by Jaci J
I’ve got to get the fuck out of this town and away from this girl.
“Mmhmm.”
We could sit here all night, not speaking a word to each other, but what would be the point? There is still a ten-year gap between us, and that gap is filled with anger, frustration, and heartache, and no amount of porch sitting or singing is going to fix it.
“Emerson, why are you here?” I ask the question I’m sure everyone is dying to know. But looking at her, I know, deep down, I’m just happy she’s back, no matter how fucking much it hurts.
Sitting here with her after all this time, I wonder if what I’m feeling for her is real, or if it’s the memories of what we were. It was a time in my life that’ll forever be filled with happiness, and all that good shit. I’m doubting myself, not really sure if I’ve ever really moved on, or if just seeing her makes me miss those days with her, reminding me of the way she used to make me feel. Either way, it’s really fucking with my head.
“Do you want the real answer or the easy one?”
“Real.”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve come back.”
For the second time in two very short days, I feel my chest tear open. How did I not know this?
When I don’t have shit to say, she shrugs apologetically and frowns. “The first time was about seven years ago. I was driving to your place to see you, but I only made it a few miles into town. I couldn’t face you. I chickened out. I knew you hated me, and I didn’t want to hurt you more than I already had. The second time was four years ago. I drove by the steakhouse and there you were, your arm around a pretty blonde. You were both smiling at each other, and you looked really happy. I didn’t want to ruin that.”
Jesus.
I should be mad as hell at her for the shit that just came out of her mouth. She came back but never bothered to see me, and if I’m being real, it fucking hurts to hear.
But she’s right. I was happy. I had finally gotten to a good place, finally moved on…kind of. Seeing her again would have blown that all to shit. Seeing as how I’m handling it now proves that.
“Why are you back here this time?”
“I missed you.”
“You already said that last night.” And I’m not sure I believe that’s all of it.
“I know, and I meant it. I missed you. I missed my parents, your parents, and my friends. I missed home. It was time.”
I knew she would, but she was so damn determined to leave us all, not giving a shit about how she left any of us to feel.
“Zac?”
“Yeah?” I grumble, scrubbing my clammy hands on my jeans.
“Don’t be mad at me,” she pleads, her voice soft. It’s hard as fuck not to cave to that sweet voice of hers.
“A little late for that, don’t ya think?”
We should be strangers at this point, friends from another lifetime, but it’s not easy to forget the history we share.
“Listen—” I don’t get to finish what I’m saying because my phone rings, cutting through the thick air around us.
We both stare at it sitting next to me on the porch swing. It’s like a damn bomb. Nadia’s beautiful smiling face flashes across the screen, her number scrawled above it.
Shit.
I hesitate. I want like hell to ignore it, but know it’s a mistake to do so. Nadia doesn’t deserve that. Emerson doesn’t deserve my undivided attention when it belongs to Nadia.
“Your girlfriend is callin’.” Em smiles encouragingly. Nodding down at the glowing screen, she arches a brow. “Might wanna answer it.” Nothing seems to faze her. I find myself getting pissed that she doesn’t even show an ounce of jealousy for what I have now. It’s selfish as fuck, but I wish I could make her feel half the hurt I do.
I pick it up, looking at her as I do.
“I don’t mind,” she insists.
“Hey,” I say into the phone.
Nadia starts in the instant she hears my voice. “You will not believe the day I had…” I try to listen, but Emerson stands from the porch railing and my heart lurches. Walking towards me, she gets close and leans in, her hand on my thigh.
“Thanks for the company, Z,” she whispers close to my free ear before backing off.
She walks off the porch, and something in me wants to walk her home, walk her to her door, but that’s not where we are anymore.
I watch her back as she walks away from me, for what feels like the second time.
I can’t speak for others, but the woman can bring me to my knees with a look.
“Zac? Zac, are you listening to me?” Nadia shouts in my ear, grabbing my attention.
“Yeah, I’m here.”
