Three Summers

“So… ” I say back, unable to really form words. I know I need to lay everything out in the open and that we need to come to some sort of a conclusion, but now that I’m here, I’m at a loss.

“Sorry about yesterday… I just lost it.” I can see out of the corner of my eye that he has his head bent low, like he’s ashamed. “I saw you there, vulnerable again, and I just acted.”

I nod my head in understanding. I get it. “I understand. It seems that the attack didn’t just affect me. I sometimes forget that you were there, too.” Guilt seems to be filling my mind more and more these days.

“I think our breakup affected me more than the actual attack, and that’s all on me. It’s my fault.”

“Rowen,” I say, and he turns his head and looks at me. “Being your friend kind of sucks.”

For a moment, his eyebrows dip and then he grins, and I let out an audible laugh, which he soon follows. “Back at ya, sport.” We laugh a little longer and I’m thankful for the lightness in this moment. It’s refreshing from how it normally feels, like we’re trapped in this dark subdued place, all the time. It’s like, give me a damn flashlight!

“It’s not working. At least it isn’t for me.” I murmur, looking back out at all the expanding hills.

“So then, what do we do?”

I don’t say anything for a while, trying to collect my thoughts and calm down my erratic breathing. The thought of this being our last conversation, this being our goodbye, makes me want to reach over and cling to him for dear life… and that urge does nothing but scare me. My heart is too invested in him to make any decisions… this woodsy scent eloping with my senses, his rough voice filling my ears, his knee brushing against mine… it’s too much. So, I do the only thing I can think of.

“I have a proposition for you.” My heart soars, as my mind balks.

“Are you using my own tactics on me?” He lets out a chuckle and I swear I can feel it inside my chest.

“I think we take the year, to figure out what we want. I need to get myself together. I… I don’t know what I want. But being friends with you is just too much.”

He takes a second to take in the landscape, which gives me a perfect excuse to study his strong profile. “So, what you’re saying is that it’s all or nothing?” Our faces meet and the shadowed crevices give nothing away.

“Yes,” I breathe. “It’s either we try this thing between us again, or we’re done.”

“I already know what I want,” he says in a husky voice as he adjusts the hat that’s perched perfectly on the back of his head. “I want you. All of you. So, the chess pieces are in your hands.”

I swallow loudly, squeezing my eyes shut and clenching my jaw. What am I doing?! My mouth opens, propelling words faster than my mind and stop me. “Well, if I decide I want to try us again, then I’ll come back to the Club… again. If I don’t, then I’ll find something else and put the necessary distance between us.” Because, distance is exactly what I’ll need if I decide I can’t be with him. If I can’t get my heart and mind to come to an agreeance, I’m going to need about fifteen hundred football fields separating us. Right now, it feels as if I’m at an impasse.

He says nothing, but slowly nods his head. Then he peeks up at me, the moon casting a flawless glow on his face, emphasizing those devious shadows along all the right places. I feel my hand twitch to touch him. “So, no communication, right? Just like last year?”

“Exactly,” I answer. I won’t be able to make a decision if I talk to him. I’ll be swayed by his voice, his presence. I just know it. He might as well be a damn vampire.

For a while, we just sit on the bed of his truck. Staring at the distance, lost in our own thoughts. I glance up and watch the stars twinkle in the sky and a state of calmness washes over me. It feels so right to be here, under these same stars with him. How can something that feels so right, be so wrong?

“Ya know… ” he starts, as he looks over at m

e and then back at the midnight sky. “It’s like the stars have realigned, just for us.” My eyes saunter toward him and then back to the sparkle above. If I look closely enough, they really have…

“I feel like we have bad luck,” I whisper, still staring at the sky.

“There’s no such thing.” He leans back on his hands. “There’s just… luck. It’s all about how you look at it.”

My expression stays the same, wondering what he means, and he starts up again. “Think of the attack. You could look at it as bad luck, but you could also look at it as good luck. It turned you into a badass, strong-willed girl. I think that’s a good thing.”

I take in his profile again, not caring if he catches me. I take in the entirety of his face. Everything so perfectly placed. His cheek bones prominent like his jaw. A perfectly straight nose that leads down to luscious lips. I watch as he brings his head down from the sky and turns towards me. “Samantha being a devious, lying bitch… that could be considered bad luck, but you could also look at is as good luck; now you know what a real friend is like. There’s always two parts to everything. Just like with luck.”

“Are there two parts to what happened with us?” I counter, barely audible. I bite my lip while waiting for his answer. His eyes dip down to my lips and back up to my eyes.

“Yeah, it’s not bad luck. It just made us both realize that what we had was real.” My heart blooms at his words but my mind has her fists up, ready to guard. What an interesting thing to leave me with all year to dissect.

For the next hour, we sit back and talk like old friends. Reminiscing over the memories, our friends, all the things we did together before everything went to hell. It all feels so familiar and so comforting to be in this place with him again. Away from all the hurt and emotions usually swarming the two of us; it almost makes me regret setting up this proposition because suddenly, being away from him for the entire school year feels like getting a swift kick to the gut.

“We should probably go. Old Man Henry’s gonna come out here with a shotgun soon.” I crack up at his words. That happened one time, when Rowen and I were out here for hours. Literally hours. We had sex (a couple of times, to be honest), danced to the staticky country music pouring out of his crappy truck speakers. Then we laid in the grass, holding hands. It was probably one of the best nights of my life, until Old Man Henry came out with a shotgun, threatening to shoot us “kids.” Rowen and I jumped into his truck, laughing uncontrollably and he sped down the dirt road as fast as he could. Dust was flying everywhere, but in the distance I could see a determined overweight man with a shotgun perched on his shoulder.

I laugh. “You’re right. Let’s go.” The goodbye is looming in the air and my laughing stops within seconds. I hop down from his truck, brushing the debris from my bare legs. He jumps down beside me, landing softly in the grass, and I cannot breathe. Not a single breath is leaving my body. We’re only standing a few feet apart, and I watch as his chest rises and falls unsteadily.