I called him this morning, even though I knew he was sleeping. I secretly had hoped the ringing of the telephone would wake him. I just wanted to hear his voice. When the answering machine came on, I hung up. I don’t know why I didn’t leave a message, or yell his name so he’d startle awake and rush to the phone. I couldn’t bring myself to admit that he’s slipping through my fingers.
In a way, coming to France was a mistake. I’m not any closer to figuring out what I want to do here, except sightsee. My heart is torn in half. Part of me wants to go back to Texas and be with Tyler, but I’m afraid of what that means. The reason we left Texas was because my mother wanted something better for us. Could she have gone about it differently, yes, but she did what she felt was right. I don’t want to end up like her, pregnant as a teenager and alone. History often repeats itself and that’s my fear with Tyler.
The other half of me wants to stay here. I can get lost in the crowd and no one would be the wiser. Yes, school has to happen, but not for a while. I could move to London and study there, or just forgo college and work as a barista. Since meeting Zach, he’s opened my eyes to what the world could be. The possibilities are endless and he’s right. If I choose not to stay in Paris, it doesn’t mean I have to go back to New York or even Texas.
It’d be nice if all the answers to life were written in a book, or displayed in a vending machine. Hit a button and you get the secret to success. Hit another and you’ll find true happiness. I think I’ll take A7 today and insert my change. My reality is much more bleak, at least for another week. Next week I’ll turn eighteen. Zach will still be here, but I haven’t told him. He doesn’t even know how old I am. He hasn’t asked and I haven’t volunteered the information that his tour guide is still just seventeen.
Zach is an open book. He was born and raised in Detroit where his father still lives, working as a machinist. His mom died from cancer days after he enlisted in the Marines. He’s also on his second tour of duty and ready to be back in San Diego so he can take up surfing. Instead of going home to see his dad, he opted for a vacation away from life.
I don’t blame him.
I’ve seen him every day since we met at the tower. He’s fun to be around and I like him. He’s different from Tyler and there’s a side of me that finds that refreshing. I haven’t told him about Tyler, not that I need to. I don’t ask Zach if he has a girlfriend because I assume if he did, he’d be with her and not with me. We are in the City of Love after all.
He was only supposed to be in Paris for three days, but decided to stay longer. I tell myself it’s because of the magic of Paris and not because of me, but I’m lying to myself. Just as I’ve been lying to Zach about whom I am. He should know that I’m only seventeen.
Today, I’m full on American. Since I’ve been here, I’ve been trying to blend with the Parisians, not today. Ball cap, khaki shorts and a t-shirt. We’re going hiking. I’m not a fan, but I’m willing to try anything once. Zach assured me that with his survival skills, if we were to get lost, I’d be in good hands. I fear those hands. I’ve tried to shy away from physical contact, but it’s impossible. I’m gravitating toward him and before I do something stupid, like kiss him, he needs to know everything about me. I vow to make today the day and hope he doesn’t leave me in the woods.
Zach knows where I live. It happened just like I thought it would. We were supposed to meet at a café near my house and I was running late. I stepped out, and he just happened to be in front of my door, walking along. He jumped, and I laughed at the absurdity of the situation. I don’t mind now that I know him a little better, but it’s still awkward. He’s ever the gentleman, though, walking me home at night and making sure I get in safely. And in true romantic fashion, I open my window to tell him I made it safely into my apartment instead of texting him.
The first time I did that, I watched him walk away, wishing he were Tyler. I want to be enough for him. I’m just not sure who I am at this point in my life. Tyler knows what he wants – the ranch. He’s was born and bred to do that where I wasn’t. Every part of Texas was taken out of me when we moved to New York and I don’t know if I fit there anymore. I love the solitude that the ranch has to offer, but working there every day is not what I had envisioned for myself.
Zach isn’t offering an alternative. I’m not asking him for one either. He is opening my eyes to other possibilities. Making sure I know there’s more than just the high society bullshit that my mother spews. Speaking of, I missed my weekly phone call with her and I fear if I don’t call her soon, she’ll show up. Alexis is none the wiser to my daily activities. She’s more absent than my mother is. Score one for Savannah in the parental unit category.
