Rocket Car

Chapter 9

Rocket Car

I miss this. I miss staring into the clear night sky with no purpose. I miss having Barry point out constellations he imagines and claim they're something inappropriate. I miss hearing Davis clear his throat right before he corrects him and tells what the real constellation is and its real meaning. Nothing could make me happier in this moment. I wish it could last forever.

I'm not the kind of person that longs for the past. What is that saying? If you stare into the rearview mirror you can never steer? Something like that. It was fun while it lasted, but memories can never trick me into wanting to return. Life gets easier and more fulfilling in your twenties. High school is more painful than exciting. It had its moments, but… If I could go back, I wouldn't. I'd stay right here.

Apparently Davis is really feeling the effects of Alexa because he drinks nearly all the beers that Barry brought out. It seems as though that was Barry's plan all along, because he's smiling contently as Davis takes the last sip of his eighth beer. As for me? I've had just three, and that's just enough for me to feel light but not intoxicated.

Alcohol makes people sentimental, and those two are no different than anyone else. Barry is the first to say anything sappy, when he breaks up our jokes about star formations with a serious, "Hey. You guys know that no matter what, you're pretty family, right? I mean, s**t. I've known you guys for like fifteen years. You've been good to Willie."

"Even me?" I say with a sad smile on my face.

Barry means to slap an arm across my shoulder but he misses horribly and smacks my mouth. Before I can laugh he readjusts and his hand is across my chest. I carefully peel his arm away as he says, "You almost became actual family. So yeah."

"Thanks, Barry," I say.

"I still think you should give me a whirl in the sack, though."

"Well, you were sweet for all of thirty seconds. That's a new record," Davis says.

"Hey, I can teach you sometime, Davis," Barry says. There's a weird moment of silence after that. Barry must have sensed how quickly Davis tensed at the statement, as he sits all the way up and asks, "What?"

"You're into guys?" Davis questions.

"No, asshole. I can teach you to be sweet," Barry says with a snort. He falls back onto the cool grass, his vision returning to the heavens.

"I hope he doesn't take lessons from you," I joke. Well, it's only half a joke. I'm rather serious. I don't want an innocent man like Davis being corrupted by a womanizer like Barry. When it goes quiet again, I try to imagine Davis or Barry being sweet and I just can't.

I recall with great ease all the times Willie brought me roses or a gift just because. To the group I would talk about how much I hated it; it was a waste of money or time, I'd claim. Secretly I loved the little gestures. Each rose was special to me. Sometimes he would include little notes with them. None were poetic or well written, but they touched me regardless.

Now, it seems as though I hadn't known a guy long enough to appreciate such things.

The sound of someone moving next to me causes me to crane my neck and look. Barry is already on his feet when he says, "Alright kiddos. Don't stay out too late. And, hey, Kiki?" He stops talking long enough to ensure I'm totally focused on him. "It is good to have you back."

I watch as he retreats toward the house. Weird, he didn't tease us before going to bed? He must have been too drunk for his own good. What is he doing with his life, anyway? I ask Davis, "What the hell does Barry do?"

"Helps run the farm," he answers flatly.

"Oh."

It's quiet. A slightly chirping of crickets comes and goes. Jets pass overhead, blinking across the starlight. Dogs from a house down the gravel road are howling. There's a faint smell of herbicide and pesticide that's nostalgic to me. Minutes pass without a word spoken between us. I could fall asleep.

Movement next to me means Davis is moving, but I don't have time to react. We must have been much closer than I had thought, because it takes him less than a second before he's practically covering me with his entire body. Three drinks is apparently enough to slow down my reaction time. I don't even realize he's kissing me until I feel his fingers dig into the skin on my arm, like he's afraid I'm going to disappear if he doesn't hold me there.

This isn't the first time we've kissed. Hell, our first kiss was with each other, when we were too young to realize what a kiss was even supposed to mean. This is just the first time he's ever been so needy. At times he's practically biting my lips, like he wants to draw blood. His grip is so strong on my arms I can feel them bruising. The way his body is draped on me it's like he's trying to pin me to the earth. It's all unintentional on his part, I know it.

I'm already mustering up the willpower to push him off when something wet touches my cheek. He's crying. Nearly sobbing. One of his hands goes to wipe his eyes from under his glasses and it gives me the opening to free myself from his grasp.

