"Error 1703, Network connection lost. GPS location unknown. Contact service supplier for details."
"Okay, God! I heard you the first fucking ten times!"
Yelling and cussing out the surroundings may not have been the best solution to her anger, but it sure as hell made Mercedes feel better. The GPS navigation system on her Samsung Galaxy phone had been saying the same thing for the past half hour, and Mercedes was at her wits end. How could she call the service provider if there weren't any bars out here? Although, this was her fault, for the most part. She should've just listened to her father when he offered to fly her out to Boston. Mercedes could've drove to the airport, would've never gotten lost, and all would be well.
But this was her chance to be independent! She was eighteen, and now was the time to break out and be the "strong, independent black woman" her mother had encouraged her to be since forever.
And look where being a strong black woman had gotten her: in the middle of Timbuk-fucking-tu. Nowhere, anywhere, everywhere, Mercedes didn't know where she was. At this point, she could've been in the wrong state. Because she didn't know.
For once, her mother was wrong. Mercedes should've listened to her dad.
In Mercedes' defense, she couldn't be that lost. Sure she was lost, but not like, lost lost. She was still on the road, after all. But there weren't any street signs around and the vicinity was deserted. God.
"Error 1703, Network connection lost. GPS location unknown. Contact service supplier for details."
"Fuck you." Mercedes snarled nastily at her phone, flinging it in her backseat. It promptly hit her Yamaha keyboard and bounded away, her phone case popping off. Shit.
Really, cussing and bitching wasn't the answer to her problems—especially when no one was around to sympathize—but again, it made her feel a bit better.
Except now, it didn't.
The sun had set and now stars were taking its place in the sky. If Mercedes wasn't lost—and beginning to get scared—she would've admired it. The sky was clear and there weren't any flashy buildings in the way blocking the starry night. It was beautiful, but under these circumstances, terrifying. Now she didn't have broad daylight on her side, and she heard that song before: the freaks came out at night. For a moment Mercedes considered breaking down and crying. Just to let it out and get a level head back on her shoulders. Pfft. Some strong woman she was.
She stared at herself in the rearview mirror, tear streaked face and all. Her hair was no longer tamed and smoothed down. Instead, it was frizzy and puffy. Her glasses had smudges in them that she could see but was too lazy to clean off. Mercedes looked like a hot gangsta mess. It may have been the summer, but it was twilight, and she could feel the temperature dropping. She only had her university sweatshirt in the backseat. In her tee and denim shorts, she would free to death. Probably.
Mercedes was debating on whether writing a death note was appropriate or not when she saw something. Finally, she saw something, someone, on the side of the road. She slowed down a bit because it looked like a breakdown, but she didn't stop. No way was she going to pick up a stranger. As she got closer, she saw that it was a fruit stand.
She could've cried. Yes! She could ask this whomever for directions and be on her way. On her way to the Berklee college of music to follow her dreams and be a successful recording artist. And in that order.
Whether this person knew it or not, her future depended on them.
The stand wasn't really a stand. It was actually an old Ford pickup. Mercedes sighed as she slowed to a complete stop. Of course, because what else can you expect from people that live in Timbuktu? Anyway, the trunk, or whatever the fuck they called it—tailgate?—was pulled down and filled with fruit. Watermelons, cantaloupes, strawberries, apples, you name it. Beside the stand was a man reclining in a plastic lawn chair, a cowboy hat pulled low over his face.
Mercedes contemplated shifting into drive and speeding off. She knew how country folk worked. She'd been to shoot-a-minority Tennessee before; she knew racism was an epidemic in the south. But this was—God, where was this? Where the hell was she?
The man lifted the hat off his face as Mercedes turned her car off. He set it down on his chair just as Mercedes stepped out of her Jeep. She had mace in her purse—one wrong move and he was getting it—so she could protect herself, if the time called for it. She hoped it wouldn't though.
If the man before her was racist, it would be a damn shame, considering how nice he looked. He was tall as a threshold and almost as wide, with tanned skin and bright hair. His face was soft and sweet looking, which was the polar opposite from the rest of his body. He was glorious.