“What happened to your dad?” Zach asks as we walk along the dirt trail. The sun is out, but the temperature is cool. It’s perfect hiking weather according to my human survival guide.
I knew it was only a matter of time before Zach would start asking questions about my life. I step off the path and find a place for us to sit overlooking the town we’re in. Each town is almost the same, churches, mansions and cobblestone roads. Everything has been preserved inside the smaller towns, but upgraded with modern conveniences.
“I wish I had a life full of memories like you do with your mom. I don’t though. I don’t even remember my dad. The only way I know what he looks like is through pictures that my aunt and uncle kept. And even those are yellowing from age.
“When I was two, he just didn’t come home one day. It wasn’t until later, maybe when I was ten or so that my mom told me he had died from cancer. I was just too little to remember the agony he was in, or how sick he was. We lived with my aunt and uncle and my dad was going to take over the ranch when Uncle Bobby died, but once he passed we moved to New York and my mom started over. Even changed her name to something that she deemed more acceptable.”
I move some branches with my shoe and gather my thoughts. “Everything that I am today is not who I was supposed to be. My daddy wanted a Southern Belle and so did my mother for a while. I don’t know what changed with her or why Rivers Crossing wasn’t enough.”
“You know the way you just said ‘daddy’, it’s the first time I heard a hint of a southern drawl from you. You’re very good at hiding it.”
I chuckle and groan. “It’s not by choice, believe me. I was as twangy as the girls you see on television, but my mother – who used to be ‘Momma’ – wouldn’t hear of it. She put me in speech classes to remove any signs of Texas. She thought people would look down on us if I didn’t pronounce my g’s.”
“Do you miss Texas?”
What a loaded question that one is. I think about whom I miss, not necessarily the town or the state. If I could put Tyler, Aunt Sue, Uncle Bobby and even Jeremiah in another location, I’d do it in a heartbeat. Thing is, they’d hate New York. Except for maybe Jeremiah. The girls there would flock to him because of his charisma and good looks. He’d just have to bat his eyes, and they’d come running.
“I miss my family, but I’m not a country girl. The idea of waking up before the sun is out doesn’t appeal to me. But the bonfires at night and the stargazing are things I’d never pass up.”
“Do you have a lot of friends there?”
I shake my head. I’m sure I would’ve but I wasn’t there long enough to get to know any of my former classmates. “No, just a few,” I say without using Tyler or Jeremiah’s names. The less he knows the better. It’s not like I’ll ever see him again after he’s gone.
“No boyfriend waiting at home for you?”
“I don’t have a home,” I tell him. “My mother doesn’t want me in New York and she doesn’t want me in Rivers Crossing, either. I’m here because she doesn’t have to worry about me.”
“Let me hear you say something with your accent.”
I look at him strangely and wonder if he’s mocking me. It’s not like people from Michigan don’t carry a different dialect. Each region does.
Sighing, I try to think of
the most ridiculous thing I can. “I’m fixin’ to get all gussied up for the hoedown at the honkytonk.” I turn away with embarrassment and cover my face.
“I happen to think Southern girls are cute,” he says as he turns me around and pulls my hands away. I wish he hadn’t because I know what’s coming next. His lips brush against mine while his warm hand caresses my cheek. He doesn’t rush nor does he care about the people walking by. His lips are soft, inviting and everything a first kiss shared between two people should be, except this isn’t what I want. Any type of first kiss should be met with lightning and fire. When he pulls away, he’s smiling.
“We shouldn’t do this,” I say, watching his face fall.
“Tell me why not.”
“Because I’m only seventeen.” The words are out of my mouth before I can sugarcoat them. I could’ve said it differently, but the verbal vomit has its own ideas. Zach looks away briefly before getting up and heading to the trail. I let him go. He needs to digest what I just told him. From his stories about his life I can easily put him at least at twenty-eight, if not older. A man like him will want nothing to do with a girl like me.