Both of us are sitting up now, but he refuses to look at me. His face is covered by his forearm as he tries to rid himself of tears. His glasses are being pushed up by his actions. Afraid that they'll fall, I gently remove them from his face. He'll speak when he wants to, I figure. I focus on pulling him into an embrace, allowing his head to rest near my breast.

What the hell is the matter with this guy? There's no noise coming from him, just tears. I can feel him trembling in my arms. It's odd to have him cry. I could count the amount of times we've cried in front of each other on one hand. We simply were not emotional people, even when drunk.

September 1st, 2000

The worst part about that small town was the heat. It got unbearably hot in the summer and it would carry over well into the autumn. The beginning of the school year always had the kids in shorts and tank tops. Lunchtime was often spent outside, where there were far too little trees for shade. Thus it was fairly odd to find Davis dressed in a long-sleeve shirt and jeans at the bus stop. When asked about it, he turned red but shrugged and said the washing machine was broken. Kids never felt the need to question.

At the end of the day, Jeep and Kristy got suspicious. Davis had skipped out on P.E., claiming he was ill. When he laughed, he'd stop quickly and excuse himself. Still, they never said or did anything. Instead, they kept their distance, unsure how to ask him what was wrong.

It would take Kristy's older brother Bryce to bring out the truth. As Jeep, Kristy, and Davis made the walk home from the bus stop, Bryce joined them on his bike. Being older, he was allowed to bike his way to school, even if it was quite a ride.

Bryce would've kept moving past the three younger kids, but the lagging Davis caught his attention. He slammed on the breaks and skidded to a halt next to him. Rocks from his sudden stop peppered Kristy and Jeep in the back of the head.

"What's with the getup, loser?" he asked. Lightly he tugged on Davis's arm. The younger boy skittishly attempted to backpedal.

Jeep stopped him, however. After being showered with gravel Kristy and Jeep went back to see what the fuss was about. Hearing Bryce address Davis caused Jeep to say, "He's just a nerd. Right?"

A playful punch was given. Jeep barely put any force into it. It nudged Davis in the side and the young boy was on his knees in an instant, cradling his torso. Bryce discarded his bike. Jeep inspected his fist, wondering what the heck had caused that much pain. Kristy merely stood there, unsure of what to do.

"What the hell's your problem?" Bryce grumbled. He never was good with words or showing emotions. Knelt next to Davis, he got a closer look at the kid's face and noticed a slight cut and bruise near his lips. For a moment, he kept his distance. Then, he demanded, "Take your shirt off."

"What?" Jeep asked in place of Davis. "I didn't hit him that hard! I swear!"

Bryce's eyes were pure fire on Davis. Hesitantly, he began to raise up the shirt that had been making him nearly suffer heat stroke. Yet his arms just couldn't seem to raise the shirt any higher than his belly button. Bryce didn't hesitate; he grabbed the shirt and pulled it over Davis's head himself.

Revealed to the youngsters were bruises the size of softballs, colored deep purple and swollen. Protruding bumps from dislocated ribs shook with each intake of air Davis made. Bryce was red in the face instantly and said, "What in the… Hey! Who did this?! It was your old man, wasn't it?!"

Davis said nothing. He made no expression.

"You're coming home with us. Juan, go home," Bryce ordered.

"But I – "

"Go!"

Jeep took off in high gear, leaving a trail of dust behind. As for Kristy, she wasn't exactly sure what to do or how to react. That is, until a small cry came from the back of Davis's throat. A comforting hand of friendship was placed on his shoulder and he completely lost it, a cascade of tears running down his face like waterfalls. Certainly, it hurt him a lot to cry, but it seemed as though it hurt her heart more to witness it.

It was the first time he ever shed a tear in front of her, and the last time that his father was ever seen in that small town.

January 4th, 2005

"I don't give a f**k, you should've called!"

The thing about going to school in a small town is that the schools are small. Their high school had one hallway - that was it. When couples got into arguments or a fight broke out, everyone was a witness. Davis was an expert at ignoring them. After all, he was never involved. Yet when the voice sounded exactly like the high school's second baseman, he had no choice but to look. If Willie was yelling at someone, it was probably Kristy.

A crowd never formed. No one wanted to get involved. Kristy was seen as a bit too tough "for a girl," and Willie was tiny compared to most but a scrappy fighter. The rest of the school figured they could come to a solution on their own. Davis knew better. He knew that Kristy would push Willie's buttons until he exploded; then she would push some more until he snapped. Willie would never hit her, of this Davis was fairly confident.

