by Stahl, Shey
Embarrassed, I looked down at my feet dangling off the side of the bed, noticing I need to paint my toenails. My mom would have been horrified if she would have seen them. Every Saturday morning my mom, Mercedes and her mother Teresa got together for what they called Spa Saturday at Tuscan Spa Sanctuary in Olympia.
Though they specialized in a Zen-bliss as they called it, it was torture for me and today, being Saturday, I was relieved not to have to attend.
After I regained some composure, I made my way out to the balcony where Dylan was leaning against the railing. Smoke billowing around him as he took a deep drag from his cigarette, his attention captivated by the street below.
His tattooed back and muscles distracted me. His back was to me, so I tried to decipher what the shapes and the writing that surrounded them were. There was one down his spine that appeared to be some sort of scripture in a foreign language.
The moment I opened the slider door, the heat of the morning hit me. It was a nice change from the crisp mornings of the Puget Sound. Though we hadn’t gone far, the climate in southern Oregon was noticeably different.
Dylan looked over his shoulder at me when the slider clicked against the metal frame. His smirk was present when his eyes raked down my body, taking in my black cotton shorts and small tank top.
Since he was examining me, I did the same noticing he wasn’t wearing much other than a pair of navy blue Nike workout shorts with the elastic band of his white boxer briefs peeking through the top.
Sitting in the plastic chair near the door, I drew my legs up to my chest. “Where to today?”
Dylan raised an eyebrow and then put his cigarette out against the railing, tossing it over the edge. “I told you,” he grinned but it wasn’t a grin that held, “city by city,”
“Okay…what city today?”
“San Jose?” He suggested, raising his eyebrows again.
“Okay.” I stood up. “Can I shower first?”
His eyes shined playfully but there was more to the smile than he was leading on. “Can I join you?” He asked, looking completely serious.
“Nope,”
“Such a tease,” he mumbled chuckling when I shook my ass a little at him as I closed the slider.
The flirting and teasing was even more apparent this morning after our confessions but it was also nice. There’s something about flirting with someone you’re comfortable around. It was playfully refreshing. I wasn’t sure where any of this was going to lead between us but it was nice not to know for once. When everything was planned for you, spontaneity and the unknown is something worth living.
I thought about Eric a little and then shook those thoughts aside. Having wasted four years with him, I wasn’t about to waste another moment on him. Even if it was just thinking. I couldn’t stop myself from thinking of him and Mercedes together. The thought was revolting.
Dylan stayed on the balcony as I took my shower. Once I finished, I dressed in a pair of jean shorts and a Rolling Stones shirt my mother would never approve of me wearing and pinned my wet hair up in a messy bun.
Look at me, wearing my own clothes, flirting, hell, I even thought of asking Dylan for a cigarette to complete my transformation. Smiling in the mirror, I finally felt like my own person who’d cut the strings.
When I opened the door to the bathroom Dylan was waiting on the bed, all his stuff was neatly next to him. I laughed and he glared because he knew then that I was aware of the fact that he was extremely methodical. Part of me wanted to reach over, toss his clothes on the floor, and watch the panic rise.
“Don’t be long sugar.” I said as he pushed past me to enter the bathroom.
He made it a point to make sure his chest brushed mine as he slid past me. Shaking my head, I stared at my feet and of course, he grinned.
“Nice shirt.” Tugging at the hem, his knuckles brushed against my stomach. I felt the touch through my entire body. It was like a tickle ran wild and gave me shivers.
Dylan enjoyed pushing the boundaries and when I pushed back, he smirked and waited for me to weaken. It was the same game he played with everyone else whether it is the police or teachers; he had his own set of restless rules.
Unfortunately, for me, I was playing it with him and if I were any weaker to his rebel ways, I’d be standing at home plate waving him in. The thought of being with him was there before I could stop it. Maybe it was because he was here with me that the temptation was there but it was also because deep down, I knew that if anyone knew the real me or even took the time to know me, it would have been him. Unfortunately, as middle school and high school hierarchy usually dictates, we lost touch.
Throughout Dylan’s shower, I mulled over what situation between us was and what it was already doing.
If we couldn’t stop teasing each other, how was this trip going to work? But was it really a trip? Did I want to go back eventually? Did he? Could we run forever?
Then I thought about me and Dylan together, intimately. We shouldn’t be together, right? I hated that my mind constantly went there imagining him. After Eric, I didn’t want to rush into anything but maybe rushing into it would be what I needed.
A good part of my concern was what this could do to Dylan. Even only being around Dylan a day, it was apparent he had some emotional issues, and me, well I was just looking to rebel, right?
If I wanted to rebel what better way to rebel than to mess around with the town delinquent?
Don’t do that Bailey.
I didn’t want to hurt Dylan. Yes, he was a bad boy but he did have feelings and I wasn’t looking to use him nor was I looking to get hurt myself. This could easily go both ways.
After Dylan’s hour-long shower, he came out dressed and ready to go and smelling of aftershave and cologne. I finished packing up my bag which consisted of me just tossing everything in a vintage bag I made from a quilt my grandmother gave me and a few pairs of jeans my mom never let me wear.
