Daddy had given her the journal on her sixteenth birthday and she had never once even touched it 'til the TV news reports started. Not because she didn't want to, but because she was too busy to sit down at the end of every day and take down her thoughts.
She didn't get to pull out the journal 'til school ended early for the summer because the classes were too thin to actually hold class. She remembered saying have a good summer and knowing that she probably would not see any of her friends again. She remembered saying goodbye and wanting to say good luck.
'Til everything began to fall apart and their neighbors became the common enemy, and food and medicine were the currency of the land for the first time in hundreds of years. Chaos erupted, exploded, covered the earth and people fled in terror, without proper thought or action. People hurt each other. People killed each other. The TV cut off, the phone lines died, and electricity simmered out like an ember stomped on.
She didn't remember the journal until her mama got sick and Shawn got bit. That's when it got real. She had been in denial, ignoring the facts, ignoring the helicopters swooping overhead and the repetitive radio broadcasts about the CDC in Atlanta. It was just a normal summer. It was supposed to be just another normal summer-her last before college, before freedom and huge responsibilities and true adulthood.
It was supposed to be a normal summer like every one she'd ever had.
But when she found the journal again, she found a place to let loose her voice. She found a way to stop ignoring the dying world around her and the blatant anxiety tightening like a spring in her chest. It was almost winter and a group of strangers had settled in on their farm, and she was scared. She was terrified. She had just tried to kill herself and she was almost tempted to find a length of rope and hang from the rafters of the big barn so she wouldn't have to worry or be scared anymore. She wanted to die and she wanted to live and she wanted to survive but she didn't know how to. She wanted to forget and she wanted to remember but she didn't know how to.
The pain doesn't go away, you just make room for it.
So she sat down at the desk where her mama used to do taxes and other paperwork for the farm, she took a pen, and uncapped it with her teeth.
She knew no one would find the journal, no one would ever read it, no one would ever know.
What really happened.
To her. Not the world, but to her, to her world.
She started the first line with the first thing that came to mind that she wanted to be written down so she would never forget it.
It all started with a crappy radiator, an oil leak, and dollar store sunglasses.
This is how I ended up loving him.
It all started with a crappy radiator, an oil leak, and dollar store sunglasses.
Her daddy didn't have time to try and fix the car because he was harvesting cotton, and Jimmy and Shawn had tried their hardest and managed to mess it up worse in the mix. Bless their hearts.
"Dixon's is the best place to go," Jimmy'd said bashfully when he reappeared to tell Beth how horrible it'd gone trying to fix her piece-a-shit Toyota. "Right up the road towards town on your left. Can't miss the big blue sign."
So she went. Mary Ella wanted to ride along because Samuel Wilson, her latest obsession, had just gotten a job at the auto shop manning the desk.
"My God isn't he dreamy as all get out, Bethie?" Mary Ella squealed, thumbing through an album of Samuel's pictures on Facebook. "He will be mine. I swear it on my mama's grave."
"Your mama's still alive, silly."
"She'll be dead one day. And Samuel Wilson will be my lovah in the nighttime."
"Mary Ella!" The turn signal blinked lazily, like a punctuation point, as Beth waited for the oncoming traffic to pass. "I can't believe-"
"What? Oh, honey," Mary Ella pressed a hand to her chest, eyelashes fluttering. "Don't tell me you didn't know. I gave that up a looong time ago."
"Oh, I knew, but still—"
"Don't tell me!" Mary Ella gasped. The Toyota soared through the turn with multiple groans and hisses and straight into the Dixon's shop lot. It was half-empty which meant they would be tended to quicker. "You and Jimbo ain't never done nothing dirty in those hay bells?"
"Me and Jimmy have been goin' out two weeks and I don't plan on givin' him anything close to dirty. Ever."
Mary Ella scoffed and propped her oversized sunglasses on top of her white blond perm. Beth could smell her cinnamon bubblegum from where she sat; for as long as Beth had known Mary Ella, that was the only flavor she touched.