Emerson smirks at me over her shoulder before she disappears from my line of sight, and something I haven’t felt in a long goddamn time overwhelms me.
Hope.
But for what, I don’t know.
~~~~~~
The drive to work is long. Twenty miles into the woods and straight up the side of the mountain, I haul the crummy full of fuel and tools up the dirt logging road before the sun hits the horizon.
Five in the morning comes damn early when your head doesn’t hit the pillow until one. I’m tired, and I’m not in the mood for the shit I know I’m going find when I make it up the mountain.
I woke up to an irritating text, ‘The yarder won’t fire.’
Of course it won’t. When you have four dumb shits trying to work a five hundred thousand dollar piece of equipment, shit’s always gonna go wrong.
I sat on that porch with Emerson for two hours last night. I listened to her tell me everything she’s been doing, about all the things she saw, and the people she met. Last night I listened, pretending that I was interested, acting like we were friends, until Nadia called. Getting to bed hours later, I couldn’t sleep, my mind on Em.
She’s so goddamn selfish. I didn’t want to hear how great her life had been without me. She left me for that life. It’s frustrating. And the worst part is, she’s fucking oblivious to how it makes me feel.
Rounding the corner, the clearing comes into view and a grumbled “Fuck” falls out of my mouth. The yarder, the shovel, the feller, and all the other shit is sitting idle in the middle of the clearing, shitting money. There’s a few trucks waiting at the pile of logs, ready to haul them away. One piece of equipment goes tits up and the whole damn operation shuts down. I’ve got guys drinking coffee and bullshitting around while pieces of machinery eat up fuel and money.
Parking along the overgrown gravel-logging road, I hop out and everyone scatters, looking busy.
I’m greeted with a smart ass, “Mornin’ Boss Man,” from my foreman the second my boots hit dirt.
“Shut up, Walker.” He smirks and ducks back around his log truck only to reemerge with a thermos in hand, rattling it around. “A drink for your troubles?”
Jesus Christ, it’s five in the goddamn morning.
“If L&I catches you with that, I’ll have no choice but to shitcan you.” Which would really suck. He’s the best guy I’ve got up here, which is saying something.
He shrugs and swigs off the top. “I’ll take my chances, but really, what crawled up your ass?”
I don’t beat around the bush.
“Emerson.”
The look on his face would be comical if it weren’t for the reason why his eyebrows land in his hairline. “No shit?”
“No shit,” I confirm, pulling a toolbox from the bed of my truck.
With wide eyes, he asks, “Like, here? Back in town? In Riverside?”
“Mmhmm,” I hum, pulling the panel on the side of the yarder. Pulling out a wrench, I get to work. “Shouldn’t you be, like, I don’t know, working on some shit around here?” I ask him, but he just ignores me and keeps talking.
“Emerson’s back,” he says wistfully.
“You’re pathetic.”
He shakes his head and sighs. “Man, how’d she look? Hot as hell, huh? Please, Lord, tell me the years have
been good to her.” He always had a thing for her, but then again, so did every other asshole in this town. He’s one of my best friends, but that doesn’t mean I won’t kill him.
“Fuck you.”
“Well, did you see her?”
“Obviously.”
“And?”
“And she looked real damn good,” I concede, giving him what he’s looking for. He won’t shut the hell up until I do.
“Can I have a run at her now?”
“I will accidently on purpose fall a fuckin’ tree on you. Don’t ask stupid questions.”
“So that’s a no?”
“That’s a fuckin’ no. Now, let’s get some work done so we can go drinkin’ later. We’re both gonna need them after this already fucked up day.”
Walking down the sidewalk, I duck around a few old men lingering around out front, smoking, and head for the old wood door. A sign hangs limply from it, crooked and beat up, with Woody’s carved into the cedar. Legally, I’ve never set foot in here, but as an underage delinquent I spent many nights drinking warm beer and shooting pool in these hallowed halls.
Throwing the door open, I step into the dimly lit bar and some old Hank Williams Jr. crackles over the speakers, along with the gruff murmurs of bar patrons.
