"Gives you something you can do with your hands
Makes you look cool and feel like a man
In the morning you'll probably regret me
Me and your cigarettes…"Me and Your Cigarettes…by Miranda Lambert.
The good girl and the bad boy….
She was nineteen. Fresh-faced and ripe in that first green up of spring kind of way. She was a good girl who had never put a toe over the line. Hell, she'd never even seen the line to consider crossing it but that's another tale for another time. Out in the world for the first time, she tasted freedom the way parched earth soaks up summer rain…in great gulps and choked gasps. She ran headlong into the wild blue yonder, never considering that she might trip and fall. But fall she did and here is where our story begins.
Maggie gave her friend a rueful grin as they pulled into the lot, weaving through a tangle of cars and couples. She lifted a negligent hand to a knot of familiar faces that waved them over. Cutting her eyes to the girl who sat in apprehensive silence, she questioned lightly. "There's Glenn and some of the guys from school. Wanna head over and see what the plan is?"
Carol shrugged, tightness around the eyes belying her smile. "Sounds good," she said a bit too enthusiastically to be believed.
Maggie grinned and gave her a reassuring pat. "I'll be there the whole time. They don't bite at least not on first acquaintance." She snorted at Carol's startled gasp. "I'm just kidding. Good Lord, gal. You gotta quit being so damned serious all the time. It's okay to let go now and then." She slid the car into an open space and turned to face her friend. "We can go if you want but I think you could have fun if you gave it a chance. What do you say?"
Carol hesitated, biting her lip as her gaze swept the lot and took in the way everyone stood in little clusters, their voices melding and blending in a delightful cacophony. A little voice in the back of her mind whispered that her daddy would have her head if he knew where she was. Another voice, softer but no less compelling, muttered that it was now or never. If she didn't go, didn't try to find out what was out there then she never would. She'd be Caroline Jackson, the dutiful daughter of Millie and Everett Jackson right up to the moment that she became Mrs. Somebody Else and the door would be closed for good. She wanted to live, dammit. She wanted to feel alive and this was her chance. "Let's go," she said breathlessly. Maggie giggled as she threw the car door open and bounded out. Carol, her belly full of butterflies and anxious flutters, followed.
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She tucked herself into an unobtrusive corner and watched the others in fascinated silence. Part of her couldn't help but envy the ease with which Maggie tucked herself under Glenn's arm and slid her hand in his back pocket with a wink and a nudge. Glenn, for his part, reddened slightly but that was it. Somehow in the midst of a boisterous crowd, the two of them had their own little corner of the world. They were completely in sync, navigating the other's personal space with effortless ease. Always touching. Always oriented toward the other. Together. Watching them, it made her feel suddenly alone which led to the need, if only for a moment, to be alone. She slipped into the darkness, letting out a breath when no one called after her.
She walked in the direction of a lone oak standing like a sentinel in the adjacent grassy patch. Her steps quickened, moving toward it as if it were the Promised Land and she a wanderer in the desert who'd caught a glimpse of salvation. She only wanted a brief respite, to get her bearings. Then she'd go back and likely catch it from Maggie. It was tempting fate going off, but worth the risk in her opinion. Time. That's all she wanted. Time to herself. Funny considering she'd come here thinking just the opposite.
She glimpsed an orange spark and a lazy curl of smoke before she saw him propped up against the tree, a shade darker than the night surrounding him. She ground to a halt, unsure of what to do next. She couldn't make him out as anything more than a dim specter, knowing that the ambient light behind her probably allowed him to look his fill. She heard the slow inhale, the tip of the cigarette flaming brighter as he took a draw, savored it, and then the soft hiss as he let it back out again.
She was frozen, caught like a deer in headlights. She could feel his eyes moving over her, from tousled locks to sandal clad feet. He didn't move nor speak, which sent a suspicious shiver down her spine. How long they stood, him watching her and her doing her best not to turn tail and run she couldn't say. Unable to stand it any longer, she straightened her shoulders and took another step and another until she was right in front of him.
"I didn't know anybody was here," she ventured hesitantly. "I don't mean to bother you."
He shifted, dropping the cigarette and tamping it out with the toe of his boot. "You ain't," he returned shortly. "It's a free country. I reckon you can go where you want."
Her cheeks heated at the sound of his molasses slow drawl. Stop it, she chided herself. He's only being polite for goodness sakes. Get a grip. She twined her fingers together for lack of anything better to do and then floundered, unsure where to go from there. "I'm Carol," she finally blurted. "Carol Jackson." It was hard to tell, but she could have sworn that the corner of his mouth lifted slightly. When he still said nothing, she cast about aimlessly for something else to say. "I go to school over at State. How about you?"
He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as he lit another cigarette and blew the smoke out into the night. "You always talk this much, Carol Jackson?"
She flushed at the question, her eyes falling to the leaves at her feet as mortification surged through her like a flood. "I'm sorry…that is…I didn't mean to …shit." Her hands flew up to cover her mouth, cheeks flaming even more as what she'd just said registered.
"Don't stop now," he laughed outright. "You got to have at least one more in you. How about damn?" She shook her head furiously. "Hell?" Again, another headshake. His expression took on a mischievous cast. "Well, fuck that."
Carol's eyes rounded over her hand. He didn't just say THAT. But he did. Not only did he say it but he wanted her to. It was disgraceful, disgusting, and almost decadent the way the word rolled naturally off his tongue. She couldn't help but say it to herself, let it ricochet around in her mind. It was just so wrong and yet, there was the tiniest bit of her that reveled in the strangeness of it. She wanted to say it out loud just to see his reaction.
"I gotta head out," he hooked a thumb in his belt loop, studying her through the shifting swirl of smoke. "You'd better get back." He tilted his head toward the noisy group across the way. She followed his gaze, reluctance prompting her to ease deeper into the dappled shadows. He saw it and couldn't stop the words that appeared from nowhere. "Or you could come with me. It's up to you."
"With you," she echoed weakly. "Where?"
He flicked his cigarette out into the darkness before he shrugged noncommittally. "Does it matter?" Spinning on his heel, he rounded the tree, not waiting to see if she followed, and went to where an old Triumph stood not too far away, its chrome a dull gleam in the moonlight. He swung a leg over the seat, kicked the stand up, and shot her a look. "You coming?"
The impulse was strong to run back to the group, to flee and not look back. Instead she found herself moving toward him, bracing a hand on his shoulder as she clamored unsteadily up behind him. He fired the big bike up and glanced over his shoulder. She met that look with a smile as her arms found their way around him. The dusty wings on his vest tickled her cheek as she pressed it to his back. The bike dropped into gear and raced into the night.