irrevocable

{Five}

Use Somebody // Kings of Leon

Jackson

I'm not exactly sure where I'm going. I can picture the place—a creek trickling behind some trees, a fallen log we'd sit on and splash our feet in the water—but I have no idea how to get there. I was six. No six-year-old knows how to give directions or which streets to take to get to the park. They're just along for the ride when their parents decide to take them there. Holly and I would explore wherever we were, parks or backyards included. That much I know.

Where the hell this creek might be is not one of the things I remember.

"Are you hungry?" I figure I'll start with the basics. Asking her to come with me was a spur of the moment decision.

"I could eat." Holly shrugs in the seat next to me.

I watched her walk into the shop as Grinder was giving me a glimpse of the tattoo process and she was all I could see. Her blonde hair twisted in braids like I remember she used to wear. Wearing a soft blue top and denim shorts, something else familiar. The memories came rushing back so strong I could hardly breathe between each one. Whatever Grinder was saying at the time is lost to me now because Holly took up all available space in my head. Then she looked up and saw me. That's when I moved, no longer able to stay on the other side of the room from her. I needed to be in her orbit. I needed to breathe the air she was breathing.

And I don't understand that at all.

"Any requests? I've suddenly got a craving for a good street dog."

I catch a hint of a smile on her face.

"Sounds fine to me," she says, adding a few directions to a local place.

I smirk in her direction, nodding. Holly and hot dogs were a staple when I lived here. We'd have cook outs most weekends and the kids were always given dogs. Holly and I would take them with us to the little creek, swiping a bag of chips on our way. I remember being happy with her there. I remember thinking it was the best time and I can't help wanting to see if the feeling is the same as it was.

Six-year-olds are pretty easy to please. But twenty-three-year-olds are a fucking mess to figure out. I'm talking about myself here. I have a feeling it won't take much to put a smile on Holly's face. I've been an unhappy asshole for as long as I can remember. I figured the source of my shitty attitude was whatever latitude and longitude my dad was at. With what I'm finding out, hearing my dad's side of things, I'm rethinking everything I thought I knew.

Maybe a hot dog would help.

Fuck. I'm so messed up. I have no business pulling Holly into my shit show. Glancing over at her, seeing how she pulls her sweater close and grips whatever bag she's got for dear life, I wonder if she's doing better than me, or maybe she's just as messed up.

"So, what have you been up to all these years?" I'm feeling nervous because although in one respect it feels like coming home being with her, in a bigger way she's still a stranger to me.

She hesitates a second before answering, making me wonder how comfortable she is with me or if I make her nervous, too.

"I work as a heath aid at an assisted living facility."

"Like a nurse?" I turn onto the last street, seeing the take-out place up ahead.

"Oh no I'm not that high up. I just completed a simple training program. I don't have a degree. I had to start working as soon as possible after high school. This paid the best and was the closest to home."