The Mormon Renegade

Chapter 17

Stunned doesn't even begin to describe the state of shock Andy is in, lips parted as if to respond before forming a thin soundless line.

The radio aministers a soothing background noise, had I been in a calmer state I would've listened to it instead of slamming the button off, causing his shoulders to bounce slightly startled by the sudden outburst. What has gotten into me? I swear, sometimes Andy brings out the worst in me and it's always after I feel I'm at peak range contentment.

Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump

I mistake the racing heartbeats vibrating within my eardrum as the tremor of a blown out tire but scanning the fluid functioning vehicles cancels that notion.

We pass hoards of kids who've set up two temporary goals spanning four or five meters on the road. They migrate outwards to allow us passage, dressed in basic overhanging sports wear they practice their headers on their semi pumped soccer balls.

There was a pleasing spell of injury free months during a record breaking summer back when Beckette and I were younger. We'd sneak out of the house that contained so many disturbing memories which refuse to leave my plagued mind while I struggle to remember this one happy occurrence.

Using a styrofoam sphere we snatched from our local Mormon Church's Parrish activities the backyard was briefly altered into a soccer field. Until dusk we'd play, back and forth interchanging the substitute ball undeterred by the fall of torrential rain soaking our thin clothing material. It didn't matter that I was a teenagers and he practically an adult, it was a valuable distraction.

Until our parents came home everything was pure bliss. The happiest I had ever been.

"You rotten kids!" Making a run for it was our first mistake as Beckette slips in a mud patch at such an angle and speed his shin breaks with a crunch. I try to heave him up but our parents wrench us off the ground and our kicking and flailing of arms are unable to land contact against them.

The next week his saturated chestnut hair makes it's last appearance to this day, entering a damaged van driven by a black skinned female. He was twenty one. I was fifteen.

Andy attempts to make amends but I shut him down. "Tristan I--"

"Save it, I won't waste my breath explaining myself and you shouldn't waste your time on me." The unfaltering delivery is painstakingly monotonous as I look out the window, eyes out of focus not acknowledging the buildings zooming past us in a series of blurred images.

I couldn't help expelling the emotions building up inside me and immediately regret having done so but nevertheless he is still in the dark for the most part. The tension between us is thicker than the water of all Earth's oceans combined.

Please God, if you do exist, can you get me out of this fricken car?

An agonizingly long minute later and we drive around Marv the Prophet who blocks traffic in the opposing lane preaching about 'the collapse of a generation.' My prayer is answered in the form of our sapphire apartment door, the golden number four hangs upside down by a loose screw which batinks every open and close.

"Listen, I--"

I've already exited the car without so much as sparing a glance at him when I remember, "Suppose you want you're vest back?" I spit, hurling the denim apparel through the narrow window opening to smack against his face, again shirtless in public but too fuming mad to care.

He is speechless, fingering the ripped holes in the greying fabric. "Hey, wait!" Andy protests, slamming his door shut with such force the car rocks and the aspiring Mechanic in me whirls around to see if the vehicle is visually damaged.

It's fine.

I march to the door but he blocks my path somewhat puffed, his chest rising and falling faster than mine shivering in the shade of the apartment block. "Get outta the way Andy so I can go inside and research what a 'normal' childhood is supposed to be like." He flinches at the sting of his own condescending words I use against him.

"I will, ok? Just take this." He hands the vest over carefully blanketing my collarbone with the material that drapes to Scout's jean waistband. "I won't take your charity, I refuse to have you feel sorry for me--"

"It's not an act of charity, Tristan, it's an act of decency." That is a fair point. Reluctantly accepting the profuse offer I notice his steady maintainment of eye contact, not even a blink or perverted glance to my bra as I secure the front buttons.

I silently appreciate the courtesy.

We stand there in silence for a while, his body proximate leaves less than a breaths worth of space. The moment is broken by a collective cacophany of blasting horns erupting from Marv's area of demonstration.

He walks to the drivers door pausing, an inward conflict seemingly stunning his movements for a few seconds before he gathers himself and enters the car. I almost expect him to say something as he frowns umming and ahing over the situation.

Andy's inner persona must've one because he drives off without a hitch.

Normal

I can't shake the negative connotations that word entails in regards to the life I used to lead. Entering the toasty apartment I bang the door closed knocking our address number off its screw, it lands somewhere on the pavement outside.

"That bastard!"

"What has Andy done now?"