I noticed then that all I had in that bag was a few pairs of shorts, tank tops, a few t-shirts I had bought without my parent’s knowledge, and lotion. I didn’t bring any make-up and took comfort that I at least managed to bring some Love Spell body spray and deodorant.
Making our way down the stairs because I refused to ride in that elevator again, we checked out and I raided the stand next to the counter that had maps and various pamphlets on vacation destinations.
When we got in the car, Dylan noticed all the maps. “Did you rob the chambers of commerce?”
“No.” I pushed a few toward him. “I just thought they’d be handy.”
Eyeing the maps, he picked up the one for San Diego and then tossed it aside placing the keys in the ignition. “Uh-huh,” he didn’t look impressed at all.
He probably thought I was questioning his navigation skills.
Before we got back on the highway, Dylan stopped at the gas station to fill up and check the oil. I tried again to pay for gas but he declined.
Knowing my dad would soon cancel my cards and account, I took the time to get as much money out of my bank account. The clerk made me sign a form for the advance from my saving account and I’ll admit my hand shook slightly thinking that this was my college fund I was withdrawing. Any future I had was tied to this money and here I was not thinking about that future any longer.
I ended up withdrawing all of it thinking if my dad had any connections, which he does, the money would be gone come Monday.
As I signed that paper, another thing occurred to me. This feeling, the reason I left, had been festering for a while. Eventually, it would have come to a head whether it was at college or ten years later. Deep down, I wasn’t happy. I’m not sure when it started, I couldn’t pin point a day but it was sometime after Homecoming this last year. I also knew that throughout the year, the feeling, the gut wrenching agony, got louder and I couldn’t ignore it as easily. After a while, like a loud voice, it was all I heard. Run. Get out.
So I did.
It was a feeling that s
nuck up on me and sunk into my skin until one day I woke up and realized I didn’t want the life I had. I was sure that I wasn’t the only one that had felt like this before.
After the gas station, we ate some breakfast at a small diner up the street. The waitress flirted with Dylan so blatantly it actually pissed me off.
I was not experienced in flirting but I understood when two people were sitting next to one another this usually meant they were friends and you shouldn’t flirt with them until you understood they weren’t together. I never gave her the impression I wasn’t with Dylan so naturally the teenage girl in me was upset.
Without thinking, I moved to sit closer to him in hopes that this would deter her a little but it didn’t, it only made Dylan look at me like I was some harebrained lunatic. I probably was.
Once we got back on the road, I started thinking about where this could go with us and where it shouldn’t. Judging by the diner, I was obviously attracted to him. I stared at him shamelessly this morning without regard and he knew it. If I had to guess, I would say that he was attracted to me too but I wasn’t positive.
Watching the side of the road, other than flat land, it offered nothing for my questions. I had my legs pulled up to my chest contemplating what I wanted out of this.
I felt Dylan swerve the steering wheel slightly. The rumble strips vibrated my seat and I looked over at him.
He mumbled something I couldn’t hear before shifting uncomfortably and looking to his left out the window.
“What was that for?”
“Nothing.” Diverting his eyes, he squinted a few times as if he was trying to adjust his vision.
Glancing down, I realized why he swerved.
My tank top was rather low and while I was hugging my legs, it had created quite the push up result on my boobs.
Classic.
Each city we passed through offered its own appeal to me. I wondered how many people had drove this same path only to stop and make a life for them. I could see myself doing the same thing.
It was incredibly hot driving through northern California that afternoon. With a steady breeze, it helped but the humidity was starting to get to me. Without thinking, I yanked my tank top over my head and tossed it beside me. Not that great of idea considering I only had my bra on but I was sweating and Dylan’s car had no air conditioning. It was my only option.
Dylan looked over at me and then averted his eyes back to the road. There was something about the way he looked at me that made me feel drunk though I had nothing to drink.
Steading the steering wheel with his knee, he pulled his t-shirt over his head and tossed it next to him on the seat. It rested next to mine. All I could smell was his rich intoxicating scent of lemon, lilac and oak again. I was seconds away from whimpering when I took in his chiseled form. He looked like a male model, only covered in tattoos.
For being eighteen, Dylan had a nice body and then you add the tattoos covering his upper body, this straight-laced mutineer was intrigued.
Dylan tipped his head to the side, glancing over at me and I could feel his weighted gaze and low voice. “You keep this shit up and we’ll be naked before we hit Sacramento.”
“So be it then.” I smiled back at him. “I’m hot.”
“Yeah, you are,” he mumbled looking to his left away from me.
Nothing was said for about two miles when Dylan groaned, as he ran his right hand down his face, before finding the steering wheel again. “You gotta put your fucking shirt back on.”
I kind of laughed but was more excited that he couldn’t concentrate. “You put yours’ back on or get air conditioning.”
Dylan gave me a look that said not happening on both demands.
“Hey,” I said trying to clarify myself, “you’re nearly naked too and I’m not really comfortable either. In fact, it’s distracting.”
