Did she really mean that it didn’t matter to her? That the aftermath of, well whatever we were going to do, wouldn’t matter to her? I don’t buy that; or at least I wouldn’t have a few days ago. Being uncertain is not something I’m used to. When I know what I want I go for it. That’s what I would have done last night. But somewhere between the reminder on her phone and her essentially giving the thumbs up for no strings attached this morning, I started acknowledging that I have serious feelings for her. I thought she did too, but I was wrong. How ironic that she wants to be with me to forget and lose control yet she’s the first person I think is worth remembering.
I let out a deep sigh. She said herself that she’d never move on. I get it; she’s been through a lot. And what the hell do I know about kids and relationships and dead husbands? Her situation is far too complicated and I’m not sure I’m cut out for all that. Even if I wanted to be with her and got the chance I know there’s a strong possibility it wouldn’t work, most likely because of me. She doesn’t want to be in the spotlight and at times I can’t stay out of it. While I don’t consider myself a womanizer, I do have a past and for the first time I’m ashamed. I don’t deserve her but I want to. Ugh, I am fucking losing it. If I’m the one that stopped this, why do I feel rejected?
“You’re right. It does matter,” she states after what feels like an eternity. Looking over my shoulder I wait for her to say more. “I care about you, a lot.”
I take this in. Replaying the last few days and hours, I try to get clarity. We’ve been through hell but somehow being with her has transformed this fucked-up ordeal into an adventure. If given the choice between being with her or anywhere else, I don’t know that I’d want to go back to reality.
“I care about you, too,” I admit.
“I know,” she says.
I stare at the ground wondering if this conversation is over when warmth on my shoulder startles me. Breanne has placed her hand on me and I’m literally frozen in place. “I don’t know what came over me. I shouldn’t have thrown myself at you. It’s obviously not like that between us, I just…last night I was worked up in a way I can’t remember being before. You felt so good. And this morning I guess I wanted to feel that way again. It was stupid for me to kiss you. I just didn’t expect…it’s been a long time, and…I didn’t think you’d wake up. Honestly, I didn’t think you’d care.” She sounds mortified. “Not that it makes a difference, but when we kissed it nearly took my breath away and I wanted to pretend you wanted it, too. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t want to think, but I am now. You were right. Taking things further would have been a mistake, and I don’t want to ruin what we have.”
What we have? What do we have?
I clear my throat and force myself to get up, keeping my back to her. If I don’t walk away now I may not be able to.
“Let’s just pretend nothing happened,” I offer, knowing full well that I can’t. Now that I’ve gotten a preview I’m even more pissed at myself because now I know what I’m missing. I can’t take this. Does she honestly think this is helping? I didn’t think it was possible to want her more…and there’s nothing I can do about it. I need her to stop rambling.
“Ok,” she replies with a hint of disappointment in her tone.
I pause momentarily but stop myself before I say or do something stupid. I find my shirt a few feet away and walk to an adjacent window while I pull it over my head. I hadn’t noticed before but it’s actually really cold. I rub my arms for warmth and then my hands, dismissing ideas on how to easily warm myself up.
As I get closer to the window I can see it’s another overcast day, though the windows are covered in a light film. Using the sleeve of my shirt I rub dust off the window for a better view and get a glimpse of what appears to be smoke coming from a chimney in the distance. I can see stuff around the house or building; lots of colorful dots, but at this distance it’s too far away to make it out clearly.
“Get up, we have to go!” I command, still looking at the smoke.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, concerned.
“Nothing. Something’s actually right!” I proclaim, and motion for her to check it out.
She stands and makes her way towards me, not making eye contact. Instead, she’s fixated on buttoning up her blouse. It’s ridiculous really, but no matter how hard I try to look away I can’t until the last button is fastened. Even then, my eyes don’t stray from her, they continue up her neck to her jaw and then to her mouth. All places my mouth and hands have been and desperately want to be again. What an odd position to be in, I think. On one hand I want to do whatever I can to keep her in my life, and on the other hand I know I’m just torturing myself. I sigh without meaning to and force myself to look away.
Shifting my attention back to the smoke I point it out to her as she approaches. But being about a foot shorter than me, she’s not tall enough. I have to move a bale of hay under the window and help her up. In the upstairs section of the barn there are six windows; two per wall. Each one is only about four feet in each direction and they start at least five feet off the ground. Standing on the hay bale she towers about a foot taller than me, meaning my eyes are level with her breasts. Her perfect breasts.
“Can you see it?” I ask, returning my focus to the smoke and she nods her head.
