. Hope you don't care."

  "I'm just glad to see your face. We have been a nervous wreck with worry." Coraline kissed Myles on top of his head. “How did you get in?”

  “Jay and—” Myles said and motioned to the front door and some crutches laying on the ground. “And those fancy sticks.”

  "I'll go help him get everything placed." Coraline scooped the crutches up off the floor.

  "See ya in a few. I want to spend some time with my girl."

  "No, problem, but call your dad. He has had a chaotic week too."

  "Oh yeah, Blue Eyes, congratulate me. I'm an effing big brother now." Myles’s eyebrows lowered and pulled closer together.

  "It's okay to feel pissed. Never be ashamed of your feelings. They are your feelings, and no one has the right to tell you how to feel."

  "My old man liked to beat the hell out of mom." Myles’s eyes blazed and cut a deep boil through me. "I was little and had no choice but to stand by and watch. The two best days in my life were meeting you and my mom leaving that bastard. Now, he has a new family and my adoring step-mom," he said and gave me an over-exaggerated eye roll. "She is only two years older than me."

  "Don't think about it. You don't need him for anything anymore."

  Myles worked his fingers deep into my thigh. I worked to not grimace at the discomfort it caused. "The road is hard. Everyone is pulling at me, and you're not there. I miss you."

  "I'm not going anywhere. I will always be here when you come home."

  "You are my home."

  There were no secrets left between us. We were certain nothing would ever tear us apart, or at least that was what we told ourselves, and it felt nice for a moment to have that. That's the thing about emotion; rather, it's trauma, happiness, fear—any of them—you don't feel every emotion twenty-four-seven. There are brief moments of reprieve, and when you have them, you learn to cherish them.

  ***

  Myles had been in town for a few weeks recovering from surgery. He had taken every moment he had free to show me and Jay that I was still his number one, and I had enjoyed having him home. He was waiting for me when I stepped off the bus and didn't leave my side until Granny shooed him away at bedtime.

  I shoved the notebook I had been writing in under my pillow when the sound of tap, tap, tap startled me out of my peaceful slumber.

  "Wake up, Em." I heard as another pebble hit my windowpane.

  I rubbed the boogers from my eyes then raced to the window. He popped a wheelie in his wheelchair, smiling like the cat who caught the canary. I raised the window and leaned on the windowsill.

  "Love the outfit," he said and raised one eyebrow.

  It was then that I realized I was wearing a thin tank top and no bra. "Didn't know a crazy person was going to try to break in."

  "We are breaking out. I'm not breaking in. Take a walk with me."

  "You can't walk?"

  "Push me then, princess."

  I bit down on my lip and shook my head. Granny would take an old-fashion switch to my behind if she caught us. Myles stuck out his bottom lip, and I laughed as his face clenched together.

  "Okay, but if we get caught, I'm telling Granny you kidnapped me." I shook my head.

  "Fine with me, but if you're kidnapped, that means I can do anything I want with you."

  I stuck out my tongue—Myles belly-laughed like he was high on life.

  "Let me change." I chuckled. "Turn around and don't peek."

  "Like you have anything I want to see." He smirked, then turned his head to the side and stared up to the sky.

  I rushed to throw on an old Tennessee Vols sweatshirt and a pair of denim shorts, then clambered out the window to go on our first of many nighttime adventures.

  I pushed Myles around the neighborhood two or three nights a week. Sometimes we just talked about my mom, his music, our future. Other times, we made out in his music shed. He even had a small sofa added. I called it our make-out couch. He had crammed it into a small corner, crowding his drums and other musical instruments together. He definitely had one goal by placing it in the shed—a little horizontal cuddling.

  On the night of my sixteenth birthday, Myles jimmied the door to the town's bakery open. He tapped a finger over his lips, signaling to be quiet. Ducking out of view of the security camera, we made our way to the refrigerator. Myles pressed a finger over the switch to keep the light inside off. On the middle rack sat a birthday cake, which happened to have sixteen candles on it. I later learned Myles paid the bakery in advance. He actually paid them what he made off the last gig he had played.

  "I don't celebrate my birthday."

  "Why?"

  I shrugged.

  "Well, I do. I happen to think the day the world got you is one of the best days to celebrate." He licked his lips, entertained at my amused expression, and wiggled his finger to follow him. He wheeled his chair backward and serenaded me with the newest song the band had been working on.

  "Did you wri
te this?" I asked about the sweet words he crooned.

  He nodded his head and continued singing to me, watching my face turn a bright red as my blush deepened.

  "You don't just write songs. You write stories. Manuscripts to music," I stated as he grew louder. I wanted him to hush before he woke the neighbors, but I meant it too.

  His eyes practically sparkled with enjoyment as he led me back to the garage.

  "Manuscript, huh? Jay wants us to come up with a sellable name."

  "He doesn't like Sawyer's suggesting of Boinking Live?" I snorted.

  "Can't you just see that up in lights on a marquee?"

  Sitting on our make-out couch, Myles sang Straight From the Heart, by Bryan Adams. And so, we had a private impromptu birthday party. The first birthday party that I could at least remember having.

  "Don't find someone else when you break out of this town," I begged.

  "You are all I can think about. Actually, I haven't stopped thinking of you since you flashed me your boobies when I was fifteen." He flinched as I playfully swatted at his upper arm. "And you can flash them again whenever you like."

  That night, I let him cop his first real feel.

  As the weather started to change, Myles finally broke out of his wheelchair and started touring with the band to different bars around the country. With Sawyer finally graduating, Myles had purchased an old beater van to lug all their equipment around. He also assisted Jay with their bookings, managing the money, and songwriting. I would often sit outside under the large oak tree, missing him.

  As I was getting ready to go in one night, Coraline came out and lowered herself down by me. "He misses you too." She stared out into the distance instead of looking at me. "He even quit the band the other night because he wanted to come home to see you."

  "What? He didn't, did he? The band is his dream," I said and chewed on the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming.