“Where are we headed?” I ask, adjusting slightly in my seat so I’m facing Beckham.
He glances over at me and my lips tilt upwards, reaching my arm out across the middle console. His face lights up as he takes my hand in his and interlaces our fingers, and I pretend not to notice the lack of tingles or any other physical response when our skin touches.
Obviously I’m attracted to Beckham, or I wouldn’t have agreed to go out with him in the first place. With his wavy blond hair, light blue eyes, and never-ending wardrobe of flannels and jeans, I realize he looks like an older version of my brother—and a lot like me—which is probably why I gravitated toward him at the beginning of the semester. He makes me feel secure and relaxed, like I’m at home. He’s comfortable.
“I thought we’d see a movie and then go grab a couple of beers,” he replies with a squeeze of my hand.
I shift nervously in my seat. “Umm, you are aware I’m not twenty-one, right?”
“My cousin works at a little pub down the mountain. You’ll be served if you’re with me.”
“I don’t drink.”
“You get stoned, but you don’t drink? That makes no sense whatsoever.” He scrunches his nose up in a not-so-flattering manner.
I knew I shouldn’t have shared that joint with him a couple of weeks ago, but I wasn’t even thinking when I lit up in my car while we were hanging out, listening to music between classes. Pot is such a natural thing for me—a part of my everyday life in multiple ways—that I forget it’s not like that for everyone else.
Of course, at that point, I couldn’t very well deny him a couple of hits off it, which subsequently led us to a spirited discussion debating joints versus vaporizers. I made it clear he wasn’t going to sway me on my old-school love of hand-rolled doobies, and apparently, he doesn’t seem to mind too much, because every day since then, he’s followed me out to my car to partake in my ‘archaic’ form of smoking weed.
“It makes all kinds of sense. When I smoke, I do it to chill out and focus, not to act like a belligerent idiot who makes a bunch of bad decisions that I wouldn’t normally make. Plus, I kind of dig my liver. I want to keep it around for a while.”
Chuckling, he shakes his head incredulously. “So you don’t dig your lungs?”
“I do, and I’m not going to argue with you about this, but there have been absolutely zero cases of lung cancer attributable to smoking weed,” I retort as I attempt to pull my hand free from his, but he holds tight. “Anyway, the point was I’m down for the movie, but don’t want to go to the bar. It’s not my scene.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. We won’t go.” He kills the engine as we pull into a parking space outside the cinema. Lifting my hand to his mouth, he kisses the back of my knuckles and grins. “Tonight’s all about you, babe. Whatever you want to do.”
I relax a little and return the smile, feeling bad for snapping at him. “’Kay, let’s get some popcorn and cokes and go watch the movie. I haven’t been to a theater in years.”
Beckham continues to hold my hand throughout the night, and a couple of times during the chick flick—which I’m sure he chose specifically for me—he leans over and kisses my cheek or the corner of my mouth. The kisses are nice, sweet even, but that’s all they are…nice and sweet.
When he drops me off at my house, he escorts me to the front door like a true gentleman, and finally gives me a real kiss, lips on lips with a hint of tongue action. Again, the kiss is just mediocre, nothing mind-blowing or even belly-fluttering, but enjoyable.
Waiting on the porch, I watch as he gets back in his F-150 and pulls out of the drive with one last wave of the hand. Then, right before I turn to go inside, movement outside of cabin number eight catches my eye, and as I narrow my focus on the area, I think I spot a flash of brown hair on someone on the porch, but the figure disappears before I can tell for sure.
“Mom, you still up?” I whisper as I tiptoe back inside the cabin, hoping I don’t wake Caleb in the process.
“In and out,” she mumbles groggily, cuddled up next to my younger brother. “I couldn’t go completely until I knew you were in. Is everything okay?”
Hanging my jacket up in the closet, I quietly kick off my boots and pick up the TV remote to turn it off. “Yeah, I’m good,” I sigh, lying down on the other queen-sized bed without bothering to take my jeans off. “I just can’t believe we’re finally here. It’s been a long day…shit, it’s been a long year. And I really hope this works out.”
I squeeze my eyelids together, holding back the emotional tears that threaten to escape. I am not going to cry. I refuse to give in to the exhaustion. Not after we’ve come this far.
“I’ve got a good feeling about this place. There’s something magical here; I just know it. Now get some sleep, Crew boy, we can start to explore tomorrow. I love you.” Her soothing voice whispering the nickname she’s called me since I was a kid acts as a warm blanket, tucking me in for the night.
“Love you too, Mom.”
Lying awake in the darkness, I think about the whirlwind of activity over the last few months as Mom and I’ve been working, alternating shifts seven days a week in order to save up for our big move. After exhausting all the neurologists in the Dallas area—and trust me, that’s a lot of neurologists—and trying all the standard antiepileptic meds on the market, we had changed tactics, reading everything we could on the internet, agreeing to try anything that didn’t sound outright dangerous. Lifestyle changes, avoiding triggers, ketogenic diet—nothing helped. In fact, my little brother’s seizures have increased in frequency and the severe pain of his migraines has intensified.
After hours upon hours of research, we decided to move to Colorado to see if a combination of medical marijuana, holistic healing, and an overall change of scenery and atmosphere will lead to an improvement…anything at all that enhances his quality of life. It’s not the most traditional approach for treatment, and I feel like we may be clutching at straws here, but it kills me to watch Caleb suffer. I’ll try anything at this point.
Only a couple of years ago, he was a happy, healthy kid, and the worst thing he’d ever dealt with was skinning his knee on the pavement when trying to do tricks on his BMX. Then, BOOM, out of nowhere, the headaches started. Next came the seizures, and within a few months, he was diagnosed with intractable grand mal epilepsy. All of our lives were turned upside down in the blink of an eye.
My mom has been amazing throughout it all. Despite her rapidly dwindling savings account due to outlandish medical bills, ridiculously priced prescriptions, and things I don’t even understand, like deductibles and coinsurance, she’s stepped up and been the best parent either of us could ever imagine, doing anything and everything necessary to take care of both of her boys, and never losing her cool. Up until the time I graduated, I helped with what I could, mostly staying at home with Caleb in the evenings so she could work a second job, although I did manage to do some odd household projects for a few of our neighbors on the weekends for a little cash.
I’m still not sure how she’s coping, because I’ve definitely needed some serious stress relief to prevent me from going crazy since this all began. Sex has done wonders, and thankfully, Lila and the few other girls I’ve been with were more than willing to give it up whenever I need it. Who knew pounding your cock inside a chick works just as good as Prozac? And tits? Those puppies make better stress balls than the squishy things they sell in stores.