Something About Sam

Chapter 1

Part 1

Taite

The most interesting thing that has ever happened to me, happened to me when I was 13 years old. I had a crush on a girl for the very first time.

It was my 13th birthday. I was finally going through puberty. My white-blonde hair had grown more golden over the past year. I was no longer cute. I was no longer "marshmallow head," as my sister and her older friends liked to call me. I was 13 years-old. I was a God ordained man.

My hormones were on fire that day. And I mean it when I say on fire. I had barely even acknowledged the existence of the female gender in all the years of my pre-pubescent life. That day, my birthday, I asked a girl on a date.

She responded by pouring her 25 cent chocolate milk over my marshmallow head.

I'm 19 now, and that is still the most interesting thing that has happened to me.

Until I walked downstairs the day after my high school graduation to find a popstar in my living room.

There was a popstar sitting on my mother's favorite blue suede couch.

There was a POPSTAR drinking coffee out of a mug I had made at a pottery studio when I was 6. It said "TAITE LOVES DADDY" on it, a lone heart hovering above the I in my name.

Sam Ford was in my living room. And he was looking at me.

I stepped down from the staircase that emptied into the sitting area, pulling earphones out of my ears, Luke Bryan slowly fading as I let the cord dangle around my neck. My father's deep Southern drawl now permeated my eardrums, replacing the music. Taking another step into the living room, I craned my neck, realizing my dad was accompanying said popstar. He had been sitting with his back to me, the large regal armchair practically engulfing him.

Naturally, my eyes found Sam Ford again. He was still staring back at me. We exchanged a few seconds of a silent, curious, intrigued glance while my father's voice droned on around us. The left corner of his lip rose about a centimeter. I felt my own lips follow his lead.

It only took about three seconds of Sam's diverted attention for my father to realize something had caught his eye. He turned to look in my direction, following the gaze of the singer's stare.

"TJ, sorry bud, didn't hear you come down those stairs!" He stood up, looking at me with his trademark fashionably-gap-toothed smile. "Son, you recognize Sammy?" he gestured back at the boy, who had also taken my dad's cue to stand up upon my formal entrance. "Granted, y'all have had 16 or so years to grow up," he paused to give a hearty fatherly chuckle, the tan skin of his weathered cheeks rising as he did so. Running a hand through his short ashen hair my father continued, "I'll be damned if I ever forget how you two would run wild in diapers chasing each other 'round the playpen at the ranch."

I only recognized "Sammy" Ford because his poster plastered the walls of my best friend's archetypal teenage girl bedroom, not because I remember what he looked like in a diaper. I didn't recognize him at all as the boy I used to play with, not that I would have. The Ford's had moved from our small Kentucky hometown when I was just 3 and Sammy was 5, the family taking up residence in London due to Mr. Ford's new job. My father uprooted The Jefferson's shortly after his old friend did, dad's rising political career landing him as the mayor of Blue Falls, Virginia. And now, the State Governor.

I took a few steps into the living room. Now looking Sam in the eyes, I saw his cheeks form a pink deeper than the adorable spot on my sheepdog's nose.  "Sure has been a while," I said, sticking out a hand for him to shake. "Good to see you, Sam."

He took my hand politely and gave me a very weak shake and a haphazard attempt at a smile. His gray eyes darted away from me quickly. "You too, Taite," his voice was small and shy and exactly the opposite of what you would expect from a twenty-one-year-old who had his entire album in the Top 40s.

He stepped away from me. It was then, that I took a better look at him.

He was a sea of brown wavy hair atop of a thin, ghostly pale body clothed in skinny jeans and a sweater that probably cost more than my father's last campaign. He was wearing jewelry, and I swear, the lightest dusting of gray-green eyeliner ran across his lower lids.

In my Southern home in the middle of Blue Falls, Virginia; where my father was wearing khakis and a button-down at 9 AM, horses ran wild in the back pasture, and the yellow walls and the white drapes matched every other throw pillow, arm-chair, and picture frame in my mother's prized sitting room (which had been featured in Southern Living Magazine—twice)—Sam Ford was desperately out of place.

"TJ, take a seat, bud, let me tell you about why Sammy and The Ford's are in town!" My father sat down again, opening his arms in an inviting gesture towards the couch Sam had reoccupied.

Contrary to my dad's comforting nature, my mother's perfectly fluffed pillows and the untouched suede material of the couch were not very inviting. We only used this room for formal occasions. I guess Sam Ford in my home was a formal occasion.

"Sorry Pop, but Winnie and I," I looked over at my forgotten Maremma Sheepdog. She was waiting patiently for my command, sitting by the foot of the stairs a ball of white fur, staring at me with wide eyes and a pink panting tongue. "We were headed out for a run and..." I turned back towards my dad with what I hoped was a concealed look of desperation. Something in me recoiled at the thought of joining their conversation. I don't know whether it was the Virginia sunshine calling my name, or the fact that Sam's presence gave me an eerily nostalgic, uneasy,  and quite suspicious feeling in my gut. Either way, I wasn't taking a seat on that couch.

"Alright, get out of here," my father waved me off in the direction of the back door. "But I am only letting you off the hook for right now. The Ford's will be here all week, staying in the carriage house out back. But Sammy's here tonight alone, so he'll be staying with you until his pop arrives tomorrow. Don't want him out in that house all alone, now."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I heard myself mutter back, completely forgetting inklings of manners, wondering why the 21-year-old couldn't possibly be on his lonesome for 12 hours. I tried not to roll my eyes as I forced my stare back to Sam Ford. Who, by the way, was still in my living room. And still, by the way, one of the most famous individuals in the modern world. "I'll see you later then, Sam."

He looked back at me with eyes wider than Winnie's, a soft smile playing at his lips as he nodded. I wondered again what had his cheeks so goddamned rosy.

With a whistle to Winnie, I left the two of them in the sitting room and didn't stop my feet until I hit the green grass of our sprawling front yard. Replacing the earphones in my ears and rolling out my neck, I picked up into a light jog down our driveway, Winnie by my side.

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Hey everyone! Before you continue to read, I have a quick disclaimer: yes, I edit all my chapters but yes, I am human and I make mistakes. My first and foremost priority is to get my writing to you and get it to you quickly, so I apologize if everything isn't perfect (grammatically speaking). Other than that, enjoy!