Running From the Truth- Luke Hemmings

Jeff Goldblum Weird

Trees seem to loom in towards the path, closing in on us as Luke and I walk. My right hand instinctively falls to my side to check the wound there, running my fingers along the edges, trying to get an idea of how deep it is. The pain makes me tense up, and Luke's deep voice startles me. "Don't, it'll make it hurt more. We'll clean it up when we get to Calum's. Are you gonna be okay until then?"

"Um, yeah, I think so. It doesn't really seem like it's bleeding very fast, and I think it's really just a superficial cut. I'd probably be super dead by now if I'd been like actually stabbed."

"Yeah, but it could still get infected and that would suck. So don't touch it so much, okay?"

"Yep yep yep. Will do. No wound prodding for me on this fine frigid evening." Luke gives me a weird look, and we both begin to laugh. 

"You're kinda weird."

"Thanks buddy. Appreciate the sentiment from the guy I'm stuck with because otherwise I'd get cut up by a gang of tall dudes with knives. Good to know your priority is brutal honesty."

Luke laughs, outright laughs. Not a giggle or a chuckle but a breathy, bubbling thing full of voice and heart. It's the kind of laugh that makes you want to laugh too, that makes you happy just to hear. He takes his time replying, which seems to be a recurring theme with Luke. "Not in a bad way, you're good weird! You're not like nose-picking girl in the back of the classroom singing nursery rhymes weird, you're like... Jeff Goldblum weird."

I burst out into uncontrollable laughter. I am cackling. Like a goddamn witch. "JEFF GOLDBLUM WEIRD!!" I exclaim breathlessly in between giggles, "What the hell does that mean?"

The woods is filled with laughter, and i take a moment to think about all of the squirrels and birds we just woke up with our shrieking. It also crosses my mind that we're revealing ourselves to Ricky and his goons, or even to the cops who are looking for us, but I push that thought down under a blanket of giggles. 

Luke takes a breath, starts to say something, evidently thinks it's too funny, and falls into laughter again. When he composes himself once more, he tries again, this time saying, "It's like, it's like the way you talk."

"I talk like Jeff Goldblum?"

"No, its more like you talk the way Jeff Goldblum looks. If your vocabulary was an outfit it would be a bright blue suit made entirely out of velvet, or like a weird gaudy sweater or a dad shirt."

"Strangely, I'm okay with that."

We chat like this until the end of the trail approaches and we are met with another neighborhood street lit only by the moon and the occasional porch light. I rub my eyes, feeling the time of night sink into me through the top of my head, weighing me down with the need for sleep. "Luke, are we almost there? It's like midnight or something and I wanna sleeeeeep."

Luke smiles softly and retrieves his phone from the pocket of his black skinny jeans. He says, "You're a little off with the time there, pal; it's 2:45."

"Jesus christ, Luke! I can handle being stabbed and running from the law, but keeping me out until 2:45? How am I supposed to uphold the whole 'I don't get out often so I stay in the house and sleep 24/7' thing? People are gonna start thinking I'm a fraud!" I think everyone's funnier at 2:45. Luke sure seems to enjoy the humor. The laugh that I'm beginning to grow quite familiar with once again permeates the air.

Before Luke can reply, I remember that he's very carefully dodged the first part of my original question. I bring it up again. "Hey, you never answered when I asked when we're gonna get there. Are we gonna be walking until morning? Like I said before, dude, I don't get out much. these legs are used to being completely sedentary. You're killing me with all the walking." What can I say? I'm short and wide and I'm not made to go this fast and this far.