Barbie

We’ve been riding since we left the motel this morning, only stopping at a couple of gas stations in between. Now the sun is setting a dull orange in the distance, and I wouldn’t mind stopping for the night, have a sit down dinner, maybe talk some more. He hasn’t been very talkative all day, mostly just giving me yes or no answers to my many questions, and not saying anything at all when I was just talking and not asking him stuff.

That was kinda annoying, but I’ve also been holding onto him all day, and I’m more certain now than I was this morning that I want to talk to him some more, and have him talk back to me. And I want us to do other things together too. Maybe it’s the steady rhythm of the bike lulling me into daydreaming about all this, or the fragrant, empty country roads we’re travelling down, or the wind, which is warm, yet carries just enough of a cool edge to keep me awake and alert, so I won’t miss even a second of seeing how beautiful the world actually is, how very big and vast it is, and how much of it is mine for the taking.

I love taking long rides, and I’ve been enjoying daydream after daydream, some of which even touched on the possibility that I finally found a guy I could share them with, despite last night, despite this morning, despite the fact that he hasn’t uttered a full sentence on his own, since we left the motel. But all of that did happen, and it’s much too early to be thinking anything of the kind. I do like this feeling that I could fall in love again though, I haven’t felt that in years.

Seeing that knife in his hands when I woke up this morning scared me, but I believed him when he said it had nothing to do with me. His eyes were far away from the room we were in when he said that, so I think the knife has a lot to do with his issues. But I didn’t dwell on that. I’ll worry about it if he ever threatens me with it, and not before. I don’t think he will. I hope he won’t.

I always wanted to take a cross-country bike ride, but somehow I never managed to get very far out of Illinois. Maybe that’s because I was always meant to take this ride with him, on the back of his bike, holding onto his waist, enjoying his smell and his presence, which begins to feel more and more like the one thing that’s been missing from my life with each mile we cover, as the tires of his bike eat up the pavement and the clouds of evening gather.

Before settling with Brick, I’ve always been quick to fall in love. And out of it too. But this is ridiculously fast even for me, especially after thinking I’d never fall in love again for so long. Yet it’s starting and I’ve never had any power to stop it. Nor ever wanted to. Love is the best feeling in the world. It’s better than orgasms.

But my breath hitches as we turn a bend in the road and blue waters fill the horizon. We can’t be there yet!

“Stop!” I tell him, then tap his side to get his attention when he doesn’t answer.

“Let’s stop!” I say louder as his eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror.

He pulls up onto the shoulder, because that’s the kind of guy he is. The kind that stops when I ask him to.

“What is it?” he asks as he turns to me. “You gotta piss?”

“Kinda, yes,” I say and chuckle. “But I just wanted to ask…is that the ocean?”

I point at the water and he grins, smiling for the first time today, although it’s more mocking than anything else.

“No, Barbie,” he says slowly like he’s explaining something to a child. “We still got more than two thousand miles to go before we get to the ocean. That’s just a lake.”

I laugh, mostly in relief that our adventure isn’t over yet, but also because it’s embarrassing he had to explain this to me. Now he’ll be thinking I’m a dumb whore and I don’t want him thinking either of those things about me.

“Well, I dropped out of high school and geography was never a good subject for me,” I tell him.

“Yeah, I dropped out too, but I know where the ocean is,” he counters and grins some more.

I shrug. “I’m a simple girl, a lake or the ocean, it’s all good for me. Can we stop here and take a look?”

He smiled wider when I called myself a simple girl, but his face is tight again now. “I’d rather just keep going.”

“What’s the rush, Ice?” I ask. “I’m all shaken up from the ride, and my ass is about ready for a break. Come on, it’ll be nice.”

Guys like it when I talk about my ass, and I’m happy to see he’s no exception.

“Alright, if that’s what you want,” he says and drives off again.

If you want. I haven’t heard those three words in answer to my request in a very long time. And I like how they sound on his lips, very much so.

A few minutes later, he parks in a gravel parking lot that’s almost empty. A simple wooden fence separates the lot from the lakeside, where a few people are walking, and an oldish lady is sitting cross-legged on a blanket, selling sweaters and scarves and such.

“Let’s take a walk,” I say and grab his hand the moment he’s done stretching.

The world smells so clear and fresh right now, and that’s probably just because I’ve been smelling exhaust and pavement dust all day, but it still brings to mind new possibilities, a different future, a fresh start like the kind I’ve made over and over in my life, but which lost all shine for me lately. It’s shining bright this evening though. I didn’t think I had another new start left in me, but right now, I think I do, and it’s a very good feeling. It’s glorious.

He lets me drag him through the opening in the fence, but then pulls his hand from mine. OK, so we’re not ready to hold hands yet, that’s fine, that will change. I’m smiling and he’s not. That will change too.

“Would you like your palm read, young lady?” the woman on the blanket asks as we pass her, startling me, since I’m not sure I heard her right.

But when I look down, I see she does actually have a sign to that effect written in chalk on a small blackboard with the picture of a crystal ball drawn on it. It’s sitting among a bunch of sweaters, cardigans and woolen scarves. From a distance, I thought she was Indian, but that’s not actually the case.

“Sure, why not? That’ll be fun,” I exclaim, pulling on Ice’s arm to stop him. “We can both get our palms read.”

That kinda thing always scared me a little, since I’m just fine not knowing my future. My past is already quite enough to deal with. But today, getting the chance to find out what’s in store for me feels like a sign, something I’m meant to do.

“I ain’t getting my palm read,” Ice says so derisively the lady gives him a very nasty look.

“Alright, just me then,” I say and sit next to her on the blanket, offering her my hand.

“I need to see the left one,” she says, then takes it in her warm dry hands when I offer it to her.

