Miles to Go

Takeoff

Amos slams the trunk of Duke's creaky old van shut, leaning on it hard to make sure the latch catches. The metal is still cool from the night, and a little damp. Amos leaves his fingers there for a moment, sighing at the coolness. Then he pulls them away, wiping them on his shorts to get the moisture off. The road is quiet, the sun barely above the trees, rows of houses beginning to awaken in the growing light. The excitement of a field trip morning buzzes in the air. Amos and Duke are the only people on the street, Amos' parents huddled in the doorway of their home. Amos catches Duke's eye in the side mirror, and they share a smile. Butterflies flutter in Amos' stomach, and his cheeks turn warm. He turns away, looking to the ground in front of the trees.

Duke. Amos' best friend, nearly his only friend, since 6th grade. These little flutters of excitement have been happening lately with Duke, usually easy to ignore. Amos' cheeks flush when Duke smiles a certain way, or fixes his hair before putting on a hat, or pushes Amos' glasses up when they slide down his nose. Amos has decided to ignore it, but it's harder when Duke is always around. And now, they will be alone together for weeks in Duke's van. Amos catches himself fantasizing about sunshine and hand-holding, and the feel of soft lips pressed against the freckles on his bare shoulders. He sets his jaw, turns a little further away from the car. It never happened before, this heightened awareness of small details, small wishes.

This last summer in his hometown has led Amos to appreciate the little things a bit more. The walk to the library on a cool morning, a homemade meal, a kind smile with a gap between the front teeth. A gust of wind pushes the leaves of the trees aside. It's the last time everything will be familiar in the easy way that comes with a lifetime of memories. Next summer, he'll be returning from a new place, a new school, new friends, and nothing will be the same as it was when he last saw it. The sun shines directly in Amos' eyes for a moment, and he turns back towards the house, pushing his glasses up higher on his face. He looks up the driveway to his parents, whispering to one another, watching him. The butterflies in his stomach move slower, apprehension rising in his chest.

His relationship to his parents is a complicated one. They love him, sure, and he loves them. But it's a prickly, rosebush sort of love, beautiful, but only from a distance. Up close, it can get scratchy and uncomfortable. Amos is looking forward to the distance that will come with leaving, to this one thing being a little different whenever he returns.

"All ready?" Duke calls from the front seat, weak air conditioner making the hair on his forehead shift slightly. He tips his seat back a bit, putting his hand right in front of the vent.

"Yeah, all ready." Amos walks towards the passenger door, pausing when he sees his parents hurrying down the steps to meet him. His mother runs through the grass, dew sticking to her ankles, still wrapped in her robe, a scarf covering her hair. She stops just before the sidewalk, waits for Amos to come to her.

"You be safe, okay?" She reaches up to wrap her arms around him, squeezing tight. Amos sets his arms around her waist, holding her a little closer than usual. "Call us and tell us how you are." Amos' father comes up behind her, tall, a head taller than Amos, in glasses and suspenders. Amos is a little shocked at how old they seem in that moment.

"And don't do anything we wouldn't do," his father adds, wrapping his arms around them both.

Nodding, Amos steps back from his parents. "Don't worry. I'll be safe, keep in touch and all that." He takes his first step away from home backwards, eyes still on them. There's a beat, the omission of an 'I love you.'

His parents smile, and his mother blows him a kiss. Words of love have never meant much for them. Growing up, Amos' father hadn't been big on telling him he loved him. Instead, he would usually perform some stiff, stilted hug, or give Amos a gift appropriate for a boy a few years younger than his son. Actions speak louder than any words that Amos could have said.

Acting isn't Amos' strongest suit. He gives them an awkward smile, and lifts his hand to wave. They nod at him, lips lifted, clearly wanting to leave the slight chill of the outdoors behind.

Amos turns and jogs to the car. Duke pushes the passenger side door open, and Amos slides in, firmly shutting the door behind him. The air freshener hanging from the rearview swings, slicing through the sun. It smells like dusty carpets and artificial lemon, as it always does in the van. Amos stares at the ceiling for a bit, taking a deep breath. "Okay. Ready?"

Duke grins, a boyish excitement in the ruddiness of his cheeks. He adjusts his rearview mirror, then buckles his seatbelt. "Yeah, dude. You have all your stuff? Socks, underwear, toothbrush?"

Amos nods, watches Duke start the car, watches the muscle in his forearm flexing as he turns the key in the ignition, the way the sunlight turns his eyes into caramel as he turns to look out of the rear window. Amos is buzzing with anticipation, nervous, elated. He's never travelled anywhere without his family before, not further than the two miles to school and back. The idea feels taboo, forbidden, but so delightfully exciting. Duke puts his hand on Amos' headrest to steady himself, and Amos sits up straighter. "Yup, I have everything."

"Awesome," Duke grins. He shifts the bulky van into drive, and sets both of his hands on the wheel. The ring he wears on his index finger glints in the sun. The van shudders a bit as they turn out of the cul-de-sac. Duke pats the car's dashboard, shushing lovingly. "C'mon, Darlene, you got this."

Darlene is a hulking old thing, with terrible gas mileage and stained upholstery. Maybe she was nice once, in the way that mid-grade cars can be fresh off of the lot. Despite her current condition, Duke loves this car, more than anything in the world. "This car has history, memories! Somebody probably had their first kiss in this car, drove to their first job in here," he'd rave, smoothing his hands over the steering wheel, whenever anyone brought up Darlene's age. The van had gotten her name from an old photo of a smiling young woman that Duke had found wedged in the glovebox during his test drive. Darlene's name was written on the back in loopy, soft pencil with a heart underneath.

Darlene had carried Amos to school, home, on taco runs and last-minute grocery trips. Darlene is one of the things Amos will miss most once he moves.

Amos pops the center console open, touches Darlene's name, a wave of fondness coming over him. "She's good luck. She'll get us all the way to Cali and back, no problem."

Duke nods, a prideful smile on his face, glancing over to nudge Amos' shoulder. "Yup, she's got it."

Amos stares at Duke's profile. There's no way he's totally unaware of the effect he has on Amos, is there? They've known one another for so long that surely Duke has picked up on something off by now. Then again, Amos can't really pinpoint when he began having these feelings about Duke. Maybe things have always been this way, and their approaching separation has just made things sharper.

Duke looks at Amos again. "What?" He says it a little too loud, just over the hum of the tires on the road. He leans towards Amos, close enough that a jolt from the road could smack their heads together. For a moment, a fleeting second, Amos considers telling Duke everything, that he's been so painfully aware of where Duke is and what he's doing all of the time, that some part of him catches fire whenever Duke touches him, that all of this feels new and he doesn't know what to do with any of it, if he should do anything. For that second, he freezes. Duke notices; Amos sees him notice, jolts in his seat.

"It's nothing, just thinking. Want some music on or something?" He leans forward abruptly, starts fiddling with the radio knobs. Darlene doesn't have an aux cord, and the CD port is broken. There's only the radio, sometimes only AM. He turns on static, flips through all of that fuzzy crackling, until he finds something else. The song is in Spanish, and neither of them know Spanish, but Amos turns it up loud anyways. They always listen to this station in the car, and there's something comforting in the normalcy of it.

Duke nods, rolling down the windows. Amos rubs his arms, goosebumps cropping up on his skin. It's too cold to be driving with the windows down; the sun is barely up. Even so, Duke grins, and Amos can't be upset with him. "Alright," Duke hoots. "Let's get this show on the road."