by Stahl, Shey
2. The unknown – Bailey Gray
With the windows rolled down and the cool Southwest Washington air blowing through my hair, Dylan and I made a run for it.
As the sun set around us, it seemed, and I didn’t know for sure, both of us were searching for something and neither knowing what that was. In all the scenarios I’ve ever dreamed up about leaving home, I never imagined Dylan would be with me. I always thought that I would leave alone and maybe travel to Seattle.
I couldn’t help but think about what I was doing with Dylan, as I didn’t know him anymore, but Dylan didn’t know me either. We were just two strangers now. But we were two strangers looking for the same thing, sovereignty.
I had no idea what tomorrow would bring or the next ten minutes and for the first time in my life, I was okay with that. I wanted that. I didn’t want to have to answer to anyone. I wanted to make mistakes. I wanted to get into trouble. I wanted to be eighteen.
I couldn’t think of a single reason to turn back now but I could think of a thousand reasons to keep going.
Dylan was quiet for the most part. Occasionally he would switch playlists on his iPod but other than that, he said little. His right hand was on the steering wheel, his left propped against the window twisting his hair in loops.
I wanted to ask him why he asked me to come with him after eight years of no talking. I wanted to ask him why his dad hit him…but I didn’t. There was so much about Dylan that remained a mystery.
I knew enough about Dylan Wade not to ask.
Once when we were Chemistry, Wesley Kennedy, a shy nerdy kid asked him about a tattoo on his arm and Dylan’s response was to punch him in the shoulder and tell him to mind his own fucking business.
Knowing that side of Dylan, no way was I asking anything until he did.
It’d been a while since I looked at Dylan. I remember when we were kids he was always beautiful for boy standards. Both Dylan and his brother, Drew, who left home at sixteen, were the fantasy of most girls around town, because of their mystery.
Now, at eighteen, Dylan’s looks had taken on more of a masculine appearance. His jaw was defined, the deep ocher hues catching the blondish highlights from the summer sun and the reddish tint to the stubble of his jaw. His hair had a shaggy appearance in the front, very James Dean like. He was tall and slender, but muscular. His forearms had tattoos that I couldn’t read as he kept them hidden usually by a flannel most of the time but I knew they were there.
His friend Landon Neel was a tattoo artist and pretty much had Dylan as his canvas.
As I shamelessly eyed his body, his eyes flickered from the road to meet mine.
Christ, could I have been any more obvious?
I figured he was going to say some smart-ass remark but instead, he looked away quickly.
Trying to break the awkwardness, I decided to ask where we were going. “Where we should go?”
He didn’t turn his head but tipped it to the side, his eyes remained on the road. “I think the question is where do you want to go?”
“This isn’t just about me, Dylan.” I said bringing my legs up to wrap my arms around them. “I’m not the only one in the car.”
He was quiet, contemplating, for a few seconds then shifted in the seat resting his arm around the back of the seat angling his body my way.
“City by city then?” He smiled with warmth I found comforting when I nodded. “We’ll go to Medford tonight and decide from there.”
“Okay,” I agreed.
Then I thought about my life at home.
Part of me was nervous. How could I not be? For eighteen years, I followed the rules and today, I destroyed any trust my parents had in me. Hell, with that stunt, I’d be lucky if I still had my scholarship to Dartmouth.
“I should probably call my parents when we stop.”
Dylan didn’t say anything and to be honest, I wasn’t expecting him.
After ten minutes, he looked at me, squinting from the sun filtering in through the windshield. “You don’t always have to play by the rules.”
“So you say.” I laughed feeling more secure with my decision to leave. “How many times have you been arrested?”
“I stopped counting a few years ago.” He laughed, finally laughed.
It didn’t surprise me at all that Dylan didn’t know how many times he’d been arrested. For a boy like Dylan, being arrested meant nothing, because he only got caught when he got lazy.
More importantly, it felt good to hear Dylan laugh again. After his mom died when he was younger, a part of Dylan died too. Lauren, his mom who was killed in a car accident a few weeks before Christmas by a drunk driver when he was ten-years-old, was probably the sweetest most mesmerizing woman I had ever met.
I don’t remember much about her, a distant memory that faded each day, but I do remember that she smelled like sugar cookies and I always wanted to take a bite out of her. Dylan had always been close with his mom. So when she was taken, so suddenly, it was hard on him.
Given my parents were pretentious assholes most of the time, I couldn’t begin to comprehend what Dylan went through losing her.
It was nearing dusk when we made it to Medford, Oregon. The once blue sky was splatter with purple and pink across the horizon, an ending to another day. The lighting was perfect in the distance so I snuck a few shots out the window knowing they might be blurry but decided to try anyway.
Just like a sunrise, a sunset can create some beautiful colors. My favorite part about a sunset was the way it casted a beautiful golden light on everything else around you. Constantly changing light can make you see and feel what you never saw before.
I don’t like everything being planned. I like the unknown, the unexpected, and the mystery that I don’t know where I’m sleeping tonight or that tomorrow I could be somewhere else.
