A Five-Minute Life

It was early yet; a little after seven. The heat and humidity hadn’t yet taken hold. Morning light slanted silvery and gold over the grass. I walked the circumference of the grounds along the fence and came to the side that fronted the parking lot. The rev of a motorcycle’s engine sounded, and I watched a man ride up.

He wore jeans, a black leather jacket, and boots. He maneuvered the bike with a casual sexiness that glued my eyes to him. I knew who it was even before he took off his helmet.

“A motorcycle, Jimmy?” I murmured. Heat flushed through me when he removed his helmet and ran his fingers through his dark hair. “Not fair. Not fair at all.”

He plays guitar, sings like Eddie Vedder, and rides a motorcycle. A girl’s ovaries can only handle so much.

“Hey,” I called from my side of the fence, stopping him in his tracks on his way to the front of Blue Ridge. “What is that? A Harley?”

“It is,” he said, striding over. “How’d you know?”

“Lucky guess.” I watched him approach the chain-link fence.

“You’re up early,” he said. “Feeling better?”

“I feel great. Stir-crazy but great. And I’ve never seen you out of uniform in real life. You look so different. I’d never have known…”

That you were all this, Jimmy.

“I guess that’s the point of the uniform,” he said. “Keeps the focus on the work.”

I nodded. “Delia put me in a uniform too. All those boring clothes. This is the real me.” I coughed, suddenly shy again, the way only Jimmy could make me.

I expected his eyes to rake me up and down—I wanted them to. The desire to feel desirable to him came over me again like it had in the mall. To be pretty for him. But his dark brown eyes never left my face. They held mine with an intensity that stole my breath.

“I like the real you, Thea,” he said. “I always have. Doesn’t matter what you’re wearing.”

My fingers on the chain-link squeezed as another flush of heat swept through me.

“You keep saying things like that, Jimmy and I’ll…” I sighed. “Nothing, actually. I can’t do anything from behind this fence. Quite the metaphor.”

I gave the fence a shake. It rattled, and Jimmy flinched from the sound.

“Oh, I’m sorry—”

“It’s n-n-nothing,” he said. “Bad memories. I got thrown against a lot of chain-link fences in high school. The sound of it stuck with me, I guess.”

“Then I hate this fence even more,” I said, wanting to touch him softly. To soothe away the hard memories. “I hate that I’m on this side and you’re on that side. You’re free and I’m trapped in here. I’m awake and alive and in the exact same place I’ve been for two years.”

“I know,” he said.

“Well?”

He glanced around. “Watch out,” he said, then tossed his motorcycle helmet over to my side. It landed a few feet from me. Jimmy scaled the eight-foot fence, kicked his boots on the top, then dropped easily down on my side. I could smell his cologne and the leather of his jacket

“Better?” he asked.

“Not really. I’d rather you’d have lowered a rope made out of sheets tied together and hauled me out on that side. Neither of us belongs here.”

He squinted, his gaze taking in the grounds and the sunlight spilling over the grass.

“I’m late for work.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You want to go for a walk later?”

I cocked my head. “Is that the Blue Ridge Sanitarium version of a date?”

Unfazed, he shook his head. “Dating isn’t allowed.”

“Do you always play by the rules?”