Rocket Car

Chapter 11

Rocket Car

At some point Davis slips off into a peaceful beer-induced slumber. I know I'm going to be able to carry him in successfully without probably harming him. Fortunately, Barry and Jolene were both concerned that neither of us had come inside yet. Apparently we've been outside for quite some time. Barry starts by giving me some good natured ribbing, but he is kind enough to carry Davis inside.

It is Jolene's idea to plop him into Willie's bed. For the first time in a decade I find myself inside Willie's room. The décor has changed to better reflect his own growth. Gone are the tacked and taped on rock band posters and model cutouts. In their place are pictures of loved ones and a few well done paintings. Piles of clothing that used to litter his floor in his teenage years are neatly folded and placed in closed drawers. Resting amidst crisp tan sheets is the sleeping body of a man that I had only seen in such a state when he was a boy.

Barry drops Davis's body onto the bed without an ounce of care. His glasses are askew and ready to fall off so I remove them. Neatly folded, I place them on the nightstand next to his head. Feeling free of his glasses, he rolls over onto his belly and stuffs his face into the pillow. Willie, half asleep, cuddles next to him. Jolene snaps a picture and has it on i********: before we even leave the room.

Barry is a few steps ahead of me as we enter the hallway. I say, "I thought you were going to bed?"

"Please. I know Davis passes out like a baby when it comes to beer. Figured I could help you get him inside. Assuming he didn't end up putting the moves on you, anyway," Barry says.

I feel my cheeks turn a slight shade of red and say, "Davis wouldn't do something like that. He isn't you."

Barry agrees. "Yeah. That's too bad, isn't it? Goodnight."

I'm not sure how to react to his statement as I watch him retreat down the hallway and into his own bedroom. I decide it isn't worth decoding. Nothing ever is if it comes out of his mouth. Instead of wasting energy on such nonsense, I bring myself back to the living room. There, Jolene has already rolled out the hideaway bed and laid blankets across it and the floor. I'm a little uncomfortable at her enthusiasm to talk to me, honestly.

I end up next to her on the floor, where she offers me a cup of tea and some light crackers. We start with the basics about each other. I learn that she's a nurse and originally from the other side of the state; her and Willie met through mutual friends at a casual gathering. His social media posts were funny enough that she asked him out, according to her. That was three years ago.

Naturally we shift into our favorite stories about Willie. It's actually refreshing to share stories about someone that few could appreciate. At first I was afraid that one of us would be jealous to hear about our moments with someone we've shared, but I find that isn't the case. She's open to the fact that I had a past with Willie, and I'm accepting of the fact that he has a future with her.

As we chat away, I become aware that my most cherished memories with Willie aren't the big moments. It's hard to even remember what year they happened in. Yet those were the times when I felt like I could have spent forever with him.

Chicken

Willie set his cafeteria tray down a little louder than he had intended. The screech of the chair he pulled out was even louder. Kristy didn't notice. She was too busy focusing on eating with several stitches on her lips. Willie wasn't sure exactly where they were from ("I slipped in the locker room!" she told him; what were the odds that same day Davis also tripped in the bathroom and needed stitches?), but he was certain that they hurt a whole lot. Watching her attempt to chew her lunch was agonizing.

"How you feelin'?" he asked.

"Piece of chicken," she answered immediately.

A few blinks of wonder later and Willie was laughing. It wasn't a light giggle. The roar of his amusement caused her to stop eating and stare at him. His cheeks were flushed red, tears already threatening to fall. She couldn't recall a time when he'd been that entertained by a mere statement.

"What?" she demanded, half of the food still in her mouth. There's a slight sound of enjoyment in her voice. The way he laughs, she can't help but join in automatically.

"I-I…" he couldn't finish his sentence. She waited as patiently as she could, although that was a bit tough. After wiping away his tears, Willie managed to wheeze out, "I asked how you were feeling not what you were eating. How did you mishear that?!"