"You're eighteen, sweetheart," Mary Ella sighed. "Get a life. Be crazy. Let loose."
"Maybe when I'm older."
She rolled her eyes over-dramatically as she sunk back into the seat with a sigh. "That's what you always say."
"You ladies need help?"
Mary Ella spun to face the driver's side of the car, obviously hoping it was her soon-to-be nighttime thrill, only to find it was the youngest Dixon son, coated head to toe in grease and soot, clad in a pair of torn jeans, an equally dirty wifebeater, with his flannel shirt tied off around his waist.
Beth's best friend sunk back in her seat and kicked her feet up on the cracked dashboard. Dragging her sunglasses sulkily over her eyes, Mary Ella pouted, "Not anymore."
The man squinted, and it was quickly morphing into a scowl.
"You need somethin' or not?"
Beth replied, "Um, yes, actually. My radiator is screwed and my oil is leakin'."
He stepped back and surveyed the Camry like it was a woman he wanted to undress. Carefully, slowly, thoughtfully. It nearly made Beth's skin crawl right off her bones.
"Looks like you need new tires too. Those you got on," he kicked at the front with the toe of his boot. "Shitty. At least five years old."
"Well, I can talk to my daddy about it, but I think I just need the radiator and oil leak fixed today," the younger Greene sister said politely though it took all her strength. He'd kicked her car!
Daryl raised a hand and waved two fingers towards the garage. "Pull right on in. Sam will take care of you. Should be done in a couple days."
"A couple days?"
He scowled deeper. "That an issue?"
She shrunk back. His voice was rough, his eyes piercing. His long hair clung to his neck with sweat. A tattoo peeked above his wifebeater; the tattoo on his chest was a name, but she couldn't quite tell what. Beth had seen this man around town all her life; smoking on the corner of the street, waiting for his brother outside the ABC store, stumbling drunk from the bar her daddy used to frequent in his drinking days. Everyone knew the story of the Dixons'—their mama died in a fire when they were young, the oldest dropped out of every school he went to before he got into jail then the Army, and their father used to beat them senseless nearly every night till he dropped dead from congestive heart failure.
"No," breathed Beth, heart pounding. "That's fine."
He raised his chin towards the open garage.
"Pull on in."
She rolled up the windows as she parked and cut the ignition. Mary Ella shimmied out of her seat and beat Beth to the counter where Samuel sat on a beat-up stool, flipping through a Penthouse. Sure, Samuel was tan, blond, blue-eyed, and muscly, but there wasn't a single intelligent thought going through that head of his. And Beth appreciated a man who could think about something other than beer or sports or naked women.
"Hi Sammmmm," Mary Ella purred. She leaned over the counter, crossed her arms, and made sure her prized Double-D's were in full view for her prey. "How you doin' today, sweetie?"
Samuel scrambled off his chair, grinning like a doofus. "I'm real good. What 'bout you?"
"Oh, y'know, fine. Me and Bethie here just were droppin' of her car then we're headed back to her daddy's farm to go swimmin'. This is heat is killin' my hair." Beth's best friend fluffed her near lifeless curls. "Wanna come with?"
His big baby blues about popped out of his sockets and he grinned. "I'd love to—"
"Hey," the younger Dixon barked as he walked over from the Camry, wiping his hands clean on a bandana. "You ain't goin' nowhere, Wilson. You leave your post, you won't have a job to come back to."
Samuel's Adam's apple visibly bobbed. He relaxed and sat back down on the stool, avoiding eye contact with Mary Ella and Beth.
"Y-Yes sir. I-I'll just s-stay here."
"Y'all need a ride?" Merle, the older Dixon, appeared from the office behind the counter. He took the small bifocals off the end of his nose and smiled at both of the girls, the tobacco bulging in his cheek. "My little brother here can take you."
