Epic Love

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Epic Love Page 2

by Trudy Stiles


  “I don’t know what else to do,” I cry.

  Despite the amount of crying coming from the two of us, Noelle remains peacefully unaware of the dire situation that has unfolded.

  We don’t say another word to each other, our silence speaking volumes. Our lives withering away each second we sit curled on our bed.

  Nothing will be the same for us from this moment forward. My life will be over soon.

  I pray that Noelle gets to know the person that I am, and maybe remembers me, even just a little.

  The moon shines brightly through our windows, blanketing the three of us with its protective warmth. Watching over us.

  A moment of clarity overtakes me as I hold my family close. I’m going to fight as hard as I can so I can give my daughter everything of myself during the time I have left with her.

  I hope she knows how much I love her in this world. And beyond.

  Heath

  Past

  Age 10

  I WATCH THE MOVING TRUCKS pull away and the newly constructed house next door is quiet. For the last six hours, big men have been hauling furniture and boxes inside. Now, there’s nobody.

  “Heath, will you stop stalking the new neighbors?” my mother scolds me. I didn’t hear her walk into my room, and my cheeks flush with embarrassment.

  “I was just watching the trucks pull away. Geez.” I hop down off my bed and drop back onto the floor where the one-thousand-piece puzzle of guitars is partially assembled.

  “I don’t want them to think you’re spying on them. You’ve been staring out that window all day. The last thing we need are complaints from the new neighbors about a nosey kid next door,” she jokes as she ruffles my dark brown hair.

  “Do you think they have a son my age?” I ask hopefully. We live on a very private street and most of the families here have grown children. I’m the only kid that gets picked up by the bus on our block. My only friends are in school.

  “I don’t know anything about them,” she comments, looking out the window to spy for herself.

  “Maybe you can make cookies and welcome them to the neighborhood?”

  “Honey, I don’t think people even do that anymore.” She smiles and walks toward the hallway. “Our neighbors enjoy their privacy. I think we should give them some, okay?”

  I nod and slide a puzzle piece into place. “Yes!” I exclaim, pumping my fist in the air as I admire the guitar I just completed. Only nine hundred more pieces to go.

  “Why don’t you get some fresh air? Your father will be home later, and we’re going out to dinner with the McCarthys tonight.”

  “Can I stay home?” I huff. Dinner with the McCarthys is always boring. They have five-year-old twin girls that are annoying. Most of the time, I wind up with some kind of food thrown at me for being a ‘stupid boy.’

  “Absolutely not. I don’t even know why you bother asking. You’re not old enough, Heath.”

  I jump to my feet and walk past her. “I’m going outside.”

  On my way out, I pass the television in the kitchen that’s tuned into the local news channel and see my father, unfortunately a familiar sight. “Did Dad win?” I ask my mother.

  “I don’t think we’d be going out to dinner tonight to celebrate if he didn’t,” she admits, and I smile. Good. He’s been on this case for too long. My mother hasn’t given me many of the details because it’s violent and lots of people got killed, but he’s been in court prosecuting this case for almost a year.

  “I hope that bad guy stays behind bars for the rest of his life,” I state.

  “Me, too,” she responds quietly, lips pursed together. “Stay in the yard,” she calls after me. Like where else am I even going to go? I also know that my father has a full-time security detail around us. Even if I can’t see them, I know they’re watching me and my mom. The people he puts in jail must be very dangerous.

  After I slip on my sneakers, I grab a Wiffle ball bat and a bucket of balls. The game I was playing last night had a rain delay and it’s the bottom of the ninth inning. I’m down four to two; there’s runners on second and third, with two outs. It’s all up to me to win this game. Let’s do this.

  My field is already set as I take a few practice swings, pointing my bat Babe Ruth style, to left field. “Strickland is warming up, getting ready to take this game back,” I state in my best announcer voice. I take a deep breath and toss the first ball into the air, smacking it toward the trees that line the back of our property. I drop the bat from my hands and yell, “Home Run!” I throw my arms into the air, imagining all of the ghost runners clearing the bases. It’s now my turn, and I begin my winning jog. “He does it again, folks. Heath Strickland drives in another three runs, enough to come from behind and win.” I hear the yells from the stands as the fictional crowd cheers me on.

