by Stahl, Shey
Three weeks of Emma bouncing around with that goddamn wedding planner designing my entire wedding because she lost out on her fairytale wedding when she got drunk and married Aiden in Vegas. I hardly thought this was my fault but I was paying for it regardless. She also insisted on painting my nails, curling my hair every day and shaving my legs. It was like I was trying out for a beauty contest or something.
When she offered to wax my girly pad, I went apeshit on her and had to say, “Get the fuck away from me. I draw the line there, no touching my girly parts!”
Then there were the three weeks of Spencer sending me ridiculous texts that just made me want to bomb my phone. He knew Jameson and I were sexually frustrated and insisted on making matters worse. I’ll spare you the details but Jameson said he was doing the same thing to him. We both had to change our phone numbers to get him to stop.
There were three weeks of Nancy knitting about a hundred baby blankets for the ten kids she apparently thought I was having.
Three weeks of Jameson being Jameson; hotheaded, then sweet, then back to hotheaded, then arrogant, then incredibly fucking sexy. All of those things never bothered me as much as the incredibly sexy part did. Even found it sexy when he threw a second chair through a window because the nurses wouldn’t stop walking in on our frequent make-out sessions. And yes, any moment we were alone, we were kissing and touching like crazed hormone induced teenagers. It was frustrating but there was also an intense desire burning between the two of us. We knew we couldn’t do much more than make out but it also left something to be desired when we were alone.
To me, I thought there was no better way than to forget what happened by picking up where we left off. Normally, someone who’d been through something like this would need therapy or some shit. Not me, I needed my dirty heathen and ice cream.
There were some upsides to my stay there. Emma and I had sampled every single flavor of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, compliments of Van and his frequent runs to the store.
I tried to tell him this wasn’t part of his job but he insisted on helping out. Personally, I think it was his attempt to get away from Emma.
Finally though, today was the day, me and my little flailing adorable spaz were off on our adventure of the road trip.
My weekly ultrasounds showed he was doing great but I was still on bed rest until thirty two weeks. Since I was only on week twenty one, it was going to be a long eleven weeks. Stitches were gone, bruises were healing but I still had my cast on.
The progression of my pre-term labor stopped but I was also required to take medication every day that I couldn’t even pronounce let alone remember to take.
Checking out seemed to take hours between filling prescriptions and all the nursing staff saying goodbye. Though I became friends with them, I couldn’t say I would miss being there. The food was horrible.
Jameson couldn’t be there the day I left since he was racing in Charlotte. He called, and called again and then made sure the hospital gave me all my medicines and aftercare instructions. I had to laugh at how protective he was being.
Our road trip started in Nashua New Hampshire. By the time we’d reached Albany New York, I was ready to pull out my fucking hair.
Emma was sitting in the front seat of the black Ford Expedition Jameson rented, her feet on the dash talking to Van while she painted her toes. I dosed off frequently from being so exhausted but I caught pieces of the conversation.
“You know Van,” Emma said conversationally. “after this road trip our periods are going to sync home skillet!”
Van stared at her in horror that she just mentioned her period to him and called him home skillet. I didn’t blame him. She’d been crossing a lot of lines today.
Shifting to get comfortable, I sent Jameson a text. He’d be getting ready for the race right about now and I knew I could offer some good luck.
Are you missing me?
As I expected, he responded right away.
I am honey. I can’t think of anything but you right now. And reporters are staring at me!
Same.
You got reporters staring at you?
No silly. I miss you.
Oh, how are you feeling?
I’m on a road trip with Emma, how do you think I’m feeling?
Point taken. I’m sorry you had to drive. I could almost hear his sigh through his text.
Me too.
What are you wearing?
Are you sexting me? I laughed.
I guess I am, now what are you wearing?
Something really sexy...a white tank top and sweat pants! Can’t get much hotter than that right there!
I agree. That’s pretty fucking hot.
What are you wearing?
My racing suit.
I’m intrigued. Keep talking. I could get used to this sexting tech support.
Really?
Very much so. I like a man in uniform.
I have to go...take care of something now, thanks for that.
I burst out in a giggle. Van smiled, his gaze caught mine in the review mirror.
Need any help?
I will when I see you on Wednesday, don’t hurt your other hand...I’m gonna need some assistance.
That I can do.
That’s my line!
Jameson?
Yes?
Go take care of your problem.
Yes, honey.
Good luck tonight, win one for me.
Always, listen to it on the radio. I love you!
Love you too!
Snapping a photo of myself smiling, I sent it to him with the words: Think of me underneath it.
His response back was a picture of his hand slipping inside his racing suit and the words: Oh I am!
As promised, we listened to the race on the radio driving through New York. Jameson started on the pole again. The announcers went on and on about how he seemed to be on some sort of mission, which he was. Jameson was out to prove to me, and the world that he could do it. Despite all odds, despite feeling like lapped traffic, he could win the championship his first season. Honestly, I think he was out to prove to himself that all those sacrifices he felt he was making, were worth it.
Jameson ended up getting a flat tire half way through the race but that didn’t stop him. He made his way back through the field in fifty laps and was back to leading.
