The Map to You

by Lindy Zart

  It feels like a lackluster explanation of what Opal means to me, but I’m not good with talking about feelings. Running a hand over my face, I sigh. I open my mouth to try to say more, but I don’t get the chance—Opal is suddenly glued to me, and her mouth is on mine, and I can feel her response to my words in the way she attacks me. I smile around the kiss, knowing she understands. She knows.

  I want to keep kissing her, but instead I set her away from me. My hands rest on her hips and I stare into her eyes. “Your eyes make me think of honey, and they’re always so sincere. So alive—even when you’re talking out of your ass.”

  She exhales, laughs shakily.

  “And I’m envious of your friend Thor, because he might get to see you again, and I probably won’t.”

  Opal’s voice shakes as she tells me, “I hope you and I get to see each other again.”

  “Me too,” I say thickly.

  Her hands touch my lower back, linger there. “I want to make comics. I mean…I think I do. I even have an idea for one. I wanted to when I was younger, but I didn’t see it through. I didn’t chase my dream. I’m ready to go after it now.”

  Pride blooms in my chest, floods through me. “Then you should do it. You can do anything, I know you can.” I hesitate. “Even…even if it’s with your friend Thor.”

  She smiles, joy and sorrow colliding. “What’s next for you, Blake?”

  I rub my eyes, suddenly tired in a way that doesn’t make sense. Tired of feeling the way I do; of avoiding what I need to face. I shrug and look at the red and white building. “I don’t know. Australia. And then…the shed, I guess. I’ll work on completing the interior. After that, I don’t know.”

  “And your dad?”

  A frown captures my mouth. I look at Opal. Her eyes tell me everything will be okay. “Yeah. I can’t keep putting that off.”

  She takes and squeezes my hand. “You can do anything you decide you can, just like you told me. Thanks again. So far, you’ve been the best part of this road trip. I mean that.”

  I swallow thickly, my hand tightening on hers. “How will I know you’re okay? How will I be able to get ahold of you? That you aren’t conning another unsuspecting person for a ride and food?”

  Opal grins and tugs her hand from mine. “I’ll be okay, Blake. Just know that.”

  She starts toward the gas station, and with fear propelling me, I race after her, cutting her off before she can leave. I could blink and she’d be gone. Move too slowly, and she’ll disappear. That’s how impulsive she is. Fear pumps through my veins, locks my throat. I try to talk, but nothing comes out. There is nothing I can say. And this is much more difficult than I thought it would be.

  “What is it?” Opal asks, her head tilted.

  “I just…” I fight to take a breath. Darkness flitters across her features, just enough to let me know this isn’t as easy for her as she’s acting. I exhale. “Just…” I shake my head. “Goodbye, Opal.”

  She turns to go, and my chest collapses. This is it. This is the last time I’ll see her. My hands tremble and I ball them into fists. “Opal—”

  Eyebrows lifted, Opal walks backward as she waits. Widening the distance, widening the gap from her life to mine. Her eyes are clear and mischievous, her hair a wild cloud about her head. I feel a pinch in my chest, knowing this is the last image I’ll have of her. With her crazy hair and her shining eyes. Knowing when she goes, she’ll take a part of me with her.

  I take a step forward, my body moving without my command. I don’t want her to go. She’s fun and she’s odd and she makes me laugh. She shows me the world through new eyes, better eyes. I look at her hands, wondering how they can make lines into pictures. I keep seeing myself drawn into a two-dimensional image that somehow captured my essence with nothing more than a pencil. She had the slope of my eyebrows, the shape of my eyes. She even perfected the sneer most times I am unaware I wear. But she also got the hint of sadness I try to hide, the glint of hope I sometimes wish I didn’t have.

  She knows me—the real me.

  And she’s as easy to tether as the wind. The freest damn spirit I’ve ever encountered.

  I look around the parking lot, take in the empty vehicles, the people bustling to and from the store. Who knows what danger is nearby? What if someone from her past shows up? What if Jonesy is out of jail and looking for her? She can take care of herself, I know she can, but she shouldn’t have to.

