I've been missing you like crazy,
I've been hazy-eyed staring at the bottom of my glass again,
Thinking of that time when it was so full it was like we were tapping the moon for moonshine,
Or sticking straws into the center of the sun and sipping like Icarus would forever kiss the bullets from our guns
-Andrea Gibson, Photograph
Rayna heard his gravelly voice coming through the answering machine, and tried desperately to stop the shiver that coursed through her body. But, she never could stop her reaction to his presence, even if his only presence was a warbling voice through an answering machine. It shouldn't sound like him, it should sound distorted and odd, but it didn't. It sounded like Deacon.
I wish you were here.
And then the beep signaled the end of the message.
Rayna wrapped her hands around the mug in her hands, stealing whatever warmth she could from it. She picked it up and took a sip, the warm liquid coating her mouth—chocolate.
She tried to stop the memories from coming, but she knew it was no use. Not tonight.
Suddenly, she was 17, and back on their fourth date. He'd been so proud of himself: Mini-golf and milkshakes! He announced, as he held his truck door open for her, the sun setting behind him turning the sky a most beautiful shade of orange.
She laughed, sliding inside. "Is this a 1950s movie?" She teased, after he'd started driving. "What's after that? A sock hop?"
He waggled his eyebrows, and leaned his hand across the arm rest and grabbed her hand. "If you're lucky."
She laughed, throwing her head back against the head rest, and squeezing his hand, "We'll see about that."
They arrived at the mini-golf course, and made their way up to a burly attendant—Leon according to his nametag—behind a little window. It was a Wednesday evening, and the park was quiet, the advantages of not having a normal working schedule. The attendant huffed, told them the course rules.
"Who knew there were rules?" Rayna whispered to Deacon as the attendant turned to get their equipment.
Deacon laughed, "Let's break every single one of 'em, baby." He winked at her as the attendant placed their clubs and golf balls on the counter. Deacon picked them up, and grabbed Rayna's hand, leading her to the start of the courses.
"Which one do you want?" He held his hand out, "Red, or blue?"
She reached out, "I'll take blue," she took the ball and bounced it.
"Alright, which course should we do?" He surveyed all four courses, reading their descriptions aloud to her. When he finished, he looked at her, "So, scenic and easy? Or scenic and moderate? Or scenic and hard?"
Rayna smiled at him, "I've never been afraid of a hard course." She headed for course 4.
Deacon chuckled, following behind her, "No, you certainly haven't."
They were halfway through the course, half-heartedly keeping score with the little pencil, wholeheartedly enjoying each other's company when they heard the rumble of thunder in the distance.
Rayna looked at the sky, "Uh oh," She watched the clouds in the sky move in, visible thanks to the brightness of the moon.
Deacon smiled, lining up his shot. "May in Nashville." He shrugged, and it began to sprinkle.
Rayna grinned, and shrugged back, "I'm not afraid of getting a little wet."
Deacon's head snapped up, and a slow grin spread across his face, "That right?"
"Nope." Standing behind the hole, she turned her head to the side, considering, "I'll tell you what. You make a hole in one here, I'll take you over behind that windmill and show you just how not afraid I am."
Deacon readied his shot again, his eyes searching out the best path to the hole at the end of the green. He pulled his putter back and gently hit the ball, watching it careen gently down the slope, hit the rock at the back, and gather speed toward the hole. He watched as it made a half circle around the hole, and stopped about a foot away.
"Damn." He said, eyeing Rayna.
He watched as Rayna reached her boot out and slid the little red ball into the hole, the sound echoing as the ball settled in.
"Looks like a hole in one to me." She smiled as he joined her.
"Oh yeah?" He raised his eyebrows.
"Yep." She grabbed his hand, and led him towards the windmill, the multi-colored lights of the golf course cast themselves on the white windmill, reflected it back to them.
When they were behind it, she turned around and looped her arms around his neck and brought her lips close to his.
"Nice shot." She whispered, a gleam in her eye.
Then, she closed the distance, bringing her lips to his. She sighed as she felt his lips respond to her. He opened his mouth against hers, and she slid her tongue inside his mouth, enjoying the warmth of his tongue. She buried her hands in his hair, her fingertips curling into the hair at the nape of his neck. She made a little noise in the back of her throat, and Deacon responded by pulling her body close to him, taking control of the kiss. He deepened it, and kissed her hungrily, his desire for her evident.
She pulled away to get a better angle, and breathed 'Deacon,' before he kissed her roughly again. He bit her lip, and then pulled away to look at her. "God, you're beautiful." He whispered, his voice quiet, reverent. Her mouth was swollen, her hair wild from his fingers running through it.
He leaned in to kiss her again, and as his lips touched hers, the sky broke open.
The warm spring rain fell fast and hard around them, and they pulled away, looked up at the sky, and laughed. Deacon slid his hand into her hair again, and pulled her to him, his mouth claiming hers again.
The water soaked them, but they kept kissing, their hands exploring each other. Her hands slid across his back, feeling the muscles ripple under her touch. His hands slid up her sides, and his right hand closed around her breast. He felt her nipple through the wet fabric, and he ran his thumb over it.
She pulled away and gasped his name, her head lolling back as she pressed her hips into him. He brought his mouth to her neck and began kissing her there, his hand still playing with her breast through her shirt, teasing her nipple.
Suddenly, they heard someone clearing his throat. Deacon froze, and Rayna's eyes snapped open. Slowly, they turned to see Leon, his burly figure housed under a big black umbrella that was still nearly too small for him.
Deacon quickly dropped his hand from Rayna's breast, and they stepped apart.
