by Piper Payne
I watched his face become suddenly despondent, and I hurt for him. At the end of the day, at least I knew my darkness; it didn’t matter that I wasn’t pretty or loved or popular because at least I knew why.
“Say, FUCK really loud.”
“What?” His mouth fell open, completely baffled.
“Say the word FUCK really loud; in fact, I want you to yell it. The first thing we need to do to dirty up your perfection is to dirty up your mouth.”
His smile widened and the next thing I knew he inhaled a huge breath, bringing both hands up to the sides of his mouth, and then let the word rip and roar out of his chest and into the sky. Every single letter echoed off the bleachers. I covered my mouth and started laughing.
“You feel better already, don’t you?” I teased. Who was I to tell him how to survive in his own life? Because wasn’t that what we were all doing, just trying to survive? I self-destruct and he self-improves.
“Who are you?” Wonder-filled voice, head tilted to the side, he smiled and laughed.
“I’m nobody.” I shook my head, gently grabbing his palm again so I could finish the detail of ink blemishing his flawless skin.
“So you’re just going to remain some mysterious girl in an emerald coat? If you’re so comfortable with your flaws then why are you hiding? Why not let me see you?”
“I am comfortable with my flaws, but that doesn’t mean you would be.” I paused and lightly pressed my thumb to the pulse in his wrist, feeling his heart race rapidly. “Do you feel this?”
“Feel what?”
“This …” I unclasped his black sports watch and took it off, pressing down on his pulse feeling it beat faster. “Wild, fearless, and free. To actually live is rare. Your blood can pump, your heart can beat, and your lungs can breathe, but none of it matters if no one cares if all of it stops.” He reached up with his other hand and mimicked my grasp, his fingertips to my wrist. Two people standing there listening to life in its purest. “He may not care, but I do,” I whispered.
“Landon!” Ashley’s voice beckoned from the other side of the bleachers. “Landon! This isn’t funny. You were supposed to meet me in the parking lot. Where are you?” she screamed, annoyed.
I hadn’t realized it, but I was already running. “Wait!” It was Landon’s voice this time. “Wait! I don’t even know your name!” I didn’t look back; I grabbed my bag and ran out of the entrance turning in the opposite direction of Ashley’s voice. It was too late though. She saw me, a single moment where we made eye contact, before I disappeared.
I ran until I was out of sight before I threw my backpack down on the ground and kicked it. Stupid, stupid idiot! I should’ve run earlier when I had the chance. Being invisible hurts so much more when someone forces you to be seen, and Ashley was going to find out who I was and make me pay for what I’d just done.
I started pacing back and forth; I should just go back there right now and get it over with. I’m going to be humiliated one way or another, she’ll make sure of it. I should just rip it off like a Band-Aid and let her do her worst now instead of giving her more time to bury me later. I edged my way around the fence, trying to remain in the shadows to gain enough courage to face them, but as Landon came into view, I was taken aback by what I saw. There was no Ashley. Leaning over with his elbows resting on his knees, Landon sat alone on a bench. In one hand he held my emerald scarf. He had his other hand open, head hanging down looking at the black feather I drew, beautifully curved along his palm.
The Black family came from old money; they also owned luxury ski resorts and real estate all over the Rocky Mountains. So after Landon almost ran me over, and the fact that I kept seeing his black truck in the office parking lot, I did a little research and found out his father, Franklin Black, owned my entire office building. A couple of years ago they moved one of their property development firms to the top floor, which was where Landon now worked. It was pure cosmic irony—the type of irony in which fate, the universe, God, or whatever almighty force steering this ship had the sole purpose of fucking with my life.
What was worse was that I seemed to be on his radar. I thought he would get the hint after I was so blatantly rude to him, and after my not-so-subtle eagerness to avoid him every day since then, but it’d been a month and he’d been nothing but persistent.
It was the little things at first. His ambiguous smile, holding the door open for me, and scraping all of the snow off of my Bronco. We seemed to always run into each other while using the elevator or coming and going from the building. The universe was forcing me to be near him, like he somehow knew exactly the right moment to bump into me.
But then it was more. He sent me flowers, which I gave to the receptionist. He had lunch delivered to me, which I gave to Max. And then one morning I walked into the station and he’d gotten a repairman to fix the heating unit that I had just been complaining about on the radio the day before.
The note he left on my desk said:
Since you wouldn’t let me warm you up in my truck.
-Landon
He was testing me to see my reactions to those little niceties. The question that kept running through my mind was, WHY? Why now? Why me? In high school he was my weakness, my obsession, my teenage distraction. My pitiful existence became even more fucking pitiful because of my debilitating feelings towards him. It was shameful. But I’ve moved on, at least I thought I had. June and I ran away from Aspen, which meant everything and everyone in it. That included Landon.
My work, Joy Sound Media Group, took up the entire ground level of Landon’s father’s building; it was the broadcasting center for four other local radio stations. Right when you walked inside you could see every station in their soundproof glass studio with one main common area in the center. There was a small café out front with couches and tables so listeners and fans could come and watch the programs while getting coffee. It was decorated with music memorabilia; records and posters were plastered along the brick walls with a few flat screen televisions that played music videos and streamed live feed from listeners’ webcams online.