  “What about food?” I hedge, panic sharpening my tone as I continue. “Your stomach is an endless pit, and I didn’t feed you today, and how will you survive without food every five minutes?”

  Opal gives me a knowing look. “I’ll be fine, Blake.”

  I grip my head and squeeze, wanting to say a thousand things and my closed throat keeping them all unsaid.

  “I’ll be fine,” she repeats, gently tugging my hands away from my head.

  “This doesn’t feel right,” I tell her, speaking more frankly than I would with anyone else.

  Opal pauses, her eyes tracing my features. “What doesn’t feel right?”

  You leaving. Me letting you.

  With frustration sending a hand through my hair, I say roughly, “Just—be okay, all right?” I drop my hand and roll my shoulders. “Take care of yourself.”

  Her eyes darken a second before she sprints for me, jumping into my arms. I stumble back from the force of her body slamming into mine. Opal’s arms lock around my neck, her legs hugging my hips, and she kisses me. She kisses me how I like to be kissed, how I taught her to kiss me. With passion, with hunger.

  Possessiveness shoots through me. I think of her kissing other guys, and it makes me kiss her harder. I think of her sharing her light with someone else, and my arms barricade her to me. I’m a selfish man, and I want her all to myself. I want Opal’s joy, and I want it to be for me. I want all her smiles; I want to be the reason she wants to smile.

  But she needs her independence, and I have my responsibilities.

  She unlocks her legs, sliding down the front of me and tearing a groan from my throat. Opal’s fingers caress my hair, the back of my neck, cupping my jaw. She turns me inside out. I feel her pulling away, gradually. The kiss slows, becomes sweeter. It threads through my soul and sews it to hers.

  I won’t forget her.

  This, whatever this is with Opal, this is real.

  This is the stuff futures are built on, and we’re letting it go.

  We stand locked in each other’s arms, her chest pushing against me with each breath, and mine doing the same. My heart pumps forcefully, recklessly. She asked me to be reckless. With Opal, I want to be.

  I hold her head to my chest, resting my chin on it. I don’t speak until my breathing evens. I hug her to me, wanting the feel of her imprinted to my arms so that it never fades. A goodbye has never felt more like an end to me.

  “Find your home,” I whisper against her hair.

  Opal steps out of my embrace, sniffling as she looks up at me. Tears shimmer in her eyes, turning them to gleaming gold. She lightly punches my shoulder. “Forgive yourself.”

  I blink around the burning sensation in my eyes, and a lump blocks my windpipe. “Yeah. I’ll work on that.”

  We stare at one another for a second that lasts a lifetime, and then with a sweet smile on her face, Opal waves and turns. I take a step forward, my body denying what is happening. Wanting to stop it. My heart beats out of control, with wrongness, with sorrow. My soul has been sliced in two. Opal walks out of my life, almost as much of a stranger as she was when she walked into it, and still the one person who’s known me better than anyone else.

  I turn back to the truck with a bitter taste in my mouth and heaviness in my heart.

  11

  Opal

  I make it around the side of the building before the tears come. I let them fall, not trying to wipe
them from my face. Find your home, he said. Well, I think I did, and it is him. I can clearly picture myself in the country, in his grandpa’s home, with Blake. Anywhere with Blake. We’ll plant a garden like his grandparents did, and I’ll learn how to can and freeze vegetables and fruits. I can see his face, happy and free of the shadows. I can see him, dark against the light. Shining with his own beauty. Love, marriage, and children tickle my brain, and I push them away. Illusions, delusions; whatever they are, they aren’t happening anytime soon.

  I don’t love him.

  It’s impossible to love someone only after knowing them a handful of days. Right?

  What do you want to do with your life, Opal?

  No one’s ever asked me that before.