“Just put your shirt on.”
“Put yours on.”
Neither one of us was budging on it so we gave up and settled on ignoring each other.
With the occasional glance at one another, we sat there, both defiantly stubborn, Dylan without his shirt on and me without mine.
After we stopped at a small roadside diner, Roger’s Frosty in Cottonwood, California, we started talking about what we wanted out of this trip.
“I want you to put your shirt back on,” Dylan had said to me and then followed that with, “what do you want to do?”
I knew what he was referring to and it had nothing to do with the shirt. He wanted to know why I came with him and what I wanted out of this trip, if it was even a trip. My mind still hadn’t settled on what this really was between us or where we were heading.
What did I want? I wanted him to keep his shirt off that’s for sure.
More than anything, I wanted to feel alive. I wanted to feel and appreciate a passion for something that I loved. For most of my life, I felt like a puppet on strings and I wanted that feeling gone. I had done what everyone else wanted me to do and now I didn’t know how to act. Like a puppet cut from its strings, I didn’t know how to be on my own but I knew I wanted to feel alive and in just these last two days, Dylan had done that for me. There was something about him, maybe his personality; that told me he had passion for something and a magic that I couldn’t place. In turn, like a sparkling diamond, I was captivated by him.
If you had asked me at three what I wanted to be, I would have said baseball player. I still love sports, especially baseball. But being a three-year-old baseball player didn’t fly with my parents. If you had asked me at five what I wanted to be, I would have said princess. That also didn’t fly with my parents. My dad said that being a princess is an image that’s not worth pursuing. At five, I had absolutely no idea what that meant but decided that I suddenly didn’t want to be a princess any longer.
See a pattern?
If you had asked me at ten what I wanted to be, I would have said the president of the United States. As you can see, that was the time my parents were a deciding factor. I stopped being asked what I wanted and started being told. Or was I ever really asked?
Then again, I never objected. I could have been just as much to blame as they were.
Truth be told, I had been so wrapped up in my life and the things that I thought were important, I had lost touch with many things, myself included. I was if I didn’t know me.
The guidance consoler at the school, Mrs. Wheeler, once asked me what I wanted in my life and I gave her the standard answer that seemed scripted by my parents, college and then of course, a career. But did I want that?
At the time, I thought I wanted that. I also tend to believe that I could put my head in the sand pretty far. I blame myself for that one. And then I would see people going to parties and being teenagers and those thoughts of the perfectly planned life seemed silly and I pulled my head out of the sand a little to check the tide.
The thoughts were still there. I felt that if I didn’t do as planned that I was being disrespectful. When your father is the Jeff Gray, disrespectful is something that is not allowed.
Part of the problem was that soon those moments of wanting to be good became few and far between until I felt like all they saw was what they wanted. No one saw me as a person.
Even Eric. He saw a girlfriend that by many standards was good to him. But something was missing. After a while, I thought maybe that was how it was supposed to be.
In the four years we were dating, we never got past that. Deep down, it wasn’t enough for me and I knew that. I liked to think that I’m an optimistic person but I will say that I’ve been let down a lot too. Eric had let me down.
I thought about all that for a good five minutes before I finally answered Dylan. “I want to make mistakes. I want to get in trouble and feel alive. Like dancing in the rain and being eighteen.”
“And what do eighteen-year-olds do?” he asked, his eyes drawn to a man standing near a picnic table.
“They get into trouble. Lots of trouble―like
starting a riot,”
Dylan ignored my riot comment.
“This trouble you want to get into,” he shifted in his seat to look at me—one hand was still on the steering wheel and the other across the back of the seat, “will you regret it?”
I had a feeling that question went deeper than he intended.
“No―I won’t.” I told him honestly. “I want to let loose and do everything that I never had the guts to do back home.” I swallowed preparing myself and said what I wanted. “And I want to lose my virginity.”
There. I said it.
He shifted next to me but surprisingly, kept his cool. When he didn’t say anything, I continued fearing the silence. “I just need to find someone to do it with.” I began chewing on my fingernails in an attempt to distract myself.
Dylan blinked, his eyes dropping to his hands and didn’t miss a beat when he replied with, “What if it was me?”
“I would like that.”
With a bottle of whiskey and barely any clothes, we made out the summer bucket list in the parking lot of Roger’s Frosty of everything we intended to do to feel alive.
“Stripping…put that one there too.”
“Stripping?” he smirked, his eyebrow arched in question. “You’re actually going to strip? Oh right, you already started.” The corners of his eyes crinkled in amused as he looked at me.
“Don’t judge me, just write.”
“I wasn’t judging you.” Dylan grinned writing my summer bucket list on the brown paper bag from our food. “Do I get to wa―?”
“I said write,” I motioned with my hand for him to continue, my legs bouncing in the seat with exhilaration at the possibility that right now, this summer, I could do and be anything I wanted, “preferably with a pole.”
“Come again?”
“For stripping, a pole for stripping,” I clarified. “Write that down.”
“Writing.”
“I want to smoke a cigarette and get drunk and maybe steal a car.”