"Hey there," He said politely, dipping his head down slightly as he probably would've if his hat was still on, "Would you like some fruit?"
"Uh…" Hell no I would not like some fruit, Mercedes thought, as she glanced over at the pickup. If he gave her good directions, maybe she'd consider buying an apple. Maybe.
She shook her head and looked up, trying to get a good view of the guy's face. "Well, I'm sort of lost. I don't know where to get back on the highway."
And by sort of lost she meant completely and utterly lost.
The man flashed her a smile, bright white teeth against tanned skin. Mercedes was almost in awe by how gorgeous he was. What was doing here, selling fruit? He should've been a model. Her eyes dropped down to his arms, and how good they looked in his grey tee shirt. Mercedes watched him take her appearance in as she stepped closer to him. She had on her university sweatshirt now, and it about covered her shorts. The sleeves were pulled down to her knuckles and she was wearing sandals. She was struck again by how much of a hot mess she must've looked.
"I can help with that." He said, his voice low.
Mercedes shivered, and not because it was getting cold. "That would be great, thank you."
He nodded, walking to the road and gesturing for her to follow. She did, walking so close to him she could smell his scent—masculine and something sweet. Probably the fruit. He turned and looked down at her, making her feel short. He was already so tall; it was no surprise that she was dwarfed beside him.
"Where are you trying to get to?"
"Highway 117," Mercedes answered, inhaling deeply. He smelled delicious, "I'm going to college in Boston and from 117, it's supposed to be a straight shot."
"Oh," He sighed, "A college girl. How is it?"
Mercedes stared at him. "I wouldn't know. I'm starting this week. It's a music college, so I'm sure it'll be amazing."
"I bet," He replied, before looking forward, "The highway, right?"
"Yeah."
"Okay," He started, pointing in the direction Mercedes would've gone in if she didn't stop to ask for directions, "You were on the right track. Just go straight until you see traffic lights. From there there's a little country store with an old Coke sign, you gotta stop in and ask Mrs. Hummel for some of her sweet tea."
He was staring down at her, and her stomach clenched. His eyes were almost as green as the apples he was selling. "Okay?"
"Okay."
"So a bit past that—you can't miss it—there's a two lane cross. A left will take you to the interstate, but a right…will bring you right back here to me," He warned, "You would've went in a circle."
A circle right back to him.
Mercedes bit her lip as he put his tanned hands in his pockets and faced her. For some reason—and she didn't know why—it felt like more. Like he just gave her an ultimatum when they were just directions. It was beyond ridiculous. Boys didn't have this effect on her, especially not strangers. Mercedes had gone so long not liking anyone that she had accepted the possibility that she may have been lesbian. No guys attracted her, and her best friend Santana was, so why not her? Mercedes had concluded that she was gonna have to have the coming out talk with her parents soon, but this farmer boy—whoever he was—was changing her mind. He made her realize that she was very, very straight. And it was weird, to have such a compelling attraction to someone that she could barely breathe.
Even though he had just given her directions, Mercedes felt more lost then she did before.
"Oh, alright then," She breathed, putting a hand to her chest to stop herself from going into cardiac arrest. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Mercedes made a move to turn back to her car but stopped. She felt like she needed to say something, but what? She already said thank you, so why did she feel like the conversation was unfinished?
"You have a long drive ahead of you if you're going to Boston." He said, smiling, but he looked sad.
"Well, I'd do anything for music." Mercedes blurted out. She blushed ridiculously and he laughed.
"I like music too," He replied, "I play the guitar. Do you play an instrument?"
"My vocal cords," She said brilliantly, flushing. He laughed again. "I meant the piano. I play the piano a bit and…and I sing too."
He nodded. "Makes sense."
Mercedes didn't know how that made sense, but whatever. She turned to leave. "Take care."
"You too. Drive safely." She looked up at the sky and sighed before switching her gaze back to him. Stars were dancing in his green eyes.