Squinting, I take it all in, which isn’t much.
The place hasn’t changed during the years I’ve been gone. Every conceivable lighted beer sign made crowds the wood paneled walls behind the bar. Cracked leather stools and elbows line the bar top. A row of antlers adorn the wall opposite the beer signs, and a big corkboard proudly displays years of hunting and fishing pictures. Fishing and hunting season schedules are right next to the bathrooms.
Not a damn thing has changed in here.
“EMERSON!” It’s a voice from my past; a voice that fills me with so much homesickness it hurts. “Get your skinny ass over here!”
“Skinny?” I laugh. She must need glasses in her old age.
I don’t get a chance to move because she’s on me in a second. Engulfed in a boob-busting bear hug, I’m wrapped up in dainty little arms and crushed to death. “Oh my God! I’ve fucking missed you!”
“You saw me six months ago,” I wheeze out with my last bit of air.
“But I’ve still missed you so much,” Rowan whines into my hair. She lets me go, but doesn’t let me get far.
“You talked to me three days ago,” I remind her, taking in a deep breath to refill my oxygen deprived lungs.
She shrugs and points me towards a stool at the end of the bar. “Sit, sit. We’ve got some catchin’ up to do.”
Rowan is one of the few people from my past that stuck with me through it all. We’ve made sure to see each other at least once a year, her always flying out to see me wherever I was. Weekly phone calls, texts, and Skype filled the days in between. My life just wouldn’t be the same without her in it. She’s is the yin to my yang. The chocolate to my milk. The right to my wrong.
Sliding me a Bud Light, Row smiles when I accept it and take a hearty pull, trying not to cringe as the amber liquid assaults my mouth.
“Drink it down,” she teases. Beer is not my drink of choice, but it is when I’m in a place like Woody’s. The best wine they have comes from a dust-covered expired bottle lost somewhere in the basement. In these parts, we drink beer.
“So, last I heard from you, you were headed back for the wedding, but for how long?” Row asks, leaning against the bar.
“Forever?” I shrug, not sure of the real answer to that question.
“Are you fucking with me? Do not fuck with me, Emerson Jae Maddison,” she cries, pointing her rag-covered finger at me.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m here until they kick me out.” Which, honestly, could be any time. I’m either loved here or hated, there is no in between with these people.
“I’m so excited. We have so much trouble to get into.”
“We’re adults now. We have to do adult things,” I tell her, trying to keep a straight face. It’s not easy.
“What kind of adult things?” Hand on her hip, she looks at me skeptically.
“Wash our dishes and pay our bills,” I offer. Hell if I know what adulting consists of. I’m twenty-eight, and I still don’t have a single fucking clue how to adult properly. I can barely wash a load of clothes without bleaching everything.
“Trouble and some adulting—multitasking. That’s adult shit, right?”
“Right,” I nod firmly.
Our friendship started on the first day of second grade, right after my parents moved in next door to Zac and his family, and it’s continued through lots of ups and downs, years, and miles. Row and me, we’re solid. Unbreakable. Wish I could say the same for other people in this town.
“I’m happy to be back,” I giggle.
“Me too. My partner in crime is back to bail me out.”
“As long as you’re footin’ the bail money, I’ll be there.”
“You got plans tonight?” she asks, a mischievous twinkle in her green eyes.
“Nope.” There is no hesitation on my part. We can’t get into any more trouble than we did in ninth grade when we accidently set the bleachers on fire. That story will outlive the two of us, going down in infamy.
“Good, because we’re takin’ a walk down memory lane.”
“Can I be drunk on this walk?”
Shrugging, she smiles. “Sure.” Sliding a handful of darts towards me, she gestures to the back. “Mick’s in the back, says you owe him a coupla rounds. The man sure does remember shit from the past, and he hasn’t forgotten you either.”
I grumble something smart under my breath, but take the darts anyway. I get up and walk towards the back, hollering, “Ready for the rematch of a lifetime, old man?”
