Page 11 of I Hear You

Beads of sweat collect on my forehead, my heart is pounding and my ears are ringing. My truck's passenger door opens and I jump. I quickly fold the paper back up and shove it in my front pocket as Taylor slides into the truck. She scoots to the middle of the bench seat. Jesse squeezes in after her with a six-pack of beer and a small bottle of vodka.

“Are you okay?” Taylor asks me with obvious concern in her eyes.

I’ve known Taylor for years and in those years she’s never been one who could hide her emotions or keep herself from speaking exactly what’s on her mind. It’s one of my favorite qualities about her. Right now though, it’s a problem.

I must have a screwed up look on my face for her to ask me that. I quickly plaster on the biggest smile I can manage and demand my heart to stop trying to jump out of my chest. I’m almost worried they can hear my heart pounding and my heavy breathing.

“All good, you just startled me,” I tell her.

“Were you daydreaming about that sweet thing you gave a ride home? Don’t think I didn’t see you, Henry,” Jesse chimes in.

Taylor looks at me and then at Jesse, eyes wide.

“What? A girl? Who is she? Do I know her?”

“It’s nobody,” I interrupt Taylor before she can make it all the way to twenty-one questions.

My head is still spinning from what I just found. I can’t sit here and answer questions about giving Madison a ride when I know the printed out email was left behind by her. I’m still trying to figure out what the hell this all means.

“Just a girl who's new at Pinehurst and was waiting for the local bus to take her there from the Greyhound drop off. You know how the buses run, so I gave her a ride. Not a big deal. Now, mind putting on your seat belt so we can go?”

Taylor slumps in the seat, lets out a huff and puts her seatbelt on. Then dramatically crosses her arms across her chest like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“Awe Babe, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I tried to get him to invite her tonight, and it was a no-go,” Jesse assures her.

I don’t know why Taylor has become so obsessed with my love life. Ever since the decision was made that I would be staying in town and going to Pinehurst, she freaks out if I even look at a girl. She’s tried to set me up on more than one date I’ve had to decline. If she doesn’t give it a rest soon, my declines will no longer be so polite.

“Well,” Taylor says, patting my arm, “We’re gonna have a blast tonight, regardless! To the barn!” She squeals.

We all laugh at her enthusiasm.

The barn is a huge white building that Emmett’s dad let him take over a few years ago as a hang-out spot. It’s not very rustic for a barn, and is likely one of the biggest ones in the country, if I were to guess. I pull the truck right into the barn through the large open doors and cut the engine. Half of it is used for us to park our cars and for Emmett to store his four wheelers. The other half has a few couches and chairs around a TV and gaming setup. There’s a ping-pong table that’s never been used for ping-pong since it’s been here and a small kitchenette. A set of stairs leads up to a loft style bedroom where Emmett crashes from time to time and a full sized bathroom with a shower and everything. I don’t think this barn has ever even had an animal in it. Emmett’s mom hired decorators so everything from the rugs in front of the furniture to the hand towels in the bathroom have a bit of atoo nice for a barnlook to them.

It looks like Emmett is the only one here so far. He’s lounging on the couch, playing Call of Duty and yelling at what is probably a bunch of ten-year-olds through his head set. Jesse jumps over the back of the couch and half lands on Emmett, pulling more than a few curse words out of him. Taylor walks by Emmett, ruffling his shaggy blonde hair before she takes up her usual spot in one of the oversized arm chairs. It truly could fit four or five Taylors on it. I playfully slap Emmett on the back of the head, then make my way up the stairs to the bathroom. The paper I found in my car is burning a hole in my pocket.

Once I’m safely inside the bathroom, I pull the now crumpled paper out. I carefully smooth it out on my leg, noticing just how worn and fragile it is. This time I manage to keep my heart beat at an almost normal rate and take the time to look deliberately at it. The paper looks like it was printed just a few days after it was emailed. And as I suspected, it was definitely printed from Mads email account. An email from Ender to Mads.

I chose not to use Henderson or Henry when I posted my short stories in the groups where Madison and I met. Ender seemed like a good enough pen name. When Mads and I started emailing back and forth, I never told her my real name or the nickname my friends use.

One time my dad caught me writing a fantasy story about a dragon who fell in love with a princess. I was like ten and it was a stupid concept, but he laughed at me and said writing dumb stories wasn’t going to get me to the NFL.

I only ever wrote in secret after that, so I guess keeping my name as Ender was a way of protecting that part of me. It was a way of protecting the person I was with Madison. Eventually, Ender started to feel like my alter ego. He was the man I wanted to be, but wasn’t quite brave enough to actually be. I guess it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to see Ender could be a nickname for Henderson, but almost everyone calls me Henry. That’s how Madison met me today, as Henry.

I know what having this email printed in my hands must mean, but it doesn’t mean I’m not struggling to reconcile it. My brain just doesn’t want to make sense of it.

It means the girl in my truck today wasn’t just a Madison, but was my Mads. I carefully fold the paper and push it back into my pocket and sit on the closed toilet seat, leaning forward and putting my head between my legs. I think I might pass out.

How is this possible? How is she here? And holy shit, she’s even more gorgeous than I’ve been picturing her all these years. As the reality of the situation sets in, the more logical and practical questions come to mind. Like, did she know who I was? There’s no way, right? It was all too coincidental running into her at the bus station. I’m relieved to know she’s alive and seems to be doing well despite her break down at losing her luggage.

Over the past ten months, I've had a million scenarios in my head. Some of which were outlandish and purely to make me feel better about the obvious rejection I’d received. But here we are. In the same state, same town, going to the same damn college. I guess her presence here and the fact she appears healthy means she truly did just have a visceral reaction to that email. The email she printed.

I gather myself and wash my hands before I make my way down to the rest of the group. If I’m up here any longer, someone will start making crude jokes at my expense. When I make it downstairs, Emmett and Jesse have already cracked open beers and Taylor has a red cup in her hands. If I know Taylor, the red cup is filled with a lot of vodka and very little orange juice. Taylor likes to have fun and I don’t fault her for that. She grew up with strict parents. It makes sense she likes to let loose when she can.

I settle down into one of the other oversized armchairs and try to pay attention to the conversation. Emmett’s droning on about some girl he had over the night before. Instead of Jesse egging him on and asking the questions, it’s Taylor as usual. I swear that girl lives vicariously through everyone else’s sex and love lives. She and Jesse have been together so long, they’ve only been with each other. I don’t doubt they love each other or would ever want to be with anyone else, but Taylor reads too many romance novels and thinks everyone else’s lives should be like the books she reads.

“Did you let this one stay the night or did you hit it and quit it? Did you call the Uber before she could even get her clothes back on?”

Emmett, who looks and sounds like he drank a whole six-pack to himself before we even showed up, winks at Taylor and says, “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

---