Page 37 of The Crush
I nod.
“But what about…everyone?”
I sigh, wishing I had something more well thought out to offer her than, “We’ll figure out a way to tell them. But we don’t have to do anything until you’re ready. Or at all if—”
Her mouth crashes against mine, her hands pulling me back into bed with her for longer than those five requested minutes. For long enough that, in the end, the only acceptable option for either of us seemed to be me pulling her out of bed and into the shower with me instead. Progress, even if I did end up fucking her again up against the tiles, her legs at my waist and her arms around my shoulders as I made sure to send her back with a few more memories of me.
I manage to get her back to the bus stop in San Antonio with what feels like seconds to spare, even parking in the same spot. Last time I’d been here, the excitement had rippled off her in waves. This time, she’s leaning against the side of the truck bed as if she could attach herself to it while I stand in front of her, my hands on her face, wiping away tears before they can fully fall.
“I’ll see you tonight, okay? I promise we’ll figure this out.”
When I see the bus appear in the distance, I kiss her hard, trying to prolong every last second of my time with her, and she seems to be doing the same. I can’t get myself to pull away until the bus is fully stopped, until I have no choice but to hand over her suitcase from the truck bed.
It’s much lighter now. She’s shoved a good portion of her belongings into my bag to make room for the sunflowers in hers. I had been given very little say in the matter, even with the argument of how I would explain having an overnight bag full of her clothes. Although I’m not particularly worried about my dad checking.
As she runs across the street, I climb back into my truck, my eyes habitually flicking to the rearview mirror as I settle into the driver’s seat. Not really necessary since I’m not planning to leave until she does, but it’s in that split second I notice a truck down the road. By no means uncommon in San Antonio, but…
Isabel looks back and pulls my focus once again to her as I wait for her to board the bus, an increasingly sour mood taking hold as I check the time again. It’ll take me another two hours at least to get home, her slightly longer with the other stops.
As much as I wish she was still in my passenger seat, I remind myself that at least it’ll give me some time to think about what to do here. No matter what, people would have a fucking field day over us together, and I need to figure out a way to protect her from that. But even if I still don’t really know how to keep her, I know I’m not ready to let her go. Losing her in that dream had been bad enough.
When she turns to wave one more time, I hold up my hand in return and do my best to force a smile before she disappears from view.
By the time I check the mirror again, the truck is already gone.
The Hero
I don’t remember much of Aarón’s tenure as town hero.
With twelve years between us, most of his high school football games had passed by while I was running around under the bleachers, chasing after Gabe.
There are a few moments from his senior year that I do remember, though: Aarón standing in the middle of the field and shouting out plays as the quarterback, Eli excitedly bouncing up and down on the JV bench, my mother muttering prayers under her breath, my father pacing down at the fence.
I’ve heard stories about how he always barely held it together during Aarón’s games…and about the times when he didn’t.
What I remember most is the sound. The small-town chorus of my brother’s name being chanted over and over, a teenage boy held up as a patron saint. The eldest son of an only son taking his rightful place in the pantheon.
Every now and again he would let me see the world from the top of his shoulders. See the way everyone waved, congratulated him, told him they couldn’t wait to see him on TV.
Every now and again he would let me into his room. Quiz me on team helmets, show me his trading cards (if I was very gentle), watch the sunlight from his window reflect off his trophies.
Every now and again he didn’t find me so annoying. He’d pass me candy from the hidden shelf, run behind me while I learned to ride without my training wheels, lift me onto his horse with him so I could go flying.
Every now and again, Aarón wasn’t all bad, even if he sometimes makes it hard to remember.
Unfortunately, he also just wasn’t goodenough. There was no torn shoulder, no poorly timed sprain, no epic ending. There were only letters in small envelopes. Phones that never rang. Silence where there had once been chanting.
Congratulations had eventually turned into polite nods. Trophies moved from top shelves to closet boxes. There was no more time to take me flying.
So falls the town hero. Until the next one comes along.
Thirty-One
Isabel
Sunday, October 2, 1994
I promise we’ll figure this out.
