On the Edge of Tomorrow

Chapter 13

"Tell me more about you." Billy prodded as we settled into the red vinyl seats of a diner.

"What do you want to know?" The mix of hunger and Billy's proximity wiped my mind of all facts about myself, replacing them with a coarse tension.

"Everything."

His dimples didn't help my concentration. "I've got nothing."

"What's the first song you remember?"

"Get Back." I instinctively answered.

My automatic response threw him a bit, and his body swayed as a result before he settled back, leaning closer to me.

"Quick answer; continue."

"We were going camping in my parents' blue Grand Am. My sister hated the AC, so the windows were down, and my legs stuck to the blue vinyl seats." I closed my eyes and remembered the moment in every detail. "The belt buckles were metal then, heavy, and they collected the heat, so if they touched your bare skin, it'd burn like a son of a bitch." I laugh to myself at the memory. 

"I remember those," Billy smiled. 

"I loved those seatbelts." My eyes flicked up to him; he intently studied me with a pleased smile on his face. "Anyway, my dad always took shortcuts to get to camp, but it took longer because he'd get lost. I'm pretty sure he did it on purpose to listen to more music. He'd put together these amazing mixed tapes straight from vinyl, so they had all the voices of the turntable."

"Voices of the turntable?" His voice startled me from my memory.

"Sorry, my dad made me weird about vinyl, that warmth that you get with the pops and cracks. I called them the voices of the turntable when I was a kid. My dad loved it; it just stuck."

"I'd like to meet your dad."

I gave him a nod and then continued. "So, we're in the car, and that twang came on; then Paul's voice. I loved the song, so I mumbled to myself, Get Back. My dad nearly drove off the road. He stopped the tape and asked me what I said. I thought I was in trouble like it was a Stones song, and I had misjudged it."

Billy let out a laugh. "You feared you were in trouble for misidentifying a Beatles' song?"

"Yeah." It seemed apparent to me. "Anyway, my daddy was shocked that I spotted the song that quickly."

"How old were you?"

"Three or four," I shrugged. "It's one of my first memories. That and my neighbor hanging laundry on a clothesline run between the back of her house and her barn. My mom tells me I couldn't remember that because she died when I was two, but the memory is there."

"Nice memories," he sat back. "Aside from the dead neighbor, of course."

"They're just memories; neither better nor worse than anyone else's," I shrugged. Suddenly I felt the pressure of his focus. 

"Is Let it Be your favorite Beatles album?" His eyes were distant as he focused on my answers.

"No, Rubber Soul."

He nodded to himself before adding, "John?"

"No, George. You?"

"Paul," he noted. "And Revolver." 

I nodded. 

"First concert?" He continued.

"Dylan. I was seven, and he played a baseball field in Old Orchard; such a great set."

"Do you remember it?" He pressed.

"Yeah, some of it. First, someone set off a firework that almost set my sister on fire. I remember that," I gigged.