"Guess you guys didn't listen to the rules." Leon said, his accent thick. "Number three was 'No flagrant PDA.'" He stared at them sternly, but Deacon could see the hint of a smile forming on his face, "Number 5 was we close if it rains, so y'all are gonna have to go somewhere else to, uh…" He cleared his throat again, "Finish your game." Leon turned and walked away, taking their clubs and golf balls with him.
When he was gone, Deacon and Rayna dissolved into fits of laughter. Deacon pressed a quick kiss to her lips, and then grabbed her by the hand, leading her back to his truck, the putting green sloshing under the weight of their boots as they went.
When they were safely back in his truck, Deacon pulled a sweatshirt out from his small backseat. Rayna took it, and he looked away while she peeled off her soaked shirt, removed her bra, and threw the sweatshirt on.
"Okay," She whispered when she was done. Deacon turned to look at her, and then leaned in to kiss her.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Leon walking to his truck, and laughed. Rayna followed his eyes, and started laughing. "We better get out of here, don't want to break anymore rules." Her eyes were sparkling.
"Up next, milkshakes!" He said, putting the truck into gear and driving off.
They were sitting at the counter, perched on sparkly red vinyl barstools, two silver cups in front of them. The rain outside had tapered off right as they pulled up to the diner, but the place was quiet, except a few people huddled in booths on the perimeter of the building.
They sipped their milkshakes—strawberry for her, chocolate for him—and talked. Years from now, she wouldn't remember what they talked about, she would only remember the way he looked at her, and the way she felt: happy for the first time in a very, very long time; certain that nothing would ever go wrong for her again. She felt so far away from sadness in that moment, that she briefly wondered if she'd ever felt it at all.
"Is this normal enough for you?" He asked, when they were slurping up the last of their milkshakes.
She smiled and nodded, "Yes."
"I think this is what normal people do on dates," He said, throwing a $10 down, and grabbing her by the hand as he stood up.
"It must be," She laughed, following behind him. "Make out on mini-golf courses and get mini-lectures from big men named Leon."
He laughed as he opened the truck door for her, "So, that's what we've been missing."
They drove to a park where he unloaded his guitar from the cab, and led her to a picnic. He sat on the table, opened the case, and strapped the guitar to himself. One foot hanging off the edge of the table, one foot resting on the bench, propping the guitar up, he tuned it.
Rayna inhaled sharply, "It still smells like rain. I love the smell of rain." She said, settling in next to him.
"Yeah?" He played a few notes on the guitar, and made up a silly song about the rain, Rayna harmonizing in the background, adding a verse at the end.
Rayna chuckled, "That might be our first hit."
Deacon smiled, "Might be."
Rayna stood, reached out and took his guitar, lifting it over his head and placing it back in the case. She brought the lid down and snapped it closed.
She put her arms around his shoulders, her body facing his. She ran her fingernails through his hair, "Thank you for tonight," She whispered, her words soft and quiet.
He moved to speak, but her lips were on his before he could get the words out. She kissed him tenderly, exploring his mouth with hers.
Deacon brought his hands to her back, caressing her softly through his sweatshirt. She tasted like strawberry, and the future.
She pulled back, "You taste like chocolate," Her whisper smelled sweet, and she ran her tongue across his lips.
He chuckled, stood, and spun her around so she was against the picnic table. She hopped up, so she could sit on it, as he leaned in to her ear. "You taste like strawberry," He said, his breath hot in her ear. He flicked his tongue out, caressing her ear with it, "I want more," He whispered, and she shivered.
He returned to her lips, and kissed her softly. He gently eased her down until she was on her back on the picnic table, and he was next to her, half of his body pressed against her.
He kissed her deeply, tenderly, and then he pulled back to watch her, noting the steady rise and fall of her chest as she looked back at him, the dim lights in the park coupled with the moonlight in the now-clear sky guiding them.
Deacon was resting on his elbow, and he brought one hand to her face, "I love you, Ray." He was quiet, as though this was new information he was learning, though part of him suspected he'd known it his whole life.
He watched her eyes cloud over with wetness, and she smiled at him, bringing a hand to her face, smoothing over the stubble, "I love you too, Deacon."
He leaned down to kiss her again, and she placed his hand slightly under the hem of her sweatshirt—he smiled against her mouth, and then inched his hand up, his fingers tracing over the soft, smooth skin of her stomach until he got to her breast. The skin was impossibly soft, and his fingers moved against her skin—she sighed against his mouth, and then slipped her tongue inside, tasting chocolate, and her first love.
The memory stopped there, it had to. She wasn't sure if she could handle remembering it all, not tonight.
Rayna swirled the remainder of the hot chocolate, watching it coat the bottom of her mug. She ran her tongue across her lips, and wasn't surprised when she felt the tears come. She wonders now if she would go back to that spring day and change it if she knew that tasting chocolate would forever remind her of tasting Deacon.
Somehow, she knows she wouldn't. She reaches out and presses a button on the answering machine; his voice floats up into the silence.
I wish you were here.
She closes her eyes and fights against the tears, but eventually they come anyway. She never could pretend she didn't miss him. She presses the button again.
I wish you were here.
She thinks back again to that night, remembers herself arching her back on that picnic table, leaning into his touch, his mouth hot and heavy on her body. She remembers sipping milkshakes with him, playing mini-golf, marveling at an unparalleled sense of joy she'd have sworn was never-ending.
She presses the button again, once more, before she has to delete the message.
I wish we were there. She says, her voice mingling with his into the silence of her apartment, the words wrapping around her the way his body did that night.
I wish we were there.
