
The Stars and the Air
I fell in love with you overnight.
(And you made it so easy.)
You picked me up in your car, and my parents watched me get into a strange boy’s car from behind the curtain. It was new and strange and dangerous and exactly what I had been missing out on my whole life. You told me my dress was nice, and you were wearing the same shirt from school this morning.
You didn’t have a job so we drove out of town until the Come Again! sign was only a post hidden by the night. We drove until the stars looked like comets and your laughter mingled with the wolves howl’s. It was the furthest I had ever been away from home with a boy, and I remember feeling so damn happy when you looked over at me and I saw that my friends were wrong.
(You weren’t a player. You weren’t a jerk. You weren’t a freak or a burn out of a monster. You were a boy who’s dad was sick and who wasn’t going to graduate and who had self esteem issues.)
When we parked in the field we sat on the hood of your car, and with your sleeves rolled up, I saw a tattoo on your arm that I never knew you had. You held my hand and my palm pressed against yours as you breathed in the unfamiliar air. I hoped my lungs would fill up with enough new air and then I wouldn’t belong to the town anymore.
“You seem so different at school.” I said.
“So do you.” You said, and I laughed when I realized it’s true. You were as an intimating freak as I was a pushover geek. “But I like spending time with you.” There were so many stars that the sky looked like glitter, and somewhere in Heaven there was a party.
(The stars reminded me of your eyes, too.)
“Me too. I really like it.” I said. “It doesn’t matter what other people say.”
“What have they been saying?” You said. I was surprised you hadn’t heard any rumours of me being knocked up. Word had gotten around quickly when you came up to me in the cafeteria and put your arm around me. I hoped you wouldn’t beat anyone up tomorrow.
(But I wasn’t surprised the next morning when Gordon Frazier came to World History with a split lip.)
“Nothing crazy. Anyways, I wanted to ask, how are you?” You chuckled, and you turned to look at me, your knees turning to touch mine. You let your head hang down and whispered in my ear.
“I’m great.” You said. Your typical grin was on your face, and it was nice to see it when no one else was around.
“No, not now. I meant this morning. You missed history, and it doesn’t really matter – but you seemed upset when I saw you.” I said. I felt your hand tense under mine and the stars disappeared.
“My dad is sick.”
“I know that.”
“And I have to take care of him.”
“But, you’re not alone, right? Doesn’t your mom help?” I asked, but I knew I was crossing a line that was dangerous territory for you.
“Let’s forget this. I didn’t want to come out here and talk about my home life, okay?”
“Okay. I’m sorry. I overstepped.” I said.
Then you looked at me, but I couldn’t see much. Instead of trying to see, I closed my eyes and listened to you breathing. I felt your hand leave mine to slide up my arm and rest on my shoulder. In return I brought my hands up under your leather jacket and over your shirt, and your breathing pattern changed when I ran my nails down your back gently.
You kissed me then, and it knocked my world upside down. The moon was gone, and I was surrounded by light. Light that stretched for miles – past the town and past the city. My knees were weak and your touch was bringing them down, and you took off your jacket when I tried to reach your shoulders.
I made an embarrassing noise, but then you deepened the kiss and I realized that noise was good thing. So I did it again.
(You had kept your hand in the same place and our foreheads leaned together as we broke apart.)
You drove me home that morning, hands sticky from maple syrup and a receipt from a diner and giggling like kids. We went to school late and you called your house, but there was no answer. I called my mom to tell her I was okay and I got yelled at by my dad.
(I was grounded for a month.)
(You never wanted to talk about it again. I never saw your house or your room. I never got to see where you listen to music or eat breakfast. I only once heard yelling over the other line when I called you, and I never did it again when you told me it was because the call had woken up your dad. My parents liked you eventually, and you started to hang out with them and let my dad talk to you about construction. When your dad died I went to the funeral and sat behind you and didn’t let go of your shoulder. That night you cried, and it was the first time I heard you sob. You hung onto me and I stayed with you until you fell asleep. You dropped out of school and you slept at my house for a week until your mom realized you were gone. You got a job in town. You always said you had big plans, but I knew you could never leave.)
(I always wanted you to make it. Always. I wanted you to prove them all wrong and make it out of here. I wanted you to get in your car and drive to the city and become something. I wanted the air in your lungs to change.)
I’ve been rewatching Freaks and Geeks lately, so this was loosely based around Daniel Desario! We never saw too much of his home life, and I always wanted him and Lindsay to be together.
Thank you for reading!