  “What are you doing?” Startled, I open my eyes, mid stride as I round third base, hands still in the air.

  A girl with long brown braids emerges from the trees with my winning home run ball in her hand. She looks to be about the same age as me, and I’ve never seen her around here before. She tosses the ball toward home plate as if she’s throwing back an opposing team’s home run.

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” I reply, reaching down to pick up the ball.

  “It looks like you’re crazy and talking to yourself as you run around in circles.”

  “I’m playing a game, and I just won.”

  “Against who?” she asks looking at my empty backyard. “We’re the only two people here.”

  Girls. They don’t understand the idea of ghost runners and Wiffle ball.

  “Forget it. I was just having fun.” I shake my head and begin to pick up the bases.

  “Explain it to me. Seriously.” She looks at me curiously and walks toward home plate, picking up the bat.

  “I was playing Wiffle ball, ever heard of it?” I ask as she swings the bat, a whoosh of air breezing by my face. “Hey! Watch out!”

  “Oops. Sorry.” She drops the bat as if it burns her hands. “I didn’t realize how long it was.”

  I swipe it from the ground, tucking it underneath my arm. “You should know never to swing any kind of bat this close to someone.”

  “I said I was sorry.” Her eyes glisten, and I suddenly feel bad. I don’t want her to start crying.

  “It’s okay. Really.”

  She nods and backs away.

  “Where did you come from?” I ask her, gesturing toward the woods behind us.

  “I was walking through the paths back there,” she answers. “I thought I was lost, but then I heard you playing.”

  “Do you live through there?” I didn’t think there were any homes past the tree line behind my house. I’ve explored enough to know that there’s a creek and a large retention basin and then a whole lot more woods. She must have come very far. “Are you lost?” I ask, changing my question.

  “No. I live over there.” She points to the house right next door. The house I’d been staring at all day.

  “Oh.”

  “The movers were here all day and I wanted to get out of their way, so I went for a walk in the woods.”

  My mother often scolds me about disappearing back there by myself. She says that I shouldn’t wander through there all alone, but my father usually jumps in to tell her that I’m a boy and that’s what boys do. Besides, we own most of the land behind us, over fourteen acres. And I’m sure it’s monitored by his security team. I was surprised when the house next door was built since I thought we owned everything on this side of the cul-de-sac. My father explained to me that the land was subdivided, and he only owned up to their property line and back.

  “You shouldn’t play back there all by yourself,” I scold, sounding like my mother.

  “I didn’t go very far.”

  “Still. There are bears everywhere.” I attempt to scare her a little and it works. Her eyes widen, and she steps away from the tree line.

  “What?”
<
br />   “Kidding!” I laugh, but she isn’t amused.

  “That’s not very nice,” she says, and her eyes once again get glassy.

  “I’m sorry.” I take a step toward her but she backs away.

  She kicks the grass in front of her. “I guess we’re neighbors?”

  “Yeah,” I reply. “I’m Heath.”

  “Noelle,” she answers.

  “It’s good to have you in the neighborhood.”

  She nods, a faint smile spreading across her face.

  “Where did you used to live?” I ask, wanting to know more about her.

  “Connecticut.”

  “Why did you move to Pennsylvania?”

  “My father’s company moved to Philadelphia from Stamford. So now we’re here.”

  “Oh, relocation.”

  “Something like that.” She nods and picks up one of the spare white balls. “Maybe you can show me how to play, so you know, you don’t have to play by yourself.”

  “Okay,” I respond, wondering if that’s even a good idea. She is a girl, after all.

  “Noelle!” a woman’s voice calls from the back of the new house, causing her to flinch, worry spreading over her face.

  “I gotta go.”

  “Is that your mom?” I ask an obvious question.