She turns to face me and puts her hands on my shoulders before jumping down. Grabbing her waist I do my best to keep distance between us, except my hand is weak. She ends up sliding down my torso and I feel my resolve breaking. How the hell can I ignore the chemistry between us when it’s palpable? Our eyes lock briefly before she looks away and it’s too quick to get a read on her expression. My hands make their way around her back, embracing her tightly and in return she rests her head and hands against my chest. Maybe this is my chance to tell her how I feel.
“I didn’t mean to treat you like a piece of meat or make you feel uncomfortable,” she says before I get the chance to speak.
“That’s why you think I stopped? Because you hurt my ego or freaked me out?”
“That or I’m old compared to your usual selection,” she shrugs uncomfortably. “Look, I want you to know that I didn’t have the wrong idea. Whatever your reason, it was the right thing to do,” she explains. “Your friendship means a lot to me and I’m sorry,” she says pushing back from me. “Are we ok?”
My friendship means a lot to her? I’ve never given a friend an orgasm, but I’m not friends with any women either. Is this how she acts with her other male friends? The thought pisses me off despite knowing she isn’t like that. If she could hear my thoughts she’d think I’m crazy. I feel crazy.
“Yeah, we’re good,” I lie. I am anything but good.
She pushes up on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek. “I’ll pack up our stuff so we can get going.”
It’s about two miles or so from the barn until we get to a place where we can see that the smoke was coming from a used car lot. The 40 minutes or so that it took us to walk here was almost completely filled with awkward silence. During that time I replayed her words through my head over and over again. She asked me not to stop. I didn’t want to. Our kiss took her breath away. Join the fucking club. She didn’t have the wrong idea. I obviously did.
This feels like payback of some kind. I never lead women on, but for once I was completely open and what do I get? The truth biting me in the fucking ass. I shared too much information and now she doesn’t think I’m capable of anything other than casual sex. She only sees me as some foregone conclusion. Maybe I used to be…a few days ago…but that seems like a lifetime ago. I feel like a different person and it doesn’t matter. This must be why I never bothered changing my ways before. Instinctually, I must have known there was no point. Karma is definitely a bitch.
A few yards before we reach a two-lane road, Breanne asks what I’m thinking about, if my hand is alright and if I think there’ll be cell reception closer to the building. My clipped responses are ‘nothing’, ‘yes’ and �
��I don’t know’. She’s trying to make things normal between us but I’m finding it hard to play along. The more I think about it, the more pissed and confused I get. Maybe I’m just hungry and tired. Maybe it’s because I have the worst case of blue-balls known to man. Or maybe it’s the fact that I can’t image a future that doesn’t have her in it and it’s freaking me the fuck out. I need space to get my emotions in check.
Approaching the road it’s obvious we aren’t close to a town. The road is desolate, looking abandoned rather than a regularly used connection to society. I bend down to pick up some rocks to pitch across the road and am further infuriated when my hands fail to close around the rocks. Three of my fingers are completely numb. Can anything in my fucking life go right?
The building across the street is constructed of grey concrete and a tin roof. There are two large floor-to-ceiling windows that haven’t been cleaned in years. To the left of the windows is the main entrance. I assume the place must be 50 years old based on all the cracks and rust. The building itself sits about twenty yards down a driveway with about ten to fifteen old cars in the lot out front. It appears they haven’t been driven in a few decades and I get the feeling we are in a different decade all together. Without thinking, I take Breanne’s hand and look both ways, though no cars are anywhere in sight, and start to cross the road. But just as quickly as I grab her hand, she pulls it away and I’m growing more aggravated.
“What are you doing?” I practically snap.
“We need to talk about,” she begins, but I cut her off.
“I thought we agreed to act like nothing happened,” I say, a bit too harshly. She takes a step backwards looking caught off guard.
“I was going to suggest that before we start knocking on someone’s door we might want to talk about what we plan to say,” she says, sounding equally harsh. She watches me, her eyes searching mine possibly for some level of understanding of my mood. In her mind we’re good.
“OK. Let’s talk,” I agree, but rather than talk she just stares at me.
“Why are you treating me like this?” she asks.
“Like what?” I question, despite knowing what she means.
“Don’t act surprised. You know exactly what you’re doing. If we’re acting like nothing happened then why are you giving me the cold shoulder?” she asks. When I don’t respond right away she rolls her eyes and huffs in frustration. “God, it’s like rejecting me wasn’t bad enough so you have to rub it in. Drew, I said I was sorry,” she pleads with irritation.