Tyler
I’ve worked my ass off since the day I took off to file my passport application. From sun up to sun down, I’m on the ranch making sure everything is getting done. My nights are now met under the cloak of darkness with critters watching my every move, waiting to come out and scrounge around for rodents and vermin. I’m throwing them off their eating habits, but if I have to suffer, so do they.
The first few nights when I walked into my house, supper was sitting on my table wrapped tightly in aluminum foil. Now Aunt Sue just brings it out to wherever it is I’m working and demands I take a break. I don’t know where I’d be without her. Probably wilting away under a tree somewhere, dying of starvation and thirst.
My ass is dead tired and I’m barely hanging on. It’s not a good combination for a rancher to be tired and running heavy machinery, but someone has to get the job done... and done right. Jeremiah has his own responsibilities and after I let one crew go last week, I can’t afford any more mess-ups. When I do make it to my house, I’m out cold, almost falling asleep in the shower most nights. Even the ringing telephone ain’t enough to get me to open my eyes and roll out of bed. I tried, it wasn’t gonna happen.
Bobby and I haven’t really spoken about my upcoming plans to go to Paris. I don’t know if he doesn’t want me to go because of the ranch or because he wants me to leave Savannah alone. He hasn’t said and I’m not asking. The way I see it, it’s my life and I need to know whether to move on or wait. If Savvy tells me to wait, I will because I love her and I know she needs to find herself. But if she tells me to move on, so be it. I can do that and respect the fact that she’s asking me to. It’s this limbo shit that I can’t deal with.
Savannah and I should’ve resolved everything before she left, but we’re young and naïve, thinking we have the whole world and nothing but time ahead of us. Truth is, we do, but we may not be together. I have to know, either way.
Back in the barn, I’m inspecting the stalls, making sure they’re cleaned and the horses have fresh hay. The tack room is cleaned and everything put back in place. Bobby hired a young girl who’s home for the summer to take care of the horses since Savannah is gone. I think he expected her to be here, just as I did.
It’s late and I need to pack, although I know I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb with my cowboy hat and shit kickers. As soon as I step into my house, the AC cools me down but not enough. The shower will take care of the rest. I check the answering machine – no calls. I didn’t really expect her call, but had hoped to hear from her. My gut is telling me that she’s forgotten about me, moved on. If she has, I’ll have my answer. It’ll hurt, but I’ve been down that road before.
Jeremiah is taking me to the airport. I’m leaving on a red-eye flight and am downright nervous. I’ve never flown before and a few of the townspeople suggested I fly somewhere small before getting on a transatlantic flight, but I’ve never had a reason to leave. All the traveling I have to do is done by truck: Auctions, cattle runs, horse swaps. Can’t really take a horse on a plane.
The cold water runs through my hair and down my back. Aunt Sue bought me a loofa to use to make sure I’m spic‘n span clean when I go to see Savannah. I told her Savannah ain’t going to care. She’s used to me like this, but Aunt Sue wouldn’t hear of it. She even bought me liquid soap that smells like a man, or so she says. I have to admit, after using the loofa, my skin feels pretty good. Not that I’d admit that to anyone else.
I’m packed and pacing the floor, waiting for Jeremiah to get here. I should’ve driven myself, but instead I listened to Della when she said parking at the airport is a bitch. I hate depending on other people and knowing Jeremiah, he’s been out hooking up and has completely forgotten.
I realize he hasn’t when I see headlights shining through my window, almost blinding me. Of course, he would have his high beams on just to annoy me. I grab my bag and the present Aunt Sue has for Savannah, making sure my ticket is in my back pocket along with my passport, and head out the door. The fear that’s bubbling in my gut is about to drive me crazy. I’ll be hurt if she doesn’t want me, but it won’t be the end of the world. It’s not like I haven’t lost her before.