Back into his fit of laughter he goes. It takes a few beats before she joins him fully. The pain from her stitched up lip was gone in that moment. Looking back, it wasn't even remotely funny. Yet somehow, for the next several years whenever someone would ask how they were, they would answer, "Piece of chicken" much to the chagrin of their friends.

Keys

"For real guys, have you seen my keys?" Willie asked for probably the tenth time.

"For real Willie, we have not seen your keys," Kristy answered for the ninth time.

She knew exactly where his keys were. Barry had placed them inside the fridge and then promptly left, leaving the kids to themselves. Unfortunately, Willie got a call from said older brother, and he needed to go pick him up right away. There had been a "small car accident," as Barry put it. In reality, it was quite severe, but he didn't want his little brother to panic.

Unable to locate his keys no matter where he looked, he started to panic regardless. Kristy, Davis, and Jeep were all too focused on their video game to even bother helping him look. Even telling him where they were seemed like extra work at first. Eventually they just enjoyed watching the short kid scramble about the house, upturning every single piece of furniture. Willie even checked inside the oven.

"Keys are in the fridge," Jeep said.

"What the hell does that mean?" Willie asked.

"Bro. Keys are in the fridge," Jeep repeated. Since Jeep's attention never left the TV screen, he never saw the irritated and confused expression that washed over Willie's face.

"Whatever, I'm taking your car," Willie said as he grabbed a set of keys off of the kitchen table. The door slammed shut. From outside, the rumbling of a car was heard.

"…Which car did he take?" Davis asked.

They found out later that night when Willie brought home a light blue Mazda with a brand new dent on the back bumper, its taillight bashed out. In his haste to leave, Willie had backed into a fence post, and wasn't even aware of it until after he already made it back. Jeep made Willie pay for the cost to fix it by giving him a shiner on his both of his eyes.

"Keys are in the fridge" was from that moment on a slogan used whenever it looked like Jeep was about to deck someone.

Studying

There were moments when she would sit there and stare him. Sometimes he would notice; when he did, he would smile at her and blush a little, as though he was thankful for the compliment but unable to accept. Other time he was too immersed in whatever he was working on to even acknowledge her existence. She loved those moments the most. It assured her that he was his own person and that he was very real, not just half of her or part of her imagination.

Willie wasn't an i***t by any means and probably never needed to study for any exam he ever took. Still, he was passionate about it. Science was his real focus. They'd often spend time together after practices to "study," which often resulted in him completely the entire semester's homework while she channel surfed. Then he'd excitedly tell her the silly details of whatever he'd just learned. It was disgustingly cute.

That particular day she sat huddle on the edge of her bed while Willie sat on the floor. Her attention was of course on the TV, not the text book in her lap. A glance over his shoulder and she could see he was taking notes on electrodynamics, and her eyes glazed over at the sight of one particular formula. Finding little interest in his class, she instead decided to observe him.

Those hazel eyes of his were squinted slightly as he focused on each curve of each word. His eyes would dance between the book and the notepad where his messy handwriting scribbled down whatever he deemed important. Occasionally his tongue would dart out and rest on his upper lip as his focus drew much energy from his body. Excitement would flash in his eyes whenever he saw a term he was unfamiliar with. It was a challenge, like a hard hop play during a tough game.

She wasn't sure what compelled her to reach out and harshly ruffle his hair. He turned to her, his once tense body now relaxed. It was silent as he stared at her, waiting an explanation. It was clear she wouldn't give one unless she was prompted. "Shouldn't you be studying?" he teased.

"I am," she said.

To this, he could only smile. The two of them remained motionless. Their books were forgotten. The best lessons she ever learned never came from classrooms or textbooks, she realized one day. The best lessons came from studying people; from studying herself through him – the way he could make her totally content but anxious at the same time, the way he could make her feel warmth across every inch of her body but send a cool shiver down her spine with a mere look… those were what she remembered the most from high school.