September Rain Bk 2, Savor The Days Series (13 page)

Chasing street light,
chasing sonnets, chasing everyone away

I had to give Foster some credit—she
gave me my own room. It was mostly furnished with usable crap she
found at yard sales after I moved in, but the small mattress was
brand new. It was a white daybed, with brass tipped posts and a
trundle. Until I got there, I didn’t know that people in trailer
parks could afford anything nice. Let alone new.

The stigma of trailer trash weighed
heavy on me during the initial drive to her place. It was the one
thing I had managed to avoid in my short life—living in a trailer
park. My case worker told me I’d like it. She said the Foster was a
nice lady and that I was lucky. The last two kids she hosted were
with her for five years and ended up going to college. Brothers—for
an unusual stretch, too.

I was like most kids stuck in the
system who got moved around every couple of months or whenever my
existence became an inconvenience to my host. And I’ll admit, it
was tough moving around so often, but I got used to it and stopped
unpacking. When you know you’re going to have to leave, it just
makes life less messy if no one and nothing is worth liking; I
didn’t have to let go if I never took hold.

But Deanna was different. She treated
me the same way she treated Austen. She talked to me, not at me,
she asked me questions about my life. I’d gotten comfortable with
her. I had stuff and friends and stability. She was kind without
reservation and that made me want to please her.

I
prayed
she’d let me go—because I was
going, no matter what. And if I just cut out, she’d call it in, and
I wouldn’t be able to go back. I’d go straight to Juvenile Hall
when they caught up with me. And Deanna knew enough about my life
to know that they could find me wherever Jake was.

On the other side of my
room, which was bigger than Austen’s, was a small desk Deanna and
me picked out from a junk pile near the dumpsters at the Junior
High. They must have been remodeling classrooms or something
because there was a huge pile of desks with attached chairs for
righties. The Foster found a real sturdy one with hardly any
scratches. It has one mark, actually. Well, three words carved into
the top:
Princess Bitch Face

Beside that little desk was a white,
wooden dresser with a three paneled mirror on top. One of my three
reflections in the paneled mirror looked a little pale, so I took
off the headphones, spread some cherry lip balm over my pouted
lips, and then headed back to Mrs. Smiths.

Avery was still posting on that
plastic chair. Her knees were folded at her chest with both hands
set across the tops of her feet, lacing her fingers through her
toes. The nails of each were painted bright red.

She grinned wide and wicked. “The
countdown has begun. Three weeks and six days.”

We both squealed. Of course Avery
loved Analog Controller as much me.

“On a denser note, I must ask, have
you finished your English essay?”

“Yes. Well, almost.” I corrected.
Avery had a sixth sense for BS.

I sang a few lines
from
Separate Pieces
and Avery joined in. We started shifting, dancing together in
synchronized moves, to one of our favorite songs from
Dividing Daylight
—which
was really saying something because every song on that first EP was
top shelf.

Just then, a buzzer sounded from
inside Mrs. Smith’s kitchen. Avery grabbed my hand and pulled me
with her, heading for the front door. “Well, I want to look over it
when you’re done.”

I rolled my eyes. “So you can
plagiarize it?”

Avery giggled. “Not all of us are as
prolific as yourself.”

The cookie sheet was hot. The oatmeal
mounds were plump and round. They smelled a cinnamon-nutmeg type of
wonderful.

I called out from the steaming kitchen
door for our hostess to come and inspect her cookies. They looked
done to me, but she usually performed a touch-test—the tops must
spring back—to each and every one. Ave and I each held a tray to
ensure they wouldn’t over-bake.

Mrs. Smith shuffled through the hot
kitchen with her big rubber gloves and round sunglasses. She set
her gardening belt on a chair near the door before heading to the
sink to wash up.

Avery rolled her eyes, impatiently. If
the cookies cooled too much, they’d get all crusty if we had to
shove them back in the oven.

I asked, and Mrs. Smith decided, “just
this once, since I’m trying to teach you something,” that it would
be alright to let Avery and me check the cookies
ourselves.

They were all good.

We spent the next twenty minutes
stuffing our faces with warm cookies and milk, listening to Mrs.
Smith’s Beatles records. “Real music,” she insisted.

13

—
Angel

As I walked Avery home, we talked a
little more about my essay. It was going to be easy. Our class was
reading Romeo and Juliet and we had to write a comparison between
the two families, the Capulet’s and Montague’s. I wasn’t worried
about it, but told her I’d call if I needed help. I had to go,
Deanna would wake up soon and make dinner before she left for work
and I had to be there. It was the rule. Plus, I was expecting
Jake.

Avery rolled her eyes when I waved
goodbye from the path in front of her house.

She yelled, “Go get your fine-ass man,
then.”

“I plan to.” I winked before turning
to make my way home.

+++

Jake was running late. He’d called and
said that something had come up—he was still coming over, he just
wouldn’t be able to be there five seconds after Deanna left for
work, like usual.

What should have been two hours turned
into three.

I kicked the sheets off my bed,
pondering and staring at the ceiling.

All I could do was wait for Jake to
arrive. And in the meantime, I hoped the coming weeks would lumber
along as well—with all the speed of a crippled snail. Somehow, time
managed to stretch beyond its’ natural limitations whenever I was
looking forward to something. (Out of spite, I think.)

I was dreading that tour—the
possibility of leaving without permission and probable separation
from my treasured boyfriend. Jake was everything to me. And
everything in life changes, I knew that. I was used to it. But not
where Jake was concerned. He’d been my constant anchor through the
storm of bullshit, and knowing that his life would be changing,
meant mine was, too, and I was just beginning to realize how
unprepared I was.