Mick’s gravelly laugh greets me. “Let’s do this, little girl.”
Lord, I’ve missed this place.
~~~~~~
The Friday night lights are bright. The air is warm, but tinted with a cool breeze wafting off the ocean. The marching band is loud and the cheers are welcoming.
Shutting my car door, I smile over at the old high school standing proudly, painted in crimson and silver.
The field.
The lights.
The crowd.
The memories.
That feeling, the one that screamed anything was possible flutters in the pit of my stomach even now when I pass through the chain link gate. There was always something so special about Fridays. Wearing your uniform, fixing your hair just right, grabbing dinner with the girls before the game started. A hard fought win was always celebrated with friends and teammates after a heart-stopping game.
That feeling is still there, somewhere, but it’s not the same as it used to be. Nevertheless, in this town, Friday night is still the best night of the week.
Walking through the green grass along the sidelines, I head up the small wooden steps that lead to the bleachers, the same ones we just so happened to catch on fire all those years ago.
Row and me exchange knowing looks, laughing quietly before we head up the steep flight.
Stopping on the small wooden walkway, I look around. Nostalgia tugs at my chest. A few nights a week for four years were spent here. A lot of good things happened those days.
The Riverside High School stadium doesn’t feel quite as big as it once did. Maybe it’s gotten smaller, or maybe I’ve outgrown it, but being here after ten years feels like no time’s passed, and at the same time, a lifetime has gone by.
“Stop daydreamin’. The games about to start,” Row says as she loops her arm through mine, tugging my feet into motion.
“This is our walk down memory lane, huh?”
Arm in arm, we walk the stands in search of our seats. Her little brother is playing and we’re here to cheer him and the Riverside Grizzlies on.
Looking at me, she smirks. “Yes. Does it make you wanna grab your pompoms and do a little shimmy for me?”
“I don’t k
now. Does it make you want me to do a shimmy for you?” I’m not even sure if I could slide that little skirt up past my thighs now. My ass has at least doubled in size since high school.
“A little.” She laughs as she tugs me up the steps leading to the top row of the bleachers. “This is us.”
I can’t help but wonder if these steps were always this steep, or if I’m just grossly out of shape now. Age does terrible things to the body.
“Was it always such a climb?” I huff, reaching the top. Bent over, hands on my knees, I suck in air.
“No. You’re just old as hell now.” A deep, familiar voice chuckles from the bench seat behind Row.
My head pops up and I look down the row of seats. A handsome blond sits there, smiling at me. “Holy shit. Walker Michaels?”
The familiar, yet older Walker nods slowly. “The one and only. You miss me?”
“Nah,” I tease. Sliding onto the old wooden bench seat, Walker wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into a sideways hug.
“How the hell ya been, Emmy Lou Sue?” he asks, his voice deeper than in high school.
Jesus. I hate that nickname.
“Good. How about you?” This is so crazy. I’ve seen familiar faces, but seeing Walker, a friend, I’m reminded of just how much I’ve missed. I know nothing about the man, but we fall right back into step when he starts asking questions that are a little too personal for my taste.
“I’ve been good. Hell, what’s it been? Eleven years? You married with six kids? Wait—” he stops, holding up a hand as he looks between me and Row. “You and Row are lesbians now, right? Am I right?”
For fuck’s sake.
“Somethin’ like that.” He may look older, but he’s still the same old Walker.
“Hey, get your hands off my Emmy.” A hard body bumps into my other side, sliding in to claim the spot next to me. Looking over, I’m met with very familiar eyes.
“Jesus. What is this, a high school reunion?” Justin, Zac’s older brother sits next to me, along with his buddy Christian.
Years of memories wash over me like a comforting blanket. The parties, football games, summers, afternoons spent on the river, and best of all, bonfires. My past was so normal and so goddamn sweet.
Row plops down in front of me and starts rifling through her bag, bringing me back. “Here,” she says, flopping a crimson and gray fluff of material onto my lap.