As he pushed past the lingering students that blocked his path, his fear grew a bit. Willie had stopped shouting. That meant he was beyond his breaking point. While he was a sweet kid at heart, Davis had noticed Willie's behavior had shifted. Ever since Kristy and Willie had become intimate, Willie was getting more and more protective – and more jealous. The couple had argued about her friendship with the guys several times now. Maybe this would be the last.

Something caught his eye. A hand. Willie raised his hand. "s**t," Davis cursed to himself. He was still several lockers away from the one shared by the couple.

Willie's hand never hit Kristy. He diverted his fist at the last second to smash into their locker. The dent that was left behind was evident that he'd put more force than necessary into it. She said something that Davis couldn't quite hear, and Willie raised his hand again. It was open, not closed, meaning he was definitely going in for a slap this time around.

Davis managed to snag Willie's wrist right before he let loose. "Hey. Are you alright, dude?" he asked. It was directed at Willie, not Kristy. The tone used was brotherly. The short second baseman realized his error immediately and the blood drained from his face. Davis could feel the clamminess in his skin as terror crossed his expression. He swore he could hear Willie's heart stop.

Willie lowered his head. "Ye-yeah. Sorry," he muttered before yanking his wrist free. Davis watched as Willie grabbed his backpack, threw it over his shoulder, and hurried off to class.

"What the hell was that – are you alright?!"

He was not expecting to see Kristy's face died red in panic, tears threatening to fall. One of her hands rose to wipe the tears away, but it was shaking tremendously. He thought to grab it, but considering Willie's behavior, he knew that was a bad idea. So he merely stood by her. Even after the bell rang, he took the tardy mark on his attendance, as he stood unwavering by her side as she silently cried.

It was the first time he had ever seen her cry, and it was the last time that Willie ever raised his hand against someone.

May 1st, 2006

She'd missed school that day. After spending all night in agony, she had to go the hospital the next morning. Her knee had swollen up three times its size. Generally speaking, she was a fairly tough girl, but somethings can't be left alone forever. After having that b***h Alexa spike her during practice, she should have relaxed for the rest of the day. Instead, she finished practice like an i***t, despite her knee clearly being destroyed. Of course she paid for it the next day.

Davis had texted her, concerned that she wasn't at school. After explaining that her knee was acting up, Davis thought to tell Alexa. For whatever reason, he decided against it. Maybe he knew in the back of his head she'd done it intentionally, but it wasn't worth causing drama over. After all, Kristy would be healed up and back on the field in no time.

He didn't bother going home after school and instead went straight to Kristy's house to pay her a visit. Willie had asked him to, anyway. "I'm stuck at practice today, I'm worried though. I trust you. Make sure she's alright for me?" he had told him. Davis was going to regardless of whether it was requested.

When he got there he walked in without bothering to knock. Tossing his backpack aside he scoured the house for her, eventually finding her resting in bed with her eyes on the TV. A slight knock on her door and she turned to face him. Somehow, she smiled.

"What're you doing here?" she asked.

"I was worried," he said as he entered without permission. There was no chair present so he sat next to her on the bed. "Well, and Willie was adamant I make sure you weren't dead."

They laugh together, but it's brief. She frowned quickly and he notices. "Davis, I'm done," she said quietly.

"What do you mean? It's not that bad, is it?" he questioned. For the first time, he noticed her leg was completely immobilized.

"Davis, I dislocated my knee," she said, her voice stern and oddly cold.

"That's not possible. You wouldn't have finished practice. You're probably fine. A few weeks of rest, right?" he said. There was a weird sense of desperation in his voice that made her feel uncomfortable. One look into his eyes and she could see the panic through his glasses. Was he tearing up?

There were not stopping the shaking that took over her entire body. Her hand reached out and grabbed Davis's wrist, clenching so desperately onto him her nails were digging into his skin. Her voice was uneven, almost panicked when she said, "Davis. I… I have to have surgery. They have to reconstruct my knee."

"How long will that take?" he asked. He had realized that his free hand had reached down to cover hers.

"I'm not going to be able to play softball again."

It was more than that, and he was well aware. There went the scholarship, the chance for a better education. There went the dream of playing on a national team. There went the endless summer days they'd always spent together on the baseball field. There went an entire way of life.

It was the first time they cried together, but not the last.