My favorite part was the musicians’ corner where we had local and famous bands come and play in studio. The brick wall behind them was full of signatures and pictures from all of the rock gods and celebrities that have passed through the doors. My studio had a view of everything that went on, including the main doors and elevators.
Today, when our morning show finished and I was about to leave work, I looked over and there was Landon standing in the lobby waiting for me to leave.
“You can’t avoid him forever, Larkin.” Austin stated the obvious, unable to hide how humorous he found the situation. “You should give him a chance. Maybe he can brush away the cobwebs in between your legs.” He crossed his tatted arms, blocking the doorway, teasing me, eagerly waiting for my retaliation of words.
“Austin!” I growled with gritted teeth.
I didn’t have time for our fun yet childish bickering, even though the comebacks were already swirling around in my head. I ran over to the window, opened it, and started throwing my stuff outside into the bushes. This time I wore galoshes and could quite easily run through the snow to get away from Landon if I wanted to.
“Holy shit, you’re serious? You’d rather jump out the window than talk to Landon Black, who I am pretty sure is starting to walk in here right n-n-n…” Austin switched mid-sentence and his voice went up an octave “…o-o-ow that’s a great idea, Larkin, you bring the Jell-O and I am pretty sure I can scrounge up some AAA batteries.” He winked at me, twirling the new drum sticks one of our listeners sent him and took off. Asshole.
I turned around and there stood Landon eyeing me oddly as I pulled my bag back inside the window. I awkwardly shut it and walked toward my desk, pretending he wasn’t there.
“Larkin, come to dinner with me.” Was that really a question? It came out more like a demand.
“I don’t think so,” I said stubbornly, trying to act busy shufflin
g around papers, and I might’ve stapled something that didn’t need a staple.
“We’ve never properly introduced ourselves, you know?” He walked slowly toward me, sliding his hands into the pockets of his black suit pants.
I pretended I didn’t notice that his tie matched the color of his eyes. What would you call that color? Peacock blue? I shook my head to clear my thoughts. “Yeah, that’s a little hard to do when you’re too busy trying to run me over.” Annoyance and resistance masked my voice.
“It’s hard to do when you’re too busy avoiding me.” He smiled, and I hated that I almost smiled back. It was that damn Colgate smile: perfectly straight, sharp canines, with his lip curled on one side—cocky and confident. The smile he used trying to get what he wanted. Teachers, faculty, and any girl that was in a hundred mile radius fell for that smile. “Do you know when you get nervous around me you play with your hair?”
I immediately let the lock I was twisting fall out of my hand with a frustrated breath. “Listen, Landon …” I hoped my voice sounded in control as I clumsily put on my coat. “I’m not interested.” And just like every other encounter I’ve had with Landon Black, I moved past him and ran away.
There is something beautiful about a blank canvas, the nothingness of the beginning that is so simple and breathtakingly pure. It’s the paint that changes its meaning and the hand that creates the story. Every piece begins the same, but in the end they are all uniquely different.
It’s not really considered running away when no one gives a shit you’re leaving. Regardless, when June and I ran, we ran away to Salt Lake City, Utah. It was as far as we could afford to run, which was obviously not very far at all.
Our new life started out rough, financially and mentally. At first we lived out of the Cadillac, which we called the Hooker Hotel since we got propositioned for sex multiple times a week with a good ole tap on the window from transients while we were trying to sleep. As time passed we finally started living our lives. We found jobs, moved into a one-bedroom apartment, and went to college. It was our new beginning. Our new story. Our new blank canvas.
We left Aspen and swore we would never go back, and we haven’t. We struggle daily to put the broken pieces of ourselves back together and not become the fuckups our past conditioned us to be. Therapists aren’t cheap; I never thought I’d be paying someone to listen and psychoanalyze me. I still dry heave each time I write my therapist a check after he gives me a lengthy monologue reminding me of my issues.
Larkin, I highly suggest you reconsider letting me medicate you for your anxiety. I’d hate to see you relapse when you’ve come so far. Being interested in a man that ties you to your past might be a good way to slowly introduce your suppressed feelings, and as the relationship progresses and issues surface, we can tackle them together. You’re going to have to face the things that happened in Aspen one day, Larkin. You’re not your mother. Just because this man comes from the same zip code she’s still in doesn’t mean the relationship will turn bad.
So here we are trying to live our fucked-up type of normal, splattering paint on our canvas with every new life event. I hoped my next paint choice didn’t end up being red.
It was moving day. June graduated last weekend with her bachelor’s degree, and to celebrate we were finally moving into a two-bedroom apartment.
“The best thing, hands down, about our new place is now I can fold my underwear in the privacy of our own home. Levi, the Laundromat guy, was really starting to creep me out with his hard-on he thought he could hide with a tiny box of Tide.” Exhausted, I threw myself onto our old, mustard-colored couch, laughing.
June followed me into the living room struggling to hold onto a moving box twice her size. I was covered in dirt and sweat, yet she still managed to look cute. Pastel pink. That was June’s color. Not only because it was the permanent color of her cheeks, but she wore it often. She said it makes her feel innocent.