My eyes were everywhere now, taking in as much detail as I can of where my life is going, where I want it to go and where I hope it’s going, somewhere, anywhere and maybe nowhere. I also couldn’t help the nerves that kept creeping into my bones.
With the windows still down, a chill ran through me. I still had my gown on, for who knows what reason. The thin polyester material wasn’t exactly warm once the temperature dropped.
Dylan noticed and reached for a sweatshirt in the back seat. “Here,” he said handing it to me. “It may stink but at least it’s something.”
As it slipped over my shoulders, the smell of jasmine and lemon with what seemed like oak and cigarettes engulfed me. When I snuck another glance over at Dylan, my skin coming in contact with his hoodie, one side of his mouth pulled up into a half smile as he noticed me burrow into the black sweatshirt.
Examining it, I noticed the Oakley symbol on the front and the frayed sleeves indicating he wore this one often.
We saw a Best Western so Dylan pulled into the parking lot. I was a little hesitant getting out of the car, his black GTO shined under the street lamp that hummed with thousands of bugs flying around it. He didn’t say anything to me as he came around the back of the car where I was waiting.
Opening the trunk, with one hand on the trunk, he reached inside for a black bag that I assumed had his clothes in it. Taking the bag in his left hand, he placed the guitar in the trunk before closing it.
I knew Dylan played and I wanted to ask if he still did but then again, I didn’t. It seemed personal and I wasn’t sure we were that personal yet. Like I said, no words had been spoken in years until today.
We walked beside each other to the entrance, large glass doors opened as a swarm of stale air rushed my senses.
“How many rooms would you like?” the woman behind the counter asked, gawking at Dylan and then me, and then back to Dylan as we squinted at the bright walls behind her.
With me wearing my gown and my hair pulled up into a messy bun, I’m positive we had runaways written all over us.
Dylan smiled, adjusting his bag on his shoulder, and looked at me as he spoke. “I think—”
“One room is fine.” I told the woman ignoring Dylan.
So first, I run off with the town rebel and now I start suggesting that we share a hotel room.
If Dylan’s plan was to murder me, it seemed he’d have his chance now. Why mess with the logistics of it. If I was going to die this way, I was going to do it right.
Reaching for my wallet in my bag, I pulled out some cash when Dylan placed his hand on mine. I gave him a strange look because, while he reached for me, he stared for what seemed like five minutes when the lady cleared her throat. “How will you be paying?”
“I’m paying,” he insisted sliding his credit card across the granite counter.
Not wanting to make a scene for him, I didn’t object but I would surely pay him back. There was no way he was paying for this all by himself.
As soon as we got to the elevator, I offered him a hundred dollars. “Here.”
“What’s that for?” he didn’t reach for it and instead, shoved his hands in his pockets.
“The room.” The elevator smelled of stale smoke and dirty laundry. It took everything I could not to gag and I think Dylan knew that when the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile. “I can’t let you pay for it all by yourself.”
“Yes you can and you will.” Dylan insisted watching the numbers of each floor blink as we passed by them. “I won’t accept your money.”
“Well,” I swallowed trying not to smell anything, which was clearly the wrong move. Once I opened my mouth, it was like I could now taste it, so much worse. “How am I supposed to pay you then?”
He laughed shrugging and looked at his feet. “I’ll accept sexual favors.”
Say what?
It wasn’t until then that we realized we were not the only ones in the elevator. The stale smoke and dirty laundry was an actual person standing behind us complaining about crude teenagers.
Dylan and I managed to hold in our laughter until we get out of the elevator but before the doors even closed, we both burst out laughing.
“Did you see her face?” Dylan gasped between laughs.
It took me a minute to be able to respond as I was laughing so hard my side hurt. “I thought she was going to have a heart attack!” I managed to say after a few deep breaths. “But damn, was that smell her?”
All Dylan could do was nod in between his laughter.
We continued the occasional fits of laughter making our way to the room only to find out it has one bed instead of two. Aside from the one bed, I was thankful it didn’t smell like that lady any longer. The cream walls stood out from the checkered gold and green carpet and the red bed.
We must have stared at that fucking bed for a good five minutes.
I know what you’re thinking. Here is a girl that, on paper, has a scholarship to an Ivy League school, had the perfect life, and now here she was sleeping in hotel rooms with strangers and cussing like a sailor.
The problem is that I’ve always cussed, just never around anyone. And as far as my brains go, that’s all true but talking to me, you wouldn’t know it. I don’t believe in talking above others or trying to use words that no one other than English professor could understand.
Dylan was the first to talk about the bed. “I can sleep on the couch.” He gestured over his shoulder to the corner of the room to a burnt orange couch that looked as if it could maybe fit his legs but not the rest of him.
I waved my hands around. “Don’t be silly.” I told him trying not to let him know how nervous I was. “We can share.”
Again, if he were going to murder me tonight, it would be easy for him.
“If that’s what you want,”
Tossing my bag on the bed, Dylan did the same. We both turned on our cell phones and I was a little amazed to see that I had eighteen voice messages. Nine were from my dad, three from Mercedes, and seven were from Eric. I also had thirteen text messages, ten from Eric, and three from Mercedes.
