Hunter's Chance

f i f t e e n

There's an array of pink and orange swirls plastered on the sky as nightfall threatens. Something I'd never bother stopping to pay attention to, but on a day particularly like today, I can't help it.

I cross one leg over the other as I lean my back against the car. My arms are folded over my chest as I mindlessly sit back and watch the clouds slowly shift. They begin forming new shapes and I huff at the irony.

I, Raegan Hunter, have shifted. I've completely molded my natural architecture to fit so perfectly into someone else's. It came unexpectedly, like when you hear the infamous 'oops' slip from your hair stylist's lips, or an extreme hailstorm in July.

I've become the clouds. I've been forced to reconstruct, I've somehow found myself latching onto possibility, onto something or someone else and that terrifies me so much that I'm running away from it, literally, like a bullet from a gun.

I don't know what it is about James. It can't be that he's persistent on making me laugh or that he's constantly checking on me. It can't be that when he wraps his arms around me I feel a combination of both fear and comfort, or that he challenges me.

"I want to know more about you." James asks, tilting his head with curiosity.

"You're annoying."

"I know." He says before spitting out questions like a vending machine. "Favorite movie?"

"I don't know."

"Favorite song?"

"There's no such thing."

"Ok now who is being annoying?"

"Ok, fine." I say signaling for him to go on.

"Book or movie?"

"Book."

"Long drives or long baths?"

"Drives."

"Do you prefer to listen to your music quietly or loud?"

"Well that obviously depends on my mood."

"Say you're sad?"

"Loud."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I guess I like to get lost in the sound, in the words, so much that when I come up for air... I am literally disoriented."

"That's beautiful." He says with a smirk.

"Shut up!" I say jabbing him and pursing my lips in attempt to hide my smile.

I kick at the rocks below me as the memory plays out in my head. When I look out onto the horizon, it hits me.

Is it that he's asking the questions or that I'm willing to answer them?

-

My hand is making wave motions outside my window as Jessie Ware's angelic voice fills the air around me. I'm passing through Whiskey Row and I know I'm finally home. Prescott, Arizona. I was here just days ago but it somehow seems so much more peaceful this evening. Something about the bikers lined up just outside the old-school saloon, or the police officers trucking around by horse that brings me comfort.

Pulling up to the familiar white house that sits at the end of the street, I feel myself finally relax. I instantly picture myself at eight years old swinging from the tire that hangs off the branch of the only tree in the front yard. I remember thinking then that I could fly, that with each push, my body would be closer and that someday with enough acceleration I'd be thrown towards the sky. I didn't realize it then, but what I was looking for was freedom. Freedom from heartbreak, my dad's passing broke me. It broke my heart into a billion different pieces. They're scattered throughout the state of Arizona and I've spent the last two years piecing them back together.