“No way. Levi is not his name.” She chuckled, looking over the box flaps with wide eyes and a silly smile. “That’s like being a florist with the name Blossom or Daisy.”
“Levi Eugene Bates, from Waterloo, Iowa,” I stated, leaving out that I knew he liked Dungeons and Dragons and had a mild case of adult asthma.
She laughed, dropping the box on the ground. “Well, I’ll trump Levi and his boners with the fact that we don’t have to run into our apartment carrying our keys like weapons anymore.” She fell onto the couch next to me and started laughing like our scary living conditions prior to this were some type of joke. It was contagious and I started laughing too. It was a moment. Our laughter was natural, effortless, and happy.
“Actually …” I said, trying to calm my laughter to sound more serious, “what I might enjoy the most is having our very own rooms.” She quieted and looked over at me. “Because now I don’t have to walk in on you getting down and dirty with yourself on our living room couch!” I wailed while tucking my feet underneath her, pushing her onto the hardwood floor.
“You’re such a hypocrite!” she shrieked with embarrassment, covering her eyes, landing with a soft thud.
I smiled and looked around the room at our collection of eclectic thrift store furniture. We left Aspen with nothing and now we were finally making a home. All of our hard work started to pay off and a small part of me was petrified it was too good to be true. Like it would all disappear one day.
June’s laughter faded with my smile. Sometimes I felt like we were always thinking the same thoughts. “Lark, what do you think we’d be doing if we had a normal childhood with normal parents?” She twisted her lips and sat up, laying her head on my lap. I still worried about June; sometimes those big blue eyes looked empty.
“Well, if this was our first apartment, your mom and dad probably would’ve helped us move in.” I smiled halfheartedly while running my fingers through her soft, long, chestnut hair. “Your dad would’ve installed three more deadbolts and then bought you a can of pepper spray to keep in your nightstand, blubbering about his little girl being all grown-up.” I laughed, closing my eyes trying to picture it all. “And your mom would’ve been sweetly overbearing calling you every few hours just to hear your voice, making sure you weren’t homesick yet. She probably would’ve secretly stocked our fridge and pantry with a month of groceries and brought over your favorite homemade soup to help your new place feel a little more like home.”
“Chicken noodle soup. Families that are happy always seem to be eating chicken noodle soup,” she added.
“Yeah, you’re right … she would’ve made chicken noodle soup.” I sighed and smiled. If only.
A surge of guilt ran through me because I’d been hiding something from June and I knew I needed to fess up because it was eating away at me. When I told her about the first time I ran into Landon over a month ago she freaked out. Like, ready to pack all of our shit and move to another state freaked out. I’d been trying to avoid him ever since the parking lot incident, but she didn’t know I failed miserably.
I kept repeating her lecture in my head. “Landon equals Aspen! We have buried that place and put it far behind us. I know your self-tortured heart is happy to see him, but we fled Aspen and all those people for a reason. You don’t want to dig up all that hurt and bring it back into your life. Please stay away from him.”
Which was true, I knew she was right. I should stay away from him, but for some damn reason I couldn’t. He wouldn’t let me. So now I wasn’t sure of how she would take my growing feelings for him. They’d always been there; they just became dormant once we left Aspen.
I bit my lip and looked down at her, admiring her tarnished pearl necklace she twisted in her hand, and decided to just blurt it out. “I’m starting to have feelings for Landon.” I almost gasped and covered my mouth like I’d just said the word cock in front of a celibate nun.
“You what?” she shrieked, bolting off my lap.
“June, I am dying here! It’s like he’s weaseled his way into my thoughts for
weeks and I can’t seem to get rid of him!” I purposely banged my head against the couch and covered my face with a crocheted pillow in shame.
“Larkin, have you lost your mind?” She grabbed the pillow away from me. All I could do was sheepishly look at her and shrug. “Ugh! Landon is everything we ran away from!” She threw the pillow back at my face and went straight to the kitchen to grab two glasses and a bottle of wine. I liked where her head was.
“I’ve thought about it. In fact, that’s all I seem to think about lately.” I started to nervously tug on a strand of hair. “He doesn’t know who I am. I’ve changed my last name. Maybe he doesn’t need to know my past or that we even went to high school together.” I looked at June for reassurance but knew what I’d just said was complete idiocy.
“There is more to it than that and you know it. Why would you want to pretend you’re someone you’re not anyway?” she snapped, fisting her hands angrily on her hips.
“Because, how could anyone fall in love with this?” I yelled back, pulling up my sweater’s sleeve, baring the truth feathered in white ink.
“I know you’re disgusted you even said that. You’re the first one to harp on me about being true to myself even if you struggle to practice what you preach. Our pain is what makes us stronger. Lying and pretending that it doesn’t exist, only makes you a coward. A real man is going to love us for our flaws and deep-rooted scars. We just need to accept that the past always catches up to us no matter how hard we try to run from it and stop being ashamed of who we are.” She handed me a glass that she’d poured to the brim and then took a huge gulp of her own, trying to digest her own words.