  “No! I mean, she’s my–”

  I raise my eyebrows, she’s visibly uncomfortable.

  “She, she, she’s my father’s wife,” she stammers and starts jogging toward her house.

  “I’ll be out here tomorrow, same time, if you want a lesson!” I call after her.

  She waves behind her back and picks up her speed. She reaches the door, and the woman glares past her in my direction. I suddenly get nervous, wondering if I did something wrong. She grabs Noelle by her hand, yanking her inside.

  I feel terrible that I just got her into trouble, but I have no idea why. The door slams, and the woman is still glaring out the window. “Man, what’s your problem?” I mumble. She disappears from the door and I see movement in a nearby, first-floor window. Noelle moves her curtains aside and waves to me. I raise my hand slowly in the air to wave back.

  Her stepmother, or whoever she is, gives me the creeps. Noelle’s face is drawn and she looks sad as she backs away from the window, my hand still in the air. A clap of thunder booms overhead, and I scoop up my bat and toss the remaining balls into the bucket. As I make a beeline toward my own house, I look back and catch a glimpse of Noelle watching me.

  And I can’t help but think that she looks like a prisoner in her own home.

  Heath

  Present

  “INCREDIBLE SHOW TONIGHT, gentlemen!” our manager, Stuart, yells. The pop of a champagne cork sounds in the dressing room and it flies through the air, barely missing Garrett’s face.

  “Dude! What the fuck?” Garrett yells as he ducks.

  Tristan and Dax burst out laughing, and I follow suit.

  Tonight was the last night of the European leg of our tour that started fourteen weeks ago, Germany being our final stop. We’ve been on the road for a total of almost twenty-six weeks, and we’re all ready to go home. Dax, Garrett, and Tristan have each taken quick trips back to the states to be with their families or significant others. But I’ve stayed with the crew, exploring the cities we’ve visited, taking advantage of the time away. This is what I love about traveling the world with Epic Fail–and it never gets old.

  Small juice glasses filled with champagne are passed to each of us, and we raise them in the air. “Cheers!” I say and quickly drink, the bubbles tickling my throat.

  “You couldn’t splurge for actual champagne glasses?” Garrett sneers.

  “Next time, I’ll put it in the rider,” Stuart jokes. “Along with the special vanilla-scented moisturizing liquid soap you require everywhere we go.”

  Tristan’s laugh reverberates throughout the room. “Seriously? You ask for girly soap, Garrett?”

  Garrett’s ears turn red as he swallows his mouthful of the bubbly, and glares at Stuart for spilling something that was clearly a secret. Our riders are usually straight forward, and none of us are high maintenance at all, but hearing that Garrett requires a specific soap is hysterically funny to me and apparently to all of us.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Garrett grunts, jutting his arm out toward Stuart, “and fill this up.”

  Dax cups his free hand underneath his chin as he almost spews the liquid from his mouth all over the place.

  “I like the way it smells,” Garrett continues to defend himself as the rest of us erupt in laughter once again.

  “I bet it makes your skin so soft and supple,” Tristan teases. He attempts to reach out and touch Garrett’s arm, but misses.

  “It does,” Garrett replies, a smile breaking through his serious face.

  I’m glad to see he’s not taking all of our digs to heart.

  “Are manicures going to be next?” Dax asks, practically doubled over in hysterics.

  “Guys,” I interrupt, all of their eyes now on me. “If G wants soft, vanilla-scented skin, his wish should be granted.”

  “Whatever happened to just plain soap?” Tristan cackles.

  “He likes to exfoliate!” Dax yells.

  “No! Moisturize!” Tristan corrects him.

  “Okay, enough. You’ve all had your fun. So fucking what if I like a certain body wash–”

  “Now you’re calling it body wash?” I interrupt him. “Do you have one of those pink poofy things to wash yourself with packed away somewhere?”

  Garrett swipes one of Dax’s drumsticks and it suddenly whizzes by my ear. I raise my hands in the air, laughing, “Hey, no need to get defensive. It was just a simple question.”