Outside my bedroom window, unseen cats
screeched and tussled in the black night. Occasionally, a car would
turn from the roadway into the trailer park, flashing their lights
into my window as they passed. I watched the flicker of two beams
run across the ceiling and spoke his name.

“Jake.” I muttered and turned into my
pillow.

I was all alone. Austen had already
left for his girlfriends’ house. It was the third time that week
that he’d left me alone for the night. Things with his girl,
Sheila, were getting serious.

A dull thud sounded from the front of
the trailer. I sat up, looking out my window to find his dirty van
on the driveway.

When I opened the front door, Jake was
standing on the porch, leaning on his elbow that was propped
against the doorframe. He wore a plain white t-shirt and jeans. His
black acoustic guitar was slung across his back. The plain red
strap slashed across his chest, adding definition to his delicious
structure. The way he leaned put him so close that when I answered,
he only had to shift an inch or two for his lips to meet
mine.

I fought a smile. “Would you hate me
if I said that I only want you for your body?”

He chuckled, “Hate you? I’ve come to
count on these no-strings sexual encounters.”

With a touch of his cool mouth I was
in heaven, feeling the bursting tingles aroused by his embracing
kiss as he expectantly walked into my arms. He planted several
quick kisses over my face and neck, mumbling through an explanation
of why he was running behind. He gave lots of details about how he
got off work late and how band rehearsal was interrupted by a guy
who showed up unannounced to audition for lead
guitarist.

Andrew had put an ad in a free paper a
few weeks before. They hadn’t had any nibbles, so it was surprising
when someone just showed up. They talked with the guy and listened
to him play. Then, just as Jake was leaving, he’d gotten a phone
call from a girl who’d also seen the ad and wanted to audition.
Jake was so late because he had to wait for the girl to find the
house.

“Prospects are looking good.” He
breathed into the column of my neck.

I told him how riveting it was—“it
really is, but . . .” He smiled artfully, almost bashful, as I
lifted my nightgown up and over my head. “We have other, more
pressing matters to discuss.”

Jakes eyes danced with humor and
something else as he took the wad of fabric from my hands,
unceremoniously tossing it behind me. “I’ve been looking forward to
this discussion.” Then his arms enveloped me, pulling me tight
against him, as he leaned down and caught me in a breath-stealing
kiss.

Jakes’ mouth was spellbinding. His
lips cast me into another world. Each kiss felt like the first—big
and unbelievable. Like a blind man seeing for the first time. I was
lost in him and it didn’t matter if we made it to my room. We were
alone. There was no time limit. And the night was young. Like
us.

We did, eventually, make it to my
room.

I watched Jakes’ striated arms move in
the moonlight seeping through the curtains. They embraced and
overpowered me. His lips alone burned me up, tore me down, and
rendered me to ash before we were done.

And when we were done, he wasted no
time starting the conversation in the exact place I cut him off. I
traced my hands over the patterned muscles in his back as he
talked. “So, the first guy, Gary, will play with us in Tempe and
the second in Glendale. Whichever does better at the gig, gets the
gig.”

I nodded my head, moving in to kiss a
mole over his shoulder blade and set myself upright beside him.
“Sounds like a plan.”

“So, you’re cool with
this?”

“Jake, I don’t get a vote. If I did, I
would vote that you keep playing lead and singing, but that’s not
what you want. You want to be the best at whatever you choose to
do. And you choose to sing.”

“I’ll still play rhythm.
I’m just saying, I don’t want this to become an issue. I mean,
she’s
really
good, babe.” His eyes widened, making his point. “Max and
Andrew already want her. But I’ve never wanted a chick in my
band.”

He smiled when I pretended to be
offended. But honestly, I couldn’t have been happier that he wanted
to keep the group all guys.

“Mixing genders makes
drama. I can already see it: one of those two will end up trying
to
do
her and
then it’ll turn to shit.”

“Tell them not to.”

“I can’t do that. I mean, I did, but I
shouldn’t have to. I’m not a damn babysitter.” His hand pressed
into my back as he got out of bed.

I stood alongside, watching him watch
me get dressed. “You should write a song about it.”

“What would I call it?” He worked one
leg into his jeans and started on the other.

“Is she cool?”

He shrugged. “Seems like it, but you
never really know a person until you travel together.”

We made our way to the back porch
where Jake pulled a red and white pack from his front pocket and
lit up. If he smoked in the house Deanna would know. She’d just
quit a few weeks before and had a heightened sense for nicotine.
Jake was planning on quitting, too, but it was tough for
him.

A mild wind caught the ashes he
flicked into the sandy dirt patch Sunny Vista trailer park called a
yard. His hair, which had grown out some since his last buzz cut
had transformed into a James Dean-like awesomeness that flipped
back and thrust forward at the same time. He really hated it, kept
threatening to cut it off again, but I loved it. I reached for the
gathered mass in front and pressed the silken lock back from his
eyes.

“How about, Psychology of
Jackals?”

His perfect profile, illuminated by
the neighboring porch light, disappeared as he turned to face me.
“For what?”

“For a song title.”

He raised his eyebrows.
“That’s . . .
actually
kind of cool.”

“You’re surprised?”

He pulled me close, setting his arms
around me. “Everything you do surprises me.”

I rested my head against
his chest, listening to the sounds of his breath. His heartbeat.
His strong arms curled behind my neck and across my shoulder. His
talented fingers traced small circles down my arm.
Aerosmith’s
Come Together
grooved through the night air from somewhere in
the trailer park. Jake hummed the melody as I sighed.