"Oh, we'll be fine," Beth assured Merle politely. "Thank you, though, Mr. Dixon."
"Mr. Dixon?" chuckled Merle. "Don't be so formal, sweet thing. Ain't gonna let two delicate flowers like y'all walk all that way in this unforgivin' heat. You'll just melt."
Mary Ella straightened. The smile on her face had slipped into a steely scowl. "Like Bethie said, we'll be alright, Mr. Dixon." With that, she grabbed for Beth's arm and they began to turn away.
Merle called after the pair, "I insist, ladies. 'Sides, he's already gonna be headed that way. Ain't that right, little bro?"
Daryl grunted a reply. He untied his shirt from his waist and pulled it over his head. "Meet me out front. Blue truck. Should be unlocked."
"I don't like this." Mary Ella was still scowling as Beth led the way outside, away from the pretty boy toy and towards the battered blue truck. When Beth gave her an annoyed look, she huffed. "What? You know as good as I do that Daryl Dixon is trailer park trash. Ain't no better than his douchebag brother."
"Shh. Keep your voice down." Beth opened the passenger door, climbed in, and slid to the middle so her friend could follow. "They ain't all bad. No one is."
Mary Ella crossed her arms. "I ain't gettin' in that thing."
"Mary Ella." Beth slapped her hand on the tattered leather seat. "C'mon."
"I am not gettin' in that ugly blue deathtrap, Beth."
The driver's door opened and Daryl Dixon hopped in next to Beth, his body heat pressing into hers, instantly making the tiny cab seem ten times smaller and warmer. He glanced up, obviously detecting the tense air between the teenage girls.
"Everything alright?"
Beth looked at her best friend, who in turn spewed a dozen curse words under her breath. Mary Ella tossed her hair. Rolled her eyes. Slammed the door shut and adjusted her strapless tank.
"I'll just stay here with Sam and then catch a ride home when he gets off," she declared, tone final and chilly. Her brown eyes met Beth's in defiance and apology, and she bit her lip and took a step sideways before she gave in. "See ya later, Bethie."
Mary Ella walked away. Daryl, done with asking questions, done with being polite and easy-going, blew a sigh and threw the truck into reverse.
And so that's how Beth Greene ended up alone in a truck cab with Daryl Dixon - of all people.
That's how he dropped her off at the front porch of her family's farmhouse, where her mama ran out to ask her why in the hell she, sweet and innocent little Beth Greene, was in close proximity with the likes of him, the man who hadn't done anything but slink behind in his brother's shadow since the day he came into the world.
"I needed a ride," explained Beth in those four, simple little words. She felt tense and uneasy, she felt like it was a lie even though it was pure truth. "Had to take my car up to their shop and I just needed a ride back home. That's all, promise. He didn't try anything." Her mama glared. "Promise."
"Next time, call Shawn to come get you." The glower her mother's eyes had taken on softened as she pulled her daughter through the house and into the kitchen with her, the smell of dinner combining with jasmine perfume. Mrs. Greene immediately put Beth to work cutting up carrots, telling to her first wash her hands.
It seemed that the topic of Daryl Dixon had been forgotten until the family began to gather in the dining room and Mrs. Greene swept past Beth, stopping to squeeze her daughter's arm and plant a kiss on Beth's temple.
"He could've tried something and if he had—you would've seen a different side of me, baby girl."
"And what side would that be?" Beth joked, testing a lighter-hearted tone. She picked up the bowl of green beans swimming in butter and bacon bits to take to the table with her.
Her mama smiled, but her tone was calm and vicious.
"One I hope you'll never have to see."
Beth didn't care to give a thought to Daryl Dixon (or his creepy asshole of a brother) again until Samuel called the house several days later to let her know her car was ready for pick up.
Shawn gave her a ride to the shop. She told him repeatedly that she would be fine if he went on home, but her brother refused to budge, sitting with his tiny truck idling right outside the garage doors, his big-brother glower fixated on his subject as Daryl walked up to greet her.