Like I said, he was on a mission.
And it paid off, because once again, he won. He won at a track that everyone thought he’d have problems with since the horrific accident that occurred there.
Van, Emma and I all clapped when they announced Jameson had won.
“Look at this kid! He’s got it together.” Walter the announcer commented. “This win tonight just put him in the lead for the championship for the first time in his career.”
They went on to talk more about him until they spoke with him in victory lane. We laughed at his humor he used to avoid anything personal but he did send me a hello. “I just have to say hello to my Sway. I miss you and I’m sorry you’re stuck with my sister, but this win is for you. Emma, if you’re listening. Be nice.” he warned his voice stern but entertaining.
“Whatever.” Emma mumbled flipping off the radio and continued to paint her toenails.
By now, she had to have had at least ten coats on them.
After the long drive, we were all starving. We intended on finding a restaurant but they were few and far between.
Emma all but jerked the wheel when she saw the only bar along the highway.
We pulled into bar that was swarming with Harleys. I had nothing against Harleys or their owners, separately. Put them together though and I swear something happened with their mindset and they turn into douchebags. If you ride a Harley, don’t listen to me, I’m sure you’re a nice person, off your bike.
“That’s a biker bar Emma,” I pointed out. “we are not stopping here.”
“I’m taking Ms. Sway’s side on this one.” Van examined the parking l
ot. “Let’s find somewhere else.”
“Too bad,” Emma said. “I’m fucking hungry!”
Before Van could catch her, she was out the door in a mad rush for the biker bar. This had bad idea written all over it.
Once Van helped me out of the car, we made our way inside the old dingy bar. It smelled, badly, but that might be my over active smeller these days. As I looked around, I realized the smell was coming from the carpet, actual fucking carpet in a bar.
There were mysterious stains all over it and I’m sure some were from stabbings that took place by the looks of the people surrounding us.
We found Emma sitting at the bar with what appeared to be the ringleader of the biker clan. Long grey black hair, plumped belly, tats, and more piercings than I thought any man should ever have. Across the back of his worn leather jacket read the words, “Bad Ass Bikers.”
How original. I thought to myself.
I thought I was just thinking this but no, what the fuck would make me think something like that? I said it aloud.
Van, who was close to my side, reached around and threw his terminator-arm-of-steel around my waist, “Ms. Sway, I think you should keep quiet in here.” His voice was low and purposefully meant only for me.
I only nodded because now the ringleader was giving me the death stare. “Yeah, you otta keep your bitch in check.” Biker Billy barked back at me followed up with a not so intimidating stare.
Now I may only be five foot two and weighing in at...well, I’d rather not say these days but I was in no shape with a broken arm and my baked potato shaped body to be pummeling biker dudes but my hormones controlled me these days and I started to lunge forward toward him.
Van caught me, for good reason.
He then convinced me to sit next to him, which I did while he ordered a beer along with Emma.
My drink? Water with lemon.
Am I adventurous or what?
Biker Billy didn’t stop from trying to provoke me and hitting on Emma. Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see Van getting pissed off. Over the last few weeks, he’d grown protective of us. I knew for sure he was at his wits end when his knuckles began to turn white as he gripped his beer.
Funny enough, it was reassuring being around him. He reminded me of Jameson with his anger which makes me feel close to my dirty heathen even with hundreds of miles separating us. Not that I have any attraction to Van, I just felt safe with him.
When the music playing throughout the bar changed to The Hurricane by Bob Dylan, I knew Biker Billy had no idea what type of hurricane could be unleashed upon him if he pissed Van off.
Biker Billy leaned closer to Emma, rubbing his foomanchu. “So there beautiful,” he said in an extremely gruff voice, marked by his years of smoking. “What do say about going for a ride?”
Emma obviously didn’t understand what type of ride he was referring to.
“I’d love to!” she said to mine and Van’s horror.
“Emma!” I blurted out.
“What?”
“I think we should leave.” Van suggested tossing a fifty on the bar and standing threateningly beside me. “Let’s go.”
“But I want to ride on a Harley!” Emma insisted stomping her foot. “Just one ride.”
“Emma Riley, get in the fucking car!” I shouted pointing toward the door.
I was hardly in the mood for any of this but also, I was clearly not thinking when I told the entire bar that she was Emma Riley.
“Silly Sway,” Emma jumped in. “it’s Emma Gomez now.” She said haphazardly. “I’m married.”
The entire bar took notice.
“Wait, you’re Jameson Riley’s sister, aren’t you?” a girl asked from behind the bar grinning like Miss America after she’d been crowned.
“No, I was mistaken.” I muttered pulling Emma toward the door. “They’re not related.”
Biker Billy grabbed Emma’s hand. “The lady said she wanted a ride.”
“She doesn’t want a ride.” Van growled standing inches from him. He pushed Emma and me protectively behind him. “Like she said, she’s married.”
“That’s not what she said.” Biker Billy didn’t back down either and I began to realize we were about to be in one of those biker brawls you see on TV. You know the ones where it ends with someone getting shanked and missing teeth and then suddenly the bar blows up.