"I will." Mercedes looked at him one last time. Tanned skin, white teeth, those muscled arms and that large chest. He was handsome, really and truly. Like something out of a book. Someone startlingly beautiful.
This goodbye didn't seem right. But what could she do? It was already dark, she was lucky to have approached this stranger and leave with her life. Mercedes couldn't stay and talk to this gorgeous guy for the whole night. She had places to be, things to do. It had almost been a week that she had been travelling to Massachusetts, but for the first time she felt lonely. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing, or that she forgot something. Mercedes checked the rearview mirror and saw Sam run his hand through his hair angrily before kicking his poor old Ford pickup.
She felt the same way.
Mercedes thought about the fruit seller as she drove, feeling lonelier the further she got from him. He wasn't racist—not like she had a keen trait of determining that—and he was polite. He was also very cute, and he seemed to be a hard worker. His hands were huge.
Insanely, she let a scenario play before her eyes. The cute fruit seller saying something in that country way of his and dipping his head down to lay a kiss on her. It was never going to happen, but she had a right to dream. And it was absurd, too. No way did she go her whole love life thinking she was gay (or asexual) just to be stumped and turned into an easy girl. Eighteen years of untainted thoughts just to have the strongest urge to kiss some guy she met on the side of the road.
She was always sentimental when it came to stuff like this. Maybe Mercedes had just read too many books and now since she had a crush for the first time she was being overdramatic. That was probably it, because nothing else made sense. But driving away without ever even touching him, well, that felt sad. She was never going to see him again; she couldn't have at least gotten a touch?
…And his name! God, why didn't she think about that before?
Mercedes cussed under her breath as she stopped at the traffic light. Sure enough, to the left, was a little country store with an old Coke sign. He did say she had to get some tea from Mrs. Hummel. So she had an excuse to stop and get her emotions in check. Who was Mrs. Hummel anyway, his mother? Mercedes would figure out. Besides, she loved tea.
You're probably going into the lion's den with a bunch of racists, Cedes. She thought, stepping out of her car and locking it. So what if the fruit seller wasn't racist? That didn't mean everyone else wasn't. Mercedes hated having to contemplate whether or not someone was going to hate her before she even gave them a reason to. Just because she was black. It made her paranoid and untrusting, which was sad, but what can you do.
The country store looked like a house from the outside, and Mercedes was more worried now than ever to go inside. What if this was someone's house? She was gonna get a cap popped in her ass.
Thankfully, it really was a store. She stopped at the entrance, looking around at the old glass pop bottles and Daily Heralds on display.
"Sorry about that! Did you need something?"
Mercedes jumped, already clutching her purse and ready to use her mace if necessary, when she laid eyes on the woman in front. She was probably in her thirties, with a few stress lines and limp hair. But her skin was just as tanned as the fruit guy's. Probably his mom.
"Mrs. Hummel?" Mercedes asked, because she could very well be wrong.
"That's me," She replied nodding, wiping down a counter, "Unless you're a bill collector."
"Uh." Mercedes was anything but.
"Oh honey I'm just kidding! So, did you need something?"
That was the second time she asked that. Mercedes nodded, finally finding her purpose standing there. She watched Mrs. Hummel set a pitcher down on a table before talking. "I got lost trying to find the highway and I came across the fruit stand a few miles back. The guy at it told me where to go, but insisted I stop here for some of your tea."
"Is that right?" She asked, surprised. "Sam's such a sweetheart to tell you that. I don't think he's ever done that before."
Sam. Mercedes rolled the name around in her head. Sam the cute fruit seller.
Someone came around from the back—he was huge, taller than Sam actually—and grabbed for the pitcher sitting at the table. He looked at Mercedes for a moment before pouring himself a glass of…whatever that was. Tea?
"Sam's never seen someone that looked like her before, Mrs. Hummel." He snickered, grinning at her.
Mercedes' face burned. Look like what? Black? He'd never seen a black person before? Well, that wouldn't be so hard to believe. This was bum fuck nowhere, after all. She pushed her glasses up her nose and bit back an insult.