Where are you? I will come get you. Tell me where you are. - Eric
Did you seriously leave town with Dylan Wade? What were you thinking? I can’t believe you would ditch us like that and for Wade of all people. Thanks for only thinking of you. - Mercedes
Have you lost your mind? I can’t believe you would just leave like that. Does this mean we’re over? It sure seems that way and after four years. This is so childish. - Eric
Maybe I had lost my mind but I was okay with that. Maybe we were over, and I was okay with that too.
Sitting directly in front of me on the burnt orange couch, Dylan laughed scrolling through his own text messages.
“What are you laughing at?” I asked, not looking up from my phone and deleting the text messages, I did not intend to reply to.
“All these messages from Eric.” His hand jetted out handing me his phone. “What a douche bag.”
My first thought was why he had Eric’s number. They weren’t friends. Dylan only ever hung out with a Landon Neel and Danny Wells, his best friend. Aside from them, I’ve never seen him with anyone let alone Eric. As friends, they would have been the most unlikely match ever.
How could you be so stupid about this? – Dad
Nice man. Way to bag the town hottie! Call me. I need details. - Landon
You better not hurt her! - Eric
The last one wasn’t something I expected to see and had me questioning what type of boyfriend Eric James was.
How long have you been sleeping with her? I can’t believe you. - Eric
And then the confirmation came. His phone beeped with another message from Eric.
Did you tell her about Mercedes? Don’t tell her. Please. But I know please means nothing to you. - Eric
I handed his phone back to him but said nothing at first. Confused at my response, he looked at the last message I was clearly not meant to see.
Apprehensive eyes flashed with regret, his mouth opened as if he was going to say something but stopped knowing his response would mean nothing if it wasn’t the truth.
“I’m going to ask you some questions, Dylan. I want honest answers.” I demanded. He gave me a nod so I continued. Everything felt like it was happening all at once. My heartbeat was in my ears, my heart in my throat, ready for lies I knew were about to be revealed. “Are you friends with Eric James?”
“No.”
“How did he get your number?”
“I smashed the windows out of his car last year at a party.” He finally looked at me and deep down a fear I knew was always there inside presented itself like the monster it could be. “My dad made me pay for the damages so I gave him my number for the estimate. Believe me, it wasn’t by choice.”
“Why did you do that to his car?”
He swallowed dropping his eyes to the bed. “He’s a fucking douche, that’s why.”
“What did he do to you?”
“Just drop it.” He tried to get up from the bed but I grasped his arm forcing him back down. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”
“What did he do?”
Glaring at the floor, he shook his head. “I saw something that he didn’t want me to see. It pissed me off so I fucked with his car. End of story.” He said with a shrug as if this wasn’t that big of a deal.
It was a big deal. I could see he was concealing something under the shadows of his stare and deep down, I knew what it was, and I wanted him to say it aloud. I wasn’t naïve but the signs were there. Eric was too controlled and responsible for an eighteen-year-old boy. I knew that he had to have a fault somewhere.
“What did you see? What did Eric do?”
Dylan sat back down on the bed and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. The arms of his flannel shirt remained rolled up revealing the tattoos again. I wanted to ask what they were but didn’t. “Do you really want to hear this,” tipping his head, he looked at me, “or do you just want to hear this because you want a reason to push yourself away from Eric? I won’t be the reason why you do it.”
I didn�
��t say anything so he continued.
“Do you love him?” He whispered.
Did I love Eric? The answer was simple. After today, it was evident that I didn’t. I didn’t love him and I don’t think that I ever had. To be honest with you, Dylan had stolen a piece of my heart when we were kids and there was no way I could love another boy the way I did with him. Though life had completely changed and I wasn’t sure I was in love with Dylan anymore, it didn’t change the fact that he held a piece of it, just him.
Eric was just another piece of my planned out life. How could I love something that was forced on me? I didn’t know him. I knew the planned version that was presented to me.
“No.” I said staring at my phone in my hand. My vision blurred with tears, the checkered carpet of the hotel room confused me when the green and gold colors blended. Just like the lies I’d been told, patterns revealed themselves. “I don’t.”
The corners of Dylan’s mouth twisted. “I caught him fucking Mercedes Grant behind the football stadium. I smashed the windows out his car.”
I thought the feeling that washed over me, pricking my skin would be sadness but it wasn’t. The pricking feeling was a rush of emotions I had never felt before. Confused yes but more so when I thought about why Dylan vandalized his car. I was no longer concerned with Eric at all. What concerned me was why a boy that I ignored all these years felt the need to stand up for me.
“Why?” I asked trying not to look at the freaky carpet any longer.
When I looked at his face his eyes said it all, he did it for me.
I didn’t know I was crying until Dylan brushed the tears away for me. A silence had spread throughout the room aside from the hum of the air conditioner that kicked on.
It cycled through a round and thumped as it shut down.
When he spoke, his voice felt forced admitting to something he didn’t want to say. “I was pissed,” He drew a ragged breath and fixing his attention on his hands. “For eight years I’ve waited for you to see what was in front of you. Everyone brainwashed you into thinking Eric James was what was best for you.”
“Dylan, I—”
