The art of getting better.

Chapter 4.

May 15th, 1998

The world turns into itself my skin makes me cry. I'm staring at my ceiling fan. Spinning in circles. Never-ending. The Rock thrown at my window is what startles me at first. I move from my tightly made bed and glide to my window. Rob Nixon stands at the edge of the sidewalk, he's wearing a deep green hoodie with the words Vermont in bold black writing. He's a stocky man with a scruffy beard and a hat that's thrown over his dark hair. His worn acid-washed jeans are held up with a brown leather belt and there's a rip on the right knee. He's wearing worn white Adidas shoes with a rip along the side of the left one. He waves when I open the window.
"You're going to break my window if you keep doing that,"
"Sorry, you didn't answer your doorbell. "
"I guess it's ok. I'll be right out," I say blushing hard. I throw on a pair of jeans and I tuck my blue tee-shirt into them. I tie my navy blue canvas shoes and I soar to the front door. "Hey," I say opening my door. The air is warm, most of the snow that had stayed on the ground for the past 5 months has been defeated by the heat of the sun. Not that I'm complaining, the heat is better than the cold. 
"Hiya," he's leaned up against his car, a beaten up 1992 Honda accord. That has seen better days.
"So who's driving?" He says looking at my car. He's spinning his keys around his pointer finger until it flies off and rattles to the ground.
"I can drive," I say walking towards my car.
"I was kidding. Get in." He says opening the passenger side door. He moves to the driver's side before I can even argue. I fall into his car feeling the soft seating. My feet find empty pop cans. Pepsi to be more specific. He starts the car as I close the door. I can see him more up close now. His soft freckles, the scar on his forehead from a fistfight with someone he used to be friends with. His eyes are on the road, mine are on him. His perfect beautiful face.
As we drive I feel myself enveloped in the music; summer of 69 plays loudly as we scream the lyrics. The world is infinite. We are infinite.
"What if we, you and me. We went on a road trip. Right now," he says catching me by surprise. I'm rubbing my own thigh because I'm holding myself back. It's getting late. The digital clock on the radio says it's 8:38 but I know damn well he just hasn't changed the time, still stuck in a "fall back" mindset. 
"Where would we go?"
"Somewhere close, maybe Fredericton?" He says staring at me. He laughs at how long my pause is. I stumble on my words and I'm beet red.
"I mean sure," I say finally, it's spontaneous but I'm with him so I don't mind and at that he turns into a parking lot and turns around, nearly getting us in a car crash from his reckless driving. 
"We gotta go to my house first. I've been wearing the same clothes for like three days," he says and I laugh because it's Rob. And he laughs because I'm laughing. And we're just living life. Driving down his road I know all too well; We pull up into his house.
"I'll be right back,"  he says as he leaps out leaving the keys in the car so the air conditioner is still blasting cold air and the radio is still playing music. I feel for my pockets to make sure I have cash in case we stop for food or his car breaks down. My fingers graze over my leather wallet with enough cracks to make an elephant jealous. He comes out of his house changed into sweats, he's carrying a can of Pepsi and there appears to be something stuffed into the pocket of his green sweater that he hasn't changed, he gets in placing his open Pepsi can in the cup holder closest to the radio, he then pulls another one from the pocket of his sweater, he hands it to me smiling a little as I take it.
"Do we need to stop at your house?"
"Oh uh no I'm good," I say laughing.
Rob takes a sip of pop before I open mine, he then holds his can up,
"A toast!" he says, making our can's touch gently. He turns up the radio to find 'we will rock you' by Queen playing. "You wouldn't happen to have a mixtape on you right now,"
"What's wrong with Queen?'' I say patting my pockets,
"I'd just rather listen to something you picked out," he says and my heart's in my throat.  Hidden in my back pocket is a small cassette. I pull it out looking at it. "I guess I do!" I say handing it to him. It's labelled tonight. I label my mixtapes on how I'm feeling. Colours, times, days of the week. This one is specifically one with really good music. I hand him the cassette and his fingers brush my hand. Sliding it into the car radio I hear 'here comes your man' by the pixies.
"You never seem to disappoint with your music taste." He says turning it up. We find our way to the highway and the music is blaring. The world becoming complete. The sun, its everlasting fire turning into the deep cool night of the moon. Its rise is the sun's descent. The once strawberry clouds are now turning a deep purple and stars begin to shine against the dark blue sky. We're driving down the highway Rob turning on his high beams. The 45 minutes of songs have ended and the cassette now rests in a cup holder. The radio is playing now, '3 am' by the matchbox twenty is playing loudly because the highway is louder. 1 am approaches quickly as fog wisps around the cool earth.
"Wanna know something."
"Sure," I say looking at him longingly.
"I think you're pretty cool." He says and I can tell he's holding his words back.
"I think you're pretty cool too. No, you're fucking amazing Rob." I say as we make eye contact. I'm blushing but I don't care.
"Thanks," he says as a chuckle leaves his lips "It's getting late. Do you wanna stop at a motel or something."
"We can, yeah," I say watching the road. It's dark and unsafe. As if the road didn't exist, consumed by the night only manifesting itself when the headlights hit the pavement. Continuing down the road there's a sign for a motel that looks safe enough to where we won't get killed in the middle of the night.
"Look there's a diner inside! We can hit that in the morning!" Rob says taking the next exit. We drive for another ten minutes trying to figure out where this motel even is. Or if it even existed in the first place. Eventually, I see a giant sign with the words "motel" in bold glowing white letters. Rob pulls up in the parking lot and stops the car. There are about three other cars parked probably for the same reason that we're here. I get out first stepping out into the cold but damp air. Rob pats my shoulder and walks in front of me. Stepping into the main office an elderly lady is sat reading a magazine. Her sharp bird-like features watching us as we enter. She puts the magazine down and walks up to the front desk.
"Hi, how may I help you?" She asks, looking us up and down.
"Uh, can we get a room,"
"Of course. I must say you are a handsome man," she says to Rob and I laugh a little. "There's only a queen bed left, is that ok?" she says after a pause. 
"That's fine," Rob cuts her off. He glances at me and smiles. The lady hands Rob the keys after he pays her 30 dollars. We walked back out and I burst out laughing.
"Go get your lady!" I say leaning on his arm. He looks at me and begins to laugh.
"Did you see the way she looked at me when I said one bed was ok? Also, one bed is ok right?"
"Oh yeah, I don't mind," I say as he unlocks the door.