  In a way I should have a long time ago, I really think about that question. I don’t know why Blake asking had the power to make it sink into my brain, but it did. And now it’s staying there, waiting to be answered. Tumultuous images pierce my eyes—scenes play out with no direction or order. I want peace. Laughter. I want a simple life, and I want it to have meaning. I see myself drawing. I see children, and they aren’t mine, or maybe they are. I see a house in the country, and it looks distinctively like Blake’s. But it’s all far off in the distance, a life that I’m not yet ready to live. But someday, yes, I think I will be.

  Blake wants to help children, but he doesn’t know how. In my own unorthodox way, I want the same. He wants to reach their mind; I want to reach their heart. Blake wants them to know they aren’t alone. I want to take away their loneliness. The strangest things have the power to do that—a book, a song, a drawing. Which brings me back to my ‘Mr. Sunshine’ idea, only I wouldn’t even know where to start.

  You start by drawing, a voice mocks.

  I wrinkle up my nose and hitch my backpack higher on my shoulders, turning bleary eyes on my surroundings. The world can be overwhelming when I try to think of it as a whole, categorized future. It’s better to separate, turn it into smaller sections that seem doable. I have an idea, I have the tools with which to make the idea a reality. I’ll start there.

  First, though, I have to figure out my physical placement. Blake’s parting words resonate through me, alive with emotion. Find your home. Again and again, they sweep through my mind. I miss him already, and it hurts. I shake the ache away, knowing there will be plenty of time for that to later drive me mad.

  Now what?

  Looking up, I take in the cloud-ridden atmosphere and feel like I’ve been trying to outrun the sky. It’s impossible. And I realize that the past is kind of like that. Might as well face it, right?

  Therefore, now I go to Montana.

  As if put before me by fate, I notice a derelict payphone near the gas station. I’m surprised to see one in existence. Shoving coins into it, I hold the greasy receiver to my ear and punch a series of numbers on the keypad. I’ve memorized them, seen the numbers over and over in my head. Thought of dialing them, decided not to, thought about it again. It could be a real bad idea. It could be pointless. It could take me nowhere but back to where I don’t want to be. But I have to try, because if anything, that is something I want to say I did in life. I tried.

  Ringing meets my ear, and I tighten my grip on the phone. I almost hope no one answers. Then I can say I tried with a slightly less amount of shame hovering over me. I’m scared she won’t want to see me; I’m scared she’s miserable. I’m scared about a lot of things. My heart pounds, trying to escape my body. She could hate me. She could never want to talk to me again. She could call me terrible things, and she might even get a few of them right.

  She’s seven, I remind myself, hoping her seven-year-old heart and brain are feeling generous toward me.

  I told myself I was running from a life I no longer wanted, but I was equally running from guilt.

  “Hello?” a strong, female voice greets.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I saw Tammy Royce each month throughout the year Paisley was with Jonesy. She wanted her niece to live with her as soon as her sister died, but Jonesy wouldn’t allow it. She’d visit Paisley when she could, always with a sour look on her face and judging eyes. The funny thing is, though, that whenever she looked at Paisley, the bitterness instantly melted, and I could feel the love she felt for her niece. So I didn’t care all that much what she thought of me. I knew she adored Paisley. Still, she’s an intimidating woman.

  “Hello? Who is this? I know someone is there; I hear you breathing,” she adds waspishly.

  “Um…” I clear my throat, and try again. “Hi. Hello. Is this…” I open my eyes. “That is, is this Tammy, Paisley Jordan’s aunt? This is…Opal. Opal Allen. I—”

  “I know who you are,” Paisley’s aunt interrupts.

  “Oh. Okay.” I let out a slow breath. “I just…how is she doing with—with everything?”

  “Why has it taken you this long to contact Paisley? She’s been asking about you every day.”

  I pull the receiver from my ear and give it a dubious look. I set it back to my ear. “She has?”

  “Yes. You took care of her after—after Alison died. Did you think she would just forget about you within a few weeks?”

  Pain explodes in my chest, and my eyes burn once more. “I thought she would be mad that I…that I had her taken away from her dad,” I say softly, my voice strained and weak.