"You know not to talk to a lady like that Finn," Mrs. Hummel scolded him, huffing, "Apologize to our guest while I get her some tea."
"I was just saying that she's pretty!" He called after her, but she had already walked away. He sighed before turning to Mercedes. "That's all I was saying. You're a looker, y'know?"
She promptly blushed. As if being pretty was a part of her common knowledge. "Thank you?" Yeah, because thank you was a question.
"Who's pretty?" Someone asked, coming from the back of the store. He had a Mohawk, whoever it was. He looked at Mercedes before looking over at Finn.
"Yeah, she's pretty hot."
Mercedes stared down at her feet, unsure of what to say.
"Lord, you two!" Mrs. Hummel admonished, coming back with a paper cup for Mercedes, making the much taller and broader guys cower. It was almost comical to watch. "I'm sorry about them; they don't know how to be gentlemen yet. Not like Sam, he's much sweeter."
Mercedes took the tea and sipped it before practically drowning herself with it. It was good. "The tea's amazing, Mrs. Hummel."
She waved the compliment off. "Oh it's nothing. So, where are you headed, since you got lost?"
"College," Mercedes replied, "For music."
"A college girl…" The guy with the Mohawk said with a sly smile playing on his lips. "I heard they're wild—"
"That's it! Puck, Finn, go take the trash out and make yourselves useful!" Mrs. Hummel yelled, making Mercedes jump.
Finn pouted, punching Puck in the arm. "I didn't even say anything!"
Mercedes smiled. "How much is the tea?"
"Nothing since Sam sent you. And plus," She went on as Mercedes tried to protest, "College is expensive. When I went I was broke almost all the time. So enjoy this."
"Wow, well, thank you. The tea's great. I really should be going though, it's late." Mercedes waved at Mrs. Hummel before leaving and driving away in her Jeep again.
As she got back to the traffic light Sam told her about, she looked at herself. She thought about college and music and her divorced parents, her dreams and not giving up and everything else she had ingrained into her mind. Mercedes was never going to tell her dad that she got lost, because he would just say 'I told you so' and she didn't want to hear it. And no way was she telling her mom. Mercedes was supposed to be strong and independent. Not a confused hot lost mess. No.
Then Mercedes thought about Sam and the fruit and his white smile. He was a sweetheart apparently, and probably a hard worker too. She tried shaking off her obvious attraction, but no cigar. She didn't even know him, all she knew was his name, but she still wanted to know him. The hardworking sweetheart that sold fruit on the side of the road in an old Ford pickup. Mercedes waited for the light to turn green, and contemplate which direction to take. Left meant college, right meant Sam. Why was there even a debate? It was obvious what route she was taking.
She turned right.
Mercedes cussed herself out as she drove. She didn't know what she was doing. She drove all the way to that damned fruit stand, still not knowing what she was doing. She was wasting gas, that's what she was doing. Sam was reclining in that lawn chair, with that stupid cowboy hat on his face. Mercedes sighed.
She slowed down to a stop, because that's what she was going to do right? It's not like Mercedes was going to go around driving in circles like a manic. Sam pulled the cowboy hat off his face and it looked like he was surprised. He should be—a girl got lost successfully twice on his watch.
He stood up as she walked over to him, smiling. Why was he smiling? This wasn't funny.
"Lost again?" Sam looked like he was on the verge of laughing, the asshole. His smile still made Mercedes' knees wobble.
"I—I'm not lost this time. I found what I was looking for." No sense in lying.
His eyes narrowed like he was trying to make sense of the situation. Mercedes was proud to have already been there done that. Because it didn't make sense, none of it made sense, and she knew it. Soon he would too.
God, he was so tall. Sam was a freaking skyscraper—what was she doing?
"It's Sam, right?" Mercedes said, trying to smile like Sam did. He made his heart warming smiles look so easy when in fact, they were impossible to imitate. Mercedes probably looked like a psychopath.