  Everyone’s chuckles begin to die down as Garrett shakes his head. “Are you all happy now that you know what kind of soap I like?”

  “Dude, best revelation ever,” Tristan chuckles as Garrett sinks into the couch.

  The room gets quiet, and a single voice pipes up.

  “Let’s go home,” Dax says, walking around the room, bumping fists with us all.

  We finish the rest of our champagne and walk out the back entrance. Our large, rented bus is waiting to take us from Hamburg to Munich so we can fly home tomorrow. Our crew has already broken down most of the stage, our gear packed in a large semi. They’ll be shipping that home for us, where most of it will go into storage until our next tour, with the exception of some of our personal instruments.

  Tristan gets the large room in the back of the bus tonight. The room that I had last night. We all take turns being able to stretch out in the queen-sized bed. I’ve already taken what I need from the back room as Tristan swipes his pillow and blanket from the bunk I’m inheriting tonight. “Good night. I’m wiped,” he declares, closing the door partially.

  Dax yawns, stretching his arms above his head. “Holy shit, I think I’m going to sleep for two weeks straight.” He unzips his jeans and starts to drop them down to his ankles as he walks toward his bunk.

  “Dude. Really?” Garrett yells at him as he slides into the booth in the front lounge area.

  “It’s not like you haven’t seen my ass before,” Dax laughs as he starts shaking it, doing his best twerking impression.

  “C’mon, nobody needs to see that shit.” I cover my eyes, falling onto the small couch across the aisle from Garrett.

  “Hey, at least I’m wearing my boxers. I could have been commando. And you know you would have liked it.”

  I cringe, laughing uncomfortably as Dax finishes undressing in the hallway in front of our bunks. “Goodnight, punks.”

  He pulls the curtain in front of him and turns the lights off in the bunk area. His cell phone immediately shines light behind the curtains, and I know he’s already texting Giselle.

  “Tell G that G says goodnight!” Garrett yells as he twists a bottle off the top of a cold beer.

  “She says fuck off,” Dax yells back, “and save her some vanilla body wash.”
Cackles come from the back room, indicating Tristan is still awake listening to our chatter.

  “Fuck all of you,” Garrett growls, raising a middle finger high in the air as he swigs from his beer.

  I reach into the small fridge at the foot of the couch and grab my own beer. “Right back at ya,” I respond to Garrett. “And cheers.” I take a long drink of the ice cold beer and lean back into the couch.

  “Are we over the soap thing yet?” he chuckles and shakes his head. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

  “No fucking way,” I respond. “Not a chance, bro.”

  “Great.”

  “Seriously, I’ve got to know. Why that soap?”

  He hesitates for a moment, taking another sip while contemplating his response carefully. He then lowers his voice, “You really want to know?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “It reminds me of Sam. It’s the body wash she uses.” His eyes light up, and he relaxes into his seat. “Happy now?”

  “Oh my God, yes!” Dax yells from the bunk. Tristan’s cackles come from the back room.

  “Thank you,” I croak, choking on the last mouthful of beer I took.

  “You’re all a bunch of douchebags.”

  “That’s why you love us,” Dax laughs, and I nod in agreement.

  Garrett picks up one of my Wiffle balls from the bench next to him and tosses it across the aisle to me. I catch it and quickly toss it back. We play this game of catch for a few minutes, when he fumbles the ball and it rolls toward our driver, Mick. “Sorry,” he says. Mick just raises a hand in acknowledgment, tipping his head slightly.

  “Another beer?” I ask him as I reach for my second.

  “Yeah.”

  I toss the bottle to Garrett, and he easily swipes it out of the air, using the opener on the table in front of him.

  The interior cabin is dim, but oncoming car headlights shine through the front windshield. Suddenly, something from above the dashboard shimmers, catching my eye. I’ve never noticed it before, but there’s a light catcher hanging from a hook above Mick’s head. “Mick, where did you get that?” I call out.

 

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