"So it's all fixed?"
"Pretty much." He dropped the keys in her outstretched hand and motioned for her to follow. Today he wore a flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped cleanly off and dirty blue jeans with another rag hanging from his back pocket. "Still makin' that god-awful noise though."
Beth's eyebrows knitted. "What noise?"
"You didn't hear it before?"
"No."
He waited for her to crank up, and as the car shifted into gear, a high-pitched whining emanated from under the hood.
Beth leaned out the window and yelled over the noise, "What could that be?"
Daryl shrugged. "Got a few ideas."
"And you didn't try to fix it?" Isn't it your job to fix this kind of crap? she nearly added.
"Did. Still makin' that sound no matter what I do." He propped his hands on either side of the window, leaning in until she could smell not only the oil and grease, but something softer—pine, with a hint of soil and soap. Daresay, but he smelled good.
"For now, just go easy on the old girl. Don't shift too hard or hit the gas too fast or anythin'. Seen how you young teenage girls peel outta places—like a bat outta hellfire."
"Sorry to disturb you older folks so much, Mr. Dixon."
Perturbed at the sudden warmth curling in her gut caused by how close he'd gotten to her, Beth attempted to pull the driver's door shut. He still stared into the car, but it wasn't at her so much as the wheel. She recognized it as the thousand-yard stare that was usually associated with PTSD and soldiers.
Soldiers aren't the only ones who go through traumatic experiences.
"I'll be back in a little while with your check," she said lowly, breaking his focus and her train of thought.
His eyes met hers again and she figured out what color they were: blue. A different blue from her own. His eyes were light and grayish, like early dawn breaking and the evening ending and a dove's feathered breast.
Squirming in her seat, she looked away again. It bothered her that she noticed these tiny details about this stranger, this redneck, this man almost old enough to be her father and she felt the urge to leave. She felt the sense that he wanted her to leave.
"Your dad already took care of it."
He pushed off the car, stood straight, and with a final semi-scowl, he turned and walked away.
She watched him go. She didn't know why, but her eyes followed his retreating back and she felt this pressing in her throat, this urging to speak her mind.
So she did.
She leaned out the window and she called, "Hey!"
Daryl Dixon faltered to a stop and he half-turned, giving her that look that seemed to be his classic mix of irritation and exasperation.
Now Beth had his full attention and she felt that having Daryl Dixon's full blown attention was a really rare thing.
"Um," she stammered. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she could see Shawn throwing up his hands in confusion and mouthing off at her. She glanced back to Daryl, gathered herself, and forced a smile that didn't feel that forced.
"Thanks. For - for your services, I mean."
Daryl Dixon - of all people - courteously dipped his head.
"Come by anytime."
Shawn took a left turn to get to his part-time job at a hardware shop downtown and Beth took a right turn to head home.
She got about halfway down the road when she heard the squeal then the pop! and saw the rush of smoke from under the hood of the Camry.
"Crap!" She gently steered her car off the road and it - like her own life would in a few months - came to a screeching halt. She revved the engine and nothing happened but more squealing. The car slowly died as gray, hazy smoke poured in heaps out of the hood and she scrambled for her cell phone, for help.
Luckily she still had his business card on the dashboard.
"Dixon's Auto Repair, this is Samuel. How may I help you?"
"Sam, hi, it's Beth Greene."
"Oh, hey, Beth! How are-"
Beth sighed, thumping her fingers angrily against her steering wheel. "I need to talk to Daryl."
Samuel stuttered a quick approval and then the phone grumbled static as it was passed to another hand.
"Yeah?" It was Daryl now, gruff and uninterested. The courteous, somewhat kind side of him had already passed by.
"You should've checked that noise. My car's broken down. I'm stuck off Highway 44 just a few miles from your shop."
"And? Whatcha want me to do about it?"
"I want you to get your ass down here and fix it. Now."