"Yup." He popped the p.
"Well, I—" She what? What was she going to say? "The directions. Thank you. And the tea's really good." Oh God, oh God, oh God.
"What about your name, college girl? You know mine, shouldn't I know yours?" The moonlight was making his tan skin glow.
Her knees wobbled again. She was going to fall eventually, she just knew it. "It's Mercedes." Of all the names… "I know, it's a car name. It's st—"
"I like it. It's uncommon, and…I like cars."
Mercedes had to laugh at that one. He was about as articulate as she was. "Thanks."
"Boston's a cool place. You'll like it."
"You've been?" This was news to her.
"Twice."
Mercedes stepped closer to him, and brilliantly she stumbled, knocking her glasses right off her face. Everything was blurry, but she could see Sam's tall form crouching down to retrieve her glasses. By the time she got her glasses back, she was standing so close to him she could feel his warmth.
Mercedes wiped off her glasses. "Thank you."
Sam nodded, leaning down. He was so tall. "Hold still."
She had no choice as she felt him brush away something on her face that was awfully close to her eye.
"What is it?" Mercedes breathed after he pulled away.
"Eyelash." He replied, presenting his huge thumb to her. She saw the black lash and quirked an eyebrow. Sam made all that fuss to get an eyelash off her face?
"You were the best part of getting lost." Mercedes blurted out.
"What?"
"Because—because," God, why couldn't she shut up? "Even before you gave me directions, I wasn't lost anymore. I found you."
The moonlight picked up in his green eyes. "Mercedes." He said the name once, just breathed it, and she never knew her name could sound so beautiful. Like music.
He reached out and put a warm hand on each side of her face, tracing her eyebrows, his thumb touching her bottom lip—he tasted like apples—and then he dropped his hand, looking embarrassed.
"Sorry." He murmured.
"No…don't be sorry." Her body was humming. Couldn't he hear it?
"It's just…we're strangers."
"No…" Mercedes felt her world tilt. No. They were strangers, but this was different, so different. "This is different Sam."
Sam looked at her so intensely that Mercedes saw stars in his eyes again. "It is, isn't it?"
She nodded.
"Well then..." He trailed off, looking down at her lips. There were so many butterflies in her stomach she could've hurled.
"Well?" Mercedes managed to ask.
"Well then, I should kiss you, shouldn't I?"
She didn't get a chance to answer, because he grabbed her face again and pulled her to him, closing the gap. And then he was kissing her. It was the best first kiss she never dreamed of. His lips were soft and tasted like fruit and left hers tingling. God he was so warm. He lost his hand in her puffy hair and kissed her harder, molding his lips into hers. Kissing him was the best thing she ever felt in her life. Soft and sweet, warm and wet. God, wet.
Mercedes melted away. It felt better than all those callbacks, all those medals and awards and making all state. It was better; it was a million times better. Better than singing on a stage and feeling free, no—kissing Sam was liberation. He held her head in place, pulling away to come back again, giving her short deep kisses. Then he stopped, giving them a chance to get their bearings. His body was strong and hard and right up against hers.
Sam was so beautiful.
"Wow." He said, out of breath.
"I know."
"I really like you Mercedes."
"I like you too," She replied quietly, "And I don't want this to be the only time I see you Sam."
He nodded, in complete agreement. "It won't be, I promise."
Mercedes looked up at the dazzling night sky, feeling for once that she didn't just earn her happiness, but rather, that it fell into her lap. She turned to Sam and he was looking at her so deeply that her stomach flipped. When Sam kissed her every thought she had blasted away, and Mercedes closed her eyes, the feeling of liberation overwhelming her, and she saw stars again.
There are probably typos…
Hope you enjoyed my little oneshot! It was inspired by many things, one being the song 'Good Directions' by Billy Currington and another of course, being the night. I write at night so much that I depend on it for inspiration. The Samcedes archive has been somewhat dormant lately, and writing this reminded me why I love them so much. So tell me what you liked about this and how you felt about the Samcedes!
Please review!