Playlist

8. "Sunset Lover" - Petit Biscuit

"What's the worst thing you've done in the past 6 months?" Kyle puts his cigarette between the strings on the head of his guitar - a trick he taught me. We're sitting in the bed of his truck, and he's plucking at his guitar absentmindedly as he had since we had gotten stationary. It's cool out, so we had stopped at my hotel for me to grab a jacket and for me to check on Marlow. He also had a blanket in the back of his cab, so we are sharing that. What? It's a big blanket.

    I think for a few moments before giggling to myself. "Probably... dog-earing a page of a book."

    "Oh, the horror!" He laughs, and I do as well. "That's it? That's the worst you've got?"

    I shrug, laughing still. "I don't know! Uhm... let me think." And I do. The past six months... that would be January until now. My words come out slow as I'm backtracking, thinking of what I'd consider "the worst." I've done some distasteful things - everyone has - but then it hits me: the worst. I take a deep breath and settle myself against cab of his truck. "I remember the day exactly: March 3rd. It was a Friday; I didn't have class that day, and I'd taken the weekend off to go camping with my boyfriend at the time. The ex. We'd planned it three months in advance because it was our last semester, you know, senior shit, plus we both worked, so we were busy as it was. Hindsight is 20/20."

    "Mh-hm," he makes a sound of affirmation, his eyes going to me before he takes a drag and tucks the cigarette back into the strings.

    "It's amazing what the mind will block out, but anyways. I was sitting in my room, waiting for him to get off of work so we could leave. And he calls me about two hours after he was supposed to get off of work, and he says, 'Hey babe. I'm not gonna be able to make it this weekend. Some things came up.' So I asked him what kind of things. I knew his grandmother was sick, and it's not like him to cancel plans, especially the day of. His response was, 'Just some things.' And I remember hearing laughing or talking in the background, but when I asked him what was going on, he said he had to go, and he hung up."

    "Fucker."

    "Right. So of course I was pissed at him. Everyone I know works weekends - for the most part, so I knew I couldn't just call someone up and ask if they wanted to hang out. Friday night I spend cleaning and organizing my room. Saturday rolls around, and I still haven't heard from him. I spent the morning with my mom shopping. Of course I vented to her about it; my mom is like one of my best friends. So Sunday rolls around, and I still haven't heard from him. Saturday I didn't text him, giving him the benefit of the doubt, whatever. Because I'm an idiot. Sunday around noon I call him, and it rings and rings. I hang up and try FaceTiming him. It rings and rings."

    "Basically, you can't get ahold of him."

    "Right. And I remember feeling so stupid, feeling angry and taken advantage of. So I did what I knew how to deal with my emotions."

    "Which was?"

    I chuckle, the kind of sound that makes your bones ache, and shake my head. "I took a steak knife to my thigh. Just... tore it up. It was awful. I didn't tell anyone, though. I didn't tell my best friends, my mom, my psychologist. In fact, I lied to her and told her that I hadn't had those kinds of thoughts in a long time," I shrug, looking up at the starlit sky. "I felt like... like an unworthy girlfriend, like a waste of space." I turn to him, a solemn smile on my face. "The worst thing I did was let someone else's actions decide how I felt about myself."

    Kyle stops playing, the cigarette smoke floating between us, a smoke screen only we could see through. We maintain eye contact, and somehow, I can tell he understands. He doesn't have to say anything, and neither do I, but we understand. I offer him another smile, this time to try and reassure him - of what, I don't know - and I turn my eyes to the sky once more. He leans back against the cab and continues playing - a soft, solemn sound resonating through the air. We sit like that for a while. It seems like an eternity, but the kind of eternity you don't mind. "That's kind of beautiful," he says after a while, his eyes closed as he plays.

    "Hm?" I turn to him, and he glances at me before closing his eyes again.

    "What you just said. That was kind of beautiful."

    "How so?"

    "I just watched you grow in front of my eyes. That's all I live for, is to watch people grow. I hate that you did that to yourself, but I get it. I don't live your life, but I'm happy you recognize you let that happen because now I can only hope you learn that you are more worthy than what anyone tells you or makes you feel."

    I reach down and grab a cigarette out of my pack, light it, and take a long drag. "I didn't even remember it until now, really. But... I think that's why I'm doing this... journey. This travelling thing. To find my own self worth, find who I am. I've spent so long just being what I thought I was supposed to be and never what I wanted to be or meant to be. Ya' know?"

    "Absolutely," he smiles over at me, and he starts plucking at the guitar in a pattern I recognize: "Boy With a Coin" by Iron & Wine. I start humming along with the guitar before sitting up a bit. We both start in with the first verse, and I close my eyes as our voices are carried from the lookout we are parked on through the trees to the bustling city below. We both freeze when we hear a car against the gravel, and a GPD car rolls up next to us. When the cop gets out, he shines his light on us and raises an eyebrow. "Do y'all know what time it is?" Kyle and I look at each other before shaking our heads in response. The cop shines his light around the bed of the truck and realizes we're just sitting up here. "Get on home, both of you."

❧

    "Oh man, that's never happened to me before." Kyle says through laughing.

    "What, a cop roll up on you up there?"

    "I go up there all of the time, and I've never been pulled up on. Ever."

    "It's just my charm." My voice is light, playful. Am I flirting right now? We're both laughing, and when we quiet down, I lean off of the doorfram to my hotel room. "Well, I should probably head inside. I didn't actually realize it's nearly four in the morning."

    "Yeah, I've got work in... six hours? Damn." He laughs a bit, and he clears his throat.

    "Shit, I'm so sorry! I didn't know you-"

    "You're fine. I wouldn't have been asleep anyways," he smiles over at me. "Don't apologize. I've had fun. Again, thank you for saving my ass."

    "Thanks for letting me. I needed this, a night like this. It's been nice." I offer a smile, and his smile grows in return.

    Silence. For a moment, silence.

    "Would you-"

    "How long-"

    We both speak and stop at the same time.

    "Go ahead."

    "No, you go."

    Speak. Stop.

    After a moment, I look down at my hands and take a deep breath before looking up at him. Without thinking, I lean up and kiss his cheek. "Goodnight, Kyle. It was very nice meeting you."

    "Goodnight, Dakota. It was very nice meeting you as well."

    We both hesitate, looking at each other as if waiting for the other to say or do something. His hand cups my cheek, and he leans down, kissing me. It's the type of kiss that you know won't be there in the morning, but it feels just right in the moment. He leans away for a moment, time pausing, the universe suspended in the air for just... just a moment. And he leans down, kissing me again, this time with more intent. And I kiss him in return. And my hand is fumbling for the key to my hotel room, and his lips move against mine as I open the door. He presses me against the door as he closes it, and I toss the things in my hands to the side as my jacket slips off of me. His hands explore my body, the same way I want to explore the world: with care, curiosity, intensity and awe. Clothes begin to litter the carpet as we travel from the door to the wall, the wall to the bed. Our lips don't disconnect, not once. From the time I met Kyle to now, I have never felt more connected with someone - not even Aaron.

    By the time we are done, the sun is rising, and we sit on the balcony with full coffee mugs and freshly lit cigarettes in our hands, messy hair and blankets around our shoulders. We watch the sun rise over the Rockies. When we look at each other, we maintain eye contact, and he doesn't have to say anything, and neither do I, but we understand.