I felt uncomfortable.
It felt as if my head was collapsing, like I could shut down any second. My eyes were clamped tightly shut to the point where tears had begun to drip down, and my lips were pursed in a deep-set frown.
They poured down one by one. They felt like hot oil streaming down my face.
Out of the corner of blurred lines, I could make out Ezra, who was still placing his hand on my shoulder, and I brushed it off. My fingernails clawed at the leather seat, leaving behind deep, musty wounds in the car that had already looked as though it had seen better days.
Just then, I remembered how Ezra had automatically stopped in the middle of the dusty road, and the sound of cars honking and irritated people cursing at him jolted me back to reality. He remained motionless for a while, and after a few long moments that seemed to crawl by like hours, he leaned over and handed me his handkerchief.
"Aw, shut up," he growled, and for a moment I was about ready to cry again, until I realized he was referring to the irritated cluster of rush hour employees behind us; "goddamn, you impatient bastards, I'm moving!" Ezra jerked his head out of the window, his hand pounding the horn as a sign of recognition as he sped off and promptly skidded to a halt again a couple of miles later.
I suppose he'd forgotten that I had to get home, but my mouth contradicted my mind just as he was beginning to get a grasp on the situation and backing up to drive me, myself and pitiful I towards home. "I don't want to go," I muttered huskily, my voice choking back the lump in my throat.
The fact that I could feel his gaze burning into the back of my neck wasn't helping, and I buried my face in my knees, allowing the seatbelt to chafe against me uncomfortably.
Then he shrugged. "I guess we all have our moments," Ezra finally said. He swerved a sharp U-turn and drove down past my turnoff, and a couple of minutes later, he drove up to a nearby creek.
As always, Ezra was the first to make a move, and he stepped out of the pickup before me. Outside, he windmilled his arms in front of the gut-splattered windshield in an obvious attempt to seem relaxed and usher me outside, but I remained planted in my seat, despite the fact that the car was slowly fermenting into something that was not quite cigarette smoke and not quite the reek of teenage despair. Walking further, he picked up a few rocks that were speckled with gold, like his hair, and began tossing them one by one.
Once each and every stone had skipped the water with a satisfying plunk, he tilted his head back towards me and shouted, "I guess it's your turn to cry, huh?"
"Shut up."
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I got out of the truck soon after and in silence; we trotted to a bridge nearby. I stood there with Ezra, and he sat down on it, swinging his legs over the side. His eyes were expressionless as they reflected the stars, noticing nothing but the constellations and only the constellations.
Hesitantly, I joined him, albeit still standing with my hands thrust into my pockets.
"Look at all the constellations. Look how they all shine," Ezra murmured, pointing vaguely to a spot that was clouded with stars.
"Uh, where?" I queried with a lopsided grin, as he motioned me to come closer. He was warm, even when I wasn't touching him. "I can never find constellations. They're all just a big, confusing jumble of dying mass. Like school."
"Hmm..." He tilted his head, shooting me a curious look. "Well, you can find the the 'Big Dipper'... right?" he said this teasingly and chuckled softly, pointing to the famous constellation.