“And if you remember, I said I didn’t want you to be sorry!” That was not supposed to be said out loud.
She watches me, confused. “Then what do you want. Tell me!” She’s pissed. But it’s the hurt behind the anger…the restrained tears that I’m responsible for…that begin to break me down. My eyes move to the edge of the road and I try to remember where I left my balls. Oh right, in her hands.
“I’m impressed. We didn’t even sleep together yet you’ve upheld your reputation,” she hisses. Shit! “If ignoring me is what you want, let me make it easier for you.” My silence must frustrate her further because she pushes past me, and heads across the road.
I stand motionless, watching her walk away. I am standing on the side of the road at a loss, and Breanne, well; she is pissed. I still don’t know exactly what I’ve been angry about…Breanne unintentionally playing me at my own game or me wanting her and not getting my way. Logically I know I have no reason to be mad. I practically set myself up for this. If I have a problem with any of this I need to tell her exactly how I feel. Too bad I’m still trying to figure that out.
I want to be pissed because it’s one of the few emotions I can control and completely understand, but I’m not. I’m anxious. I’m going to push her further away before I get the chance to figure things out if I don’t get it together. I jog across the street towards her and call out for her to stop. Unsurprisingly, she ignores me and continues marching forward. She is so freaking stubborn! Without much effort I catch up to her and grab her arm but she elbows me in the ribs so I’m forced to drop my hold. Shit, she’s really mad! I run and stand in front of her, grabbing both shoulders.
“Will you stop for one minute?” I plead.
“What!” she barks. Her whole body stiffens and she quickly looks away.
“Your interpretation of the whole situation is way off. I’m not trying to rub anything in, I didn’t reject you and I’m not ignoring you; I was thinking. It’s been a long few days. I’m starving, my hand is killing me and I didn’t get much sleep last night.” Her eyes fly to mine so I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow for effect. “I’m a little off, ok?” I wait to make sure she’s paying attention and then release my grip. “So what’s our plan?” I say more gently.
Before she’s able to respond to my question the front door to the used-car dealership opens and an overweight man with greasy grey hair steps outside.
“I thought I heard voices out here. Can I help you folks?” he asks cheerfully, tucking his worn out t-shirt into his equally worn in jeans.
“Please,” Breanne replies.
“Well, make yourselves useful. Grab the paper and come on in. I’m gonna grab my coffee but then I’m all yours,” he says with a wink.
I grab the newspaper and am startled by the cover story. I grab Breanne’s arm and show her as well.
There is a picture of a two-pan balance. On one side of the scale is the word DNA. On the other is a picture of the Innovation Airways logo. The headline reads ‘Technology: Do the advantages outweigh the harm’. We exchange a sideways glance and read the article.
It’s been two days since Innovation Airways maiden flight from Boston’s Logan Airport to SFO crashed in the expansive forest outside a state park in Ohio. The Boeing 797, hailed by aviation enthusiasts and experts alike as the future of flying, with the most advanced technology available, claimed 132 innocent lives. The cause of the crash? The same technology that supposedly made the plane sophisticated and durable. But like the Titanic, there wasn’t much truth to the beauty and promise of a safe, luxurious way to travel.
Although it’s been less than 48 hours since the crash at the time this article was written, many facts have already surfaced. Here’s what we know:
•The plane only had to endure preliminary tests. Why? Because the technology was so advanced the systems reportedly flagged any failures.
•The radar system malfunctioned showing the plane was still en route for 26 minutes after the plane had already crashed. Investigators are still trying to determine if the plane crashed 26 minutes before it was reported or if it circled back at some point in the flight.
•The black box has been of little help. It shows the plane crashing in a location it would have been if the plane continued 26 miles on it’s flight path. This is why it took authorities over two hours to find the actual site, which was originally thought to be a forest fire.
•Without survivors or witnesses the public and families find themselves at the mercy of technology.
A spokesperson for the airline has already come forward, admitting that technology appears to be the culprit, a glitch in the system. The FAA, TSA and FBI are still investigating.
Although technology may be responsible for the loss of 132 lives, it has also helped bring closure for the families. New advances in DNA testing have been used to confirm the identities of all passengers. In the past this process took several weeks. Today, we know there were no survivors despite all the new safety features less than two days after lives were tragically lost.
Among those lost: beloved Senator Marcus Stanley from New Hampshire and his wife, play write Sam Belmont, major league Red Sox pitcher Drew Scott and 129 other innocent Americans.
So I ask you, does all the technology we have help us have better lives or kill our dreams?
Curveball Page 19