At the last minute, I decide to leave my cowboy hat at home and just take my baseball cap. If I’m going to win her back, or convince her to come home, I need to try and remind her about the good things she’s missing, not the things that annoy her. Besides, I don’t imagine there are many cowboys in Paris, but you never know.
Once I was on the plane I knew I was out of my element. Aside from the lack of legroom, the seats are compact, the elderly lady sitting next to me is knitting and asking me if she can use me to measure because I’m just like her grandson, and the flight attendants don’t speak English. I’m utterly tired and confused.
Once we’ve landed, I can’t help but think this is all a mistake and I should’ve just called her and made her have the conversation on the phone instead of coming over here. I’m lost and following the crowd out of the airport. Per Della’s suggestion, I brought a carryon. I packed what I could in this suitcase, borrowed from her, so I wouldn’t have to wait for my luggage. I’ll have to kiss her when I get home as a thank you. I’m grateful for her advice.
Tour buses, taxicabs and black cars line the parking area in front of the airport. I haven’t a clue as to where I’m going, aside from having Savannah’s address on a piece of paper, and I’m not sure how to get there. I fear I’m quickly going to lose it and all I want to do right now is turn around and get on the plane back home. This place isn’t for me. I should’ve spent the last week learning French instead of working until my fingers bled.
Somehow I thought there would be subtitles, but I don’t know why. It’s not like English has ever been the official language of France, so why should they cater to us Americans? They shouldn’t. It’s me who has to adapt, but I’m an idiot. I need to wear a sign on my shirt that says, “Stupid American looking for his girlfriend,” and maybe someone would be gracious enough to help me.
“You need help?” I turn at the sound of a man voice behind me. His English is broken, but it’s enough for me to understand.
“Yes, please.” Pulling out the paper that has Savannah’s address on it, I hand it over and he smiles. I take that as a sign that he can help me. He nods toward the taxicab and tells the driver where to take me. All I know to do is to shake his hand and tell him thank you.
I’m holding on for dear life. I think this driver took lessons from Jeremiah. Taxi drivers give new meaning to tailgating. I’m not sure how drivers can cope when someone is right up your ass, honking their horn. After a while he pulls over, stopping in front of a hat shop – perfect. He points to the meter and I count out what I hope is enough money. The lady at the airport was nice enough to give me a quick lesson on Euros as she was exchanging my money
before I left. I just hope it’s enough. He doesn’t say anything as I get out and pulls away before I even have the door completely shut.
It’s just my suitcase and me standing at the door that should hopefully be Savannah’s. I open the door and climb the stairs, quickly realizing there are multiple apartments at the top. I find her door and knock. Then I knock again and wait.
She’s not home, that much is clear. I don’t have anywhere to go and I’m not that eager to leave. With my back pressed against the wall, I slide down and pull my knees to my chest. Now I just have to wait.
Savannah
I don’t know how much time passes before I get up and head toward the trail. Zach is nowhere to be found. I should be worried he hasn’t come back, but I’m not. I deserve to be left here. If I had been honest from the beginning he could’ve been on the rest of his vacation instead of staying in Paris to hang out with me. Instead, the selfish Savannah played her cards, and it’s coming back to bite her in the ass. Someday I’ll learn. At least I hope so.
This is another reason I miss Tyler. He’d call me out on my bullshit before I get in so deep that I hurt someone else. I really need to speak with him. I need to hear his voice to fill the void that I’m feeling. I don’t know what to say except I’m sorry. He’s the last person I want to hurt and my radio silence is doing just that.
I pass a few people... lovers... along the path. The sight of them, arm in arm, sends pains to my heart. She’s twirling a flower, one he likely picked for her along the way. Given the chance, Tyler would be like this. He’s a pure southern gentleman- opening doors, pulling out stools and helping me mount my horse. I just want him doing those things in a city where we can thrive and really become a couple. Staying on the ranch is boring and mundane. Cleaning horse stalls every day and heading into town at the end of the day or eating with Aunt Sue and Uncle Bobby isn’t how I want to live my life.
The Reeducation of Savannah McGuire Page 12