“Nice going asshole,” I whispered to Emma. “Now look what you’ve done.”
“Me!” she pointed at herself with wide-eyes as her black waves fell into her eyes. “What did I do?”
“You insisted on coming into this shit hole.” I gestured toward Biker Billy and the clan. “You’ve created a war!”
“It’s a little dingy but I wouldn’t call it a shit hole.” She completely ignored my remarks about the war.
“You’re a fucking retard.”
More foomanchu’s and schmuckstasher’s made their way toward us.
Everything happened so fast that Emma and I had no idea what actually went down. The only thing I remember was Biker Billy screaming.
Before I knew it, Emma and I were being placed inside the Expedition and driving away like bats out of hell. Looking out the back window, I half expected the bar to blow up.
Emma turned toward Van. “You have some serious aggression issues.”
Van said nothing in reply but his glare did.
Though I wasn’t sure this was ever possible, Emma was quiet for a good hour.
I liked Van more and more every day.
“No more biker bars.” Emma whispered as we pulled into a drive through Burger King. She only said this because Van told her she couldn’t get a kids meal unless she apologized, I found this extremely entertaining. Emma had finally met someone who refused to put up with her bullshit.
She slapped my leg when the guy in the drive-through handed her a paper hat. “Do you remember that tornado we got caught in outside Kansas City?”
“How could I forget a tornado, Emma?”
She shoved a chicken nugget covered in barbeque sauce in her mouth. “You never know. You could have blocked out the memory.”
“Nope, it’s still there.”
Once we found a hotel room that night, Emma and I still weren’t on good speaking terms. Mainly because I had to pee every few miles and Emma just wanted a warm bed to sleep in.
So what did she do?
While we circled the parking lot looking for an open stall, she turned on Britney Spears to annoy the shit out of us.
“You can’t be serious!” Van said. “We are not listening to Britney Spears. I draw the line there!” He ripped the iPod out of the stereo, tossing it in Emma’s lap.
“That’s hardly fair!” She glared at him. “I let you listen to that country shit earlier.”
“Ms. Sway, isn’t it your turn to sit in the front seat?” his eyes met mine in the review mirror, pleadingly.
“No, no—you guys go ahead. This is entertaining.”
By the time we did make it to the hotel, Van was annoyed and so was I. Not only did Emma get her way with the Britney Spears but she proceeded to sing along to every goddamn song.
Now Jameson could sing like a motherfucker. Emma, she cannot, not even a little bit. She was completely tone deaf and sounded like a coyote in heat.
When we checked in, we were all cranky. Extremely cranky.
“You know what? I hope you piss the bed!” Emma blurted out the first thing she could think of to insult me when I told her I refused to sleep in the same bed as her.
“Yeah well, if I do, I’m putting the sheets on you!” I barked back curling into my Snoogle pillow.
It was ridiculous. We were never going to make it to Elma, alive together, like this considering we were only in Jamestown New York and ready to kill each other.
I tried to sleep but with Emma and her snoring I remained wide-awake. Who knew someone who was so tiny could snore so loudly. I remembered this from our summers together traveling though. And
it wasn’t about to get any better any time soon.
The noise eventually became too much.
I even tried putting a pillow over her head but that just seemed to echo the noise.
The hotel room we were in overlooked the pool and it was calling my name, either that, or I was hearing things now. As I laid there, thinking about what happened over the course of the last six months, I couldn’t help but think maybe if I closed my eyes, it would all be a dream. I did and when I opened them, I was disappointed it wasn’t.
Van was sound asleep on the couch and amazingly enough; I snuck past him and made my way to a lounge chair near the pool. I was just outside the room, I didn’t go far but it was the first time since the accident where I felt I was completely alone. And not in the sense that I was alone, it was that I felt freedom.
About ten minutes into my alone time, the skies in New York began to rumble and growl. Did I move?
No.
Me, and my little spaz, sat there as the wind picked up slightly. The air smelled and felt humid with the impending rain clouds approaching.
The air adopted an overpowering humidity with the approaching storm.
One minute it was sunny, and the next, the sky was occupied by dense, suffocating clouds, as though fate had stepped in and unrolled a dark cotton blanket over the city.
Have you ever observed the pattern of a rainstorm?
The rain usually starts out light. Then, before you know it, you’re trapped in a downpour. Where there once was dry pavement, now there are puddles. Where you once were secure and warm, now you are vulnerable. Dry turns to wet, blue to black, and then, with the shifting of the wind, wet turns back to dry, and a rainbow appears in the sky.
You wonder what the point is. Then, in the quiet after the storm, you notice that the planet and animals that were previously dehydrated and dirty are now nourished and bathed. That with each drop of rain, life was cultivated and restored. That you, who were once weary and wilted, are rejuvenated, stronger. A survivor.
So drenched and maybe a little cold, I watched the rippling of each drop spring from the pool. I’d never felt more alive sitting there in that rain storm, cleansed of the past.
Van appeared, his glare obvious even through my wet lashes and blurred vision. “I’ve been looking for you Ms. Sway.” His hand reached for mine. “Please come with me. You’ll get sick out here.”