  Tammy snorts. “Paisley barely knows Jonesy, and her time with him didn’t help. The only one she would be mad about being taken from is you.” Her voice softens when she says, “She thinks she did something wrong.”

  The pain grows, throbs, hurts so bad I can’t breathe for a moment, or talk. “I’ll…” I croak. I take a breath of air into my lungs and exhale. “I’d like to see her. Is that okay?”

  “Where are you?” Tammy asks suspiciously.

  “I’m in North Dakota.” I blink as I wait for her to respond, wondering how she’ll take that news. The last she knew, I was in Illinois.

  “Why are you in North Dakota?”

  “Um…just…traveling around the States, doing some sightseeing. I thought since I was only a state away, maybe I could stop by and see her.” My carefree tone falls flat, and I cringe. Please don’t tell me I can’t see her. Please.

  “Fine,” she says after a pause. “Call when you reach Missoula, before you come over.”

  “Can I talk to her?”

  Another beat of silence. “It’s better if you don’t. In case you don’t make it. I don’t want her to get her hopes up. She hasn’t had much stability lately.”

  Meaning, if I decide to disappear on her. Again. I understand her aunt’s reasoning, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting just a bit. I kept my distance out of guilt, yes, but also because I didn’t want someone following me to end up at Paisley’s along with me.

  In one way or another, Paisley’s lost a lot of people. Her mom died, her dad was never really there for her, and then I abruptly left her as well. I thought she was better off without me.

  I didn’t know I mattered that much to Paisley, and I should have.

  “Right. Okay.” My hand trembles around the receiver, sweat breaking out across my forehead. “Uh…one more thing. Have you heard from—from Jonesy?” I ask, my throat closing around the words.

  Tammy sighs. “Yes. He’s written a couple letters to Paisley, saying he knows what he did was wrong, and that when he’s out of jail, he’ll be a better dad.”

  My shoulders droop with relief. “Well, that’s promising.”

  “He turned in the last two guys, and because of that, his term was shortened, but he still won’t be getting out of jail for a long while.”

  I freeze, my hand tight around the phone. “Oh?”

  Another sigh. “He wrote to me as well, and wanted me to relay a message. He was hoping you’d write to him so that he can write back with an apology. He also said
he doesn’t blame you for turning them in, that he knows now how wrong he was, and that you tried to get him to stop.”

  “Uh…what? I didn’t—that was an anonymous tip,” I stammer, my face hot.

  “He knows, Opal,” she says gently. “I know too. I didn’t thank you before for doing what was right for Paisley, but I am now. She needed you, and you were there.”

  “Yeah,” I say faintly, too many facts jumbling up the inside of my brain. “I’ll see you soon, probably in a day or so.”

  “I’ll count on it.”

  I hang up the phone, thinking her parting words sounded a tad ominous, and stand without moving for a while. No one is after me. And Paisley—I did a good thing with Paisley. I blow out a loud, long breath of air, dizzy from all the news. I look behind me, almost like I think Blake will be there, ready and waiting to demand that he take me back to his home. Of course, he isn’t.

  I rub my hands on the fronts of my legs, searching the parking lot for a possible ride to get me to Missoula, Montana.

  I think about Paisley. I told her goodbye, and I didn’t try to contact her again. I thought it was best. I thought she would be okay with not seeing me again, even if I wasn’t. I’m such a jerk sometimes. The problem with trying to be carefree is that, at times, it is more careless than free. When you want to conserve your emotions, sometimes you forget what they’re meant for. It’s good to care. It’s good to need and want, and yes, there are times when it’s good to hurt.

  I hurt for Paisley, and I covered it up, tried to pretend it wasn’t there. All that did was make it hurt more now.

  And a part of my heart hurts for Blake too, for situations out of his control that morphed him into a man who is afraid to care, and have hope, and open up to others. It’s a cluster of emotions that don’t feel good, but puts things into startling clarity. I’m a lot like Blake, in some ways. I run. He runs. And now I have to stop, and I think he realizes the same for himself. It isn’t enough anymore.