I think I’m starting to lose it. My mind. Like One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest style.
I’m not sure if I can do this whole casual thing with Henry. I’ve got to end it. Ever since we left the mall, he’s all I’ve thought about, and hearing him talk to her has made it even worse.
Callie will be there—in school. Up until now, every time I’ve seen Henry he hasn’t been with her, like at the same time with her. She was at the party the other night, but I didn’t see them together. I didn’t hear the way he talks to her. But I did today. And I didn’t like it.
I’m not a jealous person. I’m not, I swear, but this fling with Henry is making me think things I normally wouldn’t think and do things I normally wouldn’t do.
On the way home from the mall, Rosa drives through a rural neighborhood. There’s a man outside mowing the lawn. I close my eyes and hear the lawnmower buzzing in my mind. The blades twirl in a circular motion as it cuts, slices, and mauls the grass. Then I see Henry so vividly in my mind. He was doing the exact thing the first time I met him and the flashback plays out like a movie in my head.
I see his radiant smile, the dimples in his cheeks, his tan skin with beads of sweat skimming down his chest. I sigh and close my eyes. That hot pre-summer day in May changed my relationship with Henry Garner forever. Why did he have to talk to me? Why couldn’t he have just kept cutting his damn grass and left me alone?
I’m so caught up in my memories of Henry Garner that I almost miss my phone ringing. It rings out the toll of the bells and buzzes. It buzzes right off my nightstand onto the floor. It’s Henry. I want to see him. I need to see him. Somehow I feel like tonight will be our last liason. Our last entanglement. I am going to end this tonight.
I answer the call. “Hello.”
“Hey,” he says. There’s amusement in his voice.
“What’s up?”
“Can I pick you up?”
I glance at the clock. It’s eight. I might be able to swing this if I tell my Mom I’m going to Rosa’s. “Yeah, but hurry. My mom isn’t going to let me stay out real long.”
“I’ll be there in ten.”
I’m downstairs in a flash. Mom is at the computer in her office. She absorbed in this dating website she recently joined. “Five foot three?” There’s a hike in her voice. “No. No. That’s way too short.”
“Mom?” I hang through the door.
“Hi Riley. Do you need something?”
“I’m going over to Rosa’s for a little bit. I’l
l be home in an hour.”
She waves me off. “Have fun. Don’t be too late.” As I walk out the front door, I hear her mumble, “Investment banker, how nice.”
It’s humid out. The wisps of hair on the nape of my neck moisten and start curling. I’ve been waiting five minutes. Every second that passes feels like a year. Has it been ten minutes, yet? Has it?
I feel a thrill—excitement—a rush of adrenaline. Mostly I feel like Juliet, sneaking out in the dead of the night for a secret rendezvous with her beloved Romeo. We’re a lot like Romeo and Juliet, Henry and I. We’re a Shakespearean tragedy.
My Romeo pulls into the driveway, and I’m off the porch running to meet him. To crash into his arms like a car into a telephone pole, every bit and piece of me wrapping around him until he comes plummeting down on top of me.
He gets out of the car and opens the passenger side door. “What a gentleman,” I joke.
He laughs. “I try.”
Once he’s back in the car and we’re on the road I lace my fingers through his. I look up at him. How am I going to do this? End this? Every time I see him I fall. I’m free-falling. From great heights. Fast and furious and I know I won’t splatter on the ground because he’ll be there to catch me. Or will he?
Then I have this vision. Henry is at the bottom of a deep ravine. I’m falling and his girlfriend is falling. As we plummet toward the ground Henry is glancing between us. Torn. Uncertain. Save me, Henry. I wish he would, but I can’t be sure. Which one will he catch? Who will he choose?
Henry. Henry. Henry. If you sing me the stars, I’ll give you the moon. And I’ll make it easy on you. Save me. Choose me. Love me.
He’s staring at me. I catch him out of the corner of my eye. It’s like he wants to see me unravel. Like I’m a spool of thread rolling for yards and yards until I’m at the end of a journey.
Then he licks his lips. The lips I covet. The lips I adore. He looks hungry and ferocious. He reminds me of a ravenous beast that wants to rip into my flesh and tear it apart piece by piece until all that’s left is my skeleton. So that I’m bare bones. Only he can see my insides. He and he alone.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks me as he shuts off the car.