Dancing with Shadows

Addy

After toiling away at my after school job, stacking medicines on the shelves and cross referencing them into the system at Mr Salinger's pharmacy, I come home to an unusual sight. A fire red truck is parked in front of my house but what really grabs my attention is the boy leaning against it. He's staring straight ahead at my house and when the streetlights hit him, I see that he's crying. My feet and the pavement become one. What do you do when there is a strange boy crying right outside of your house?

"Hi?" My voice falters.

"Hi." He looks almost as shocked as I am to see him. I know this boy, or more accurately I've seen him a handful of times, in the hallways, on the track field, sitting in the cafeteria with that Asian kid.

He stares me down in my checkered pants and Luna's Rolling Stones shirt that does not go. It is at this moment, that I notice that under this streetlight his eyes are hazel, an almost gold. 

"You're crying."

"Oh?" He brushes a cheek on his shoulder quickly as if he's only come to the realization that he was in fact crying. Then we're quiet again. Staring, instead of asking, "What are you doing here?"

He looks out of place standing there. His hair, tiny strokes of white electricity, glimmers in the night. Surprisingly, he does not look stupid so much as interesting, like you'd never get tired of looking at him. Every so often, he cups the back of his neck . He has a kind face that dips around his mouth even when he isn't smiling and I find myself wanting to know what he looks like laughing.

Its a while before he's the first to speak. "You coming from somewhere?" He waits for me to respond and when I dont he exhales and looks around, perhaps for something that might save him. "God this is awkward." He laughs nervously and just as I expected it is glorious.

I want to ask him what he's doing here but my mouth is taffy and there's ringing in my ears.

My phone dings and I fumble for it. Dani's telling me she's coming by. I clutch my phone desperately and think.

The boy eyes me carefully in my frantic state before throwing me a Hail Mary.

"I was headed somewhere very lonely. I'd like some company." Is he asking me to join him? 

"Okay," my voice squeaks, completely shocking me.

It's when he opens the door for me that I begin to think that this is a terrible thing to do at night with someone I've only just met but that doesn't stop me from getting in. 

The truck roars to life then halts. It starts up on the third try and we're off. We drive down my street then turn into the highway at the intersection. His truck is a rocket. We swoosh past cars with frowning husbands on their way home from working long hours at jobs they don't want and people who drive for the sole reason of never being in one place for too long. 

I am aware of the nervous knot that is growing in the pit of my stomach and so to distract myself, I turn on the radio. A symphony is playing on one station and a woman is talking about pre-natal care on another. I can feel him stealing glances at me.

"Are you okay?"

"No." I answer impassively. "I'm sorry, I just dont wanna talk about it or whatever."

"Actually I think thats fitting."

So we fall into a familiar silence once more. Its a while before either one of us speaks when he says, "We have the same swing that's on your porch. My mom loves it. Well loved it. Past tense."

I'm sorry is the only thing I can think to say.

"What? Oh no, my mom's fine. She's alive, I mean. It's the swing that suffered an untimely end."

"Well, I am sorry for your loss."

He smiles at me without ever turning away from the road that's stretched out before us.

We drive further out of town. With every tree we pass and every song that plays on the radio, I feel slightly less unhinged. He finally comes to a stop.

We're standing over-hill, at a rest stop and the words SHOP ON B flicker from the shop's sign. Inside, a man is sitting behind the counter with a magazine. He peers out the shop's glass at us once then returns to his reading.

"Where are we?"

"Beacon. Our very own neighboring shitty town but only for the people that actually stay here because on the outside it is fallaciously peaceful. I'd say we are in luck, for as long as we stay here in the sweet spot of the outside." He reaches his hand out past the tall trees to where there are lights shooting out of the dark. "The houses start just after that outskirt." Pause. "If you want we can go somewhere else."

"No. It's perfect." And I mean it. It is.

This makes him smile. He has a great smile. Not too wide and not too cocky either. I notice again, that he smiles a lot.

He pulls down the tailboard and we sit down. There's enough space between us to not upset the knot that has not left my stomach.

"Sometimes," he starts softly, like he's letting out a secret. "I get this urge to drive and to keep driving. I don't know where I'll end up most times. Tonight, I ended up in your neighborhood. I was driving past all the houses thinking I'd like to see more of the people that stay in those houses. It's weird." He looks tormented as he says this. His eyes hold mine in the dark and suddenly, I feel naked in the worst way possible, like if I keep looking at him, I'll start crying. I turn away.

"I guess that's my reason for being outside your house."

I don't say anything back. The night passes with us just sitting there. A car or two drive past the rest shop but no one stops. I guess we really are in the middle of nowhere.

"How did you find this place?" I ask finally.

"Oh. I've come here on most of my excursions. Sometimes, it just feels good to leave things in the rear view mirror. Even if it's just for a few hours. I like to think that someday I'll drive out of Dyersville and I'll never look back, you know?" Yes, I do know! Until then, a few hours at a time is enough."

"Plus, you can do this-"

He stands up and climbs into the back of his truck. I watch him curiously as he reaches out his hands on each side of him. He breathes in hard. It almost feels like he's taking in all the air around us. And then, he screams. A loud, piercing scream. Veins pulse at the side of his neck. He stops, draws air and screams again. Louder each time. I look back at the man behind the counter. I wait for him to walk outside and tell us to scram or threaten to call the cops. Surely, screaming in the middle of the night must be some kind of felony. At the very least, it should be a misdemeanor. The man doesn't pay us any attention.

Blood rushes through my body as I rise to my feet. There's thumping in my chest. Before I can listen to the flashes of red in my head, I draw in as much air as I can and let it out in a raucous scream. The boy looks at me pleasantly. I scream as loudly as I can. My heart races with each breath taken and expelled.

I scream. Again. And again.

My lungs can only take so much before I collapse on the floor of his truck. He bends over me with his hands clutching his knees for support. We break into fits of laughter that make my shoulders shake and the air thick with thrill. I feel so light I could take off into the sky.

"Good?"

"Really good."