I glance back at Ice and grin, but he just rolls his eyes and turns to look out over the water.

“That’s interesting,” the gypsy mutters, trailing her finger along my palm.

“Oh-oh, should I be worried?” I say and laugh because she sounded very serious.

She fixes me with her gaze. Her eyes are so grey they’re almost white.

“Your head line is strong and deep. You have no shortage of smarts or energy for living,” she says and smiles at me, then looks back down at my palm.

“But your love line, I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s very wavy and there’s little tendrils breaking off it. ” She traces the line she’s talking about with her fingernail and looks into my eyes. “You’ve fallen in love many times but it never lasts, am I right?”

I nod and swallow the lump in my throat, which is preventing me from speaking right now. Can she really know this from just looking at these lines on my palm?

“And here…” She points at a spot on the line just under my ring finger. “Here it just disconnects and fades into nothingness.”

I look at the spot she’s pointing at, my heart racing. This is all bullshit superstition, but it makes so much sense right now. It explains exactly why love, the one thing I’ve been looking for has been so hard to find for me.

“But it starts up again here,” I suggest, pointing where the love line on my palm starts up again after the gap. “It’s not wavy anymore and there’s no tendrils going off it.”

It’s also deeper than all the other lines on my palm, at least it seems so in this light, with the evening shadows falling on my skin.

“Hmmm,” she says and falls silent as she peers at it, causing my heart to beat even faster in the silence.

“I’m not sure that’s the love line continuing,” she finally says and I don’t know what to make of that.

“It has to be,” I mutter, but she stays silent.

“You almost done here?” Ice asks sharply. “We should hit the road again soon.”

The gypsy gives him another nasty look, but she’s all smiles when she looks at me. “And your health line, that’s nice and strong, young lady. You’ll live to a ripe old age.”

“Like my grandma,” I mutter, and for once the memory doesn’t bring just the bitterness of loss with it. “How much do I owe you?”

“Ten dollars,” the gypsy says and Ice snorts behind me, but doesn’t say anything.

I don’t look at him this time, but she does, and I don’t much like the way her eyes turn even whiter while she glares at him.

I take my twenty from my pocket and offer it to her, forcing her attention away from Ice. She takes it and I pick up a thick, white, crocheted scarf that’s as soft as cream despite its bulk.

“And how much for this?” I ask. It would be the perfect thing to wear on the back of the bike.

“You just take that,” she says as she hands me a crumpled ten dollar bill in change. “You’ll need it against the cold.”

This time, her white eyes as they lock on Ice’s, are so frosty they send a shiver down my spine. And I know she means him, that she thinks he’s the cold I need to be guarded against. But she’s wrong. He could be the one who’s gonna guard me from everything else. I’m pretty sure of that already.

“Awesome, thanks! It’s a beautiful scarf,” I say and stand up.

My voice is all airy and light, and I’m smiling too, but she frightened me. As do his eyes once I take his hand to guide him along the lakeside for the rest of our walk.

He stops again when we’re just a couple of yards away from the gypsy woman, who I’m now sure was just full of shit and wanted to get back at him for ridiculing her, with that talk of how I’m supposed to be wary of him. I mean, he deserved it, being so rude about her trade, but still, she was a bitch.

“Let’s get back on the road,” he says when I look at him questioningly.

“I thought we could stop for the night,” I suggest. “I mean, we covered a lot of miles today. We don’t even have to go to a motel, we could just stay right here. It’s so beautiful.”

And it truly is. The lake isn’t blue anymore, it’s awash in yellow and orange and all the other colors of the sunset sky. And the air is so clear and so crisp and so…

“We’ll freeze,” he says coldly, slicing right through the beginnings of another daydream come true in my mind.

“Come on, it’s not that cold. You have that sleeping bag, I saw it, and we can build a fire,” I say. “You must know how to do that, a far rider like you.”

He frowns at me. “What the hell’s a far rider?”

“I just made that up,” I admit with a small little laugh. “I meant someone who likes to take long rides to faraway places.”

He looks at me for awhile, his face calmer than the water behind him, and just as expressionless. He doesn’t speak, looks out at the lake for a few moments, then at the road for a couple more, and then finally back at me.

“Alright, why not,” he says.

I wish he sounded more excited about it, I wish his cold winter eyes would grow warmer in all this autumn beauty surrounding us, but I’m used to not getting what I wish for. And I’m good at making do with what I can get.

* * *

The fire’s crackling, the last of the day’s light is just a narrow strip of yellow on the horizon, the breeze is making the black water of the lake ripple, and the air still feels like a new beginning is on the horizon. We could be kissing right now, I’d really like that. I still get lightheaded every time I remember that kiss we shared on the sidewalk. I get more than lightheaded when I remember the orgasms he gave me, but overall, the kisses didn’t exactly lead to a very good conclusion to the night.

He’s still checking me out like he wants me most of the time when he doesn’t think I can see, but hasn’t made any move to take me. I want him to, but I’m gonna let him make the first move this time around. The stars are starting to appear in the sky now, their reflections clear and bright in the water. The world is peaceful and calm and gorgeous. And it’d be very nice if he was at least holding me as we enjoy this gorgeous view together.

But he doesn’t seem to be enjoying the view, and he’s not talking again, and I’m starting to regret coming up with the idea to stop here. If we were riding, then at least I’d be holding on to him, getting lulled to sleep by the rumbling bike and the even, straight road. Instead, a foot of space separates us, and I’m not sure if I should try to get any closer than that, because I don’t think he wants me to. It doesn’t feel like he does, and I’m fearful of ruining anything happening between us before it even gets started.

Issues. Issues and baggage. I wish he could’ve just left all of that on the back of his bike with the rest of his stuff before we came out here. Because this could be so perfect without it. But he carries his problems with him at all times.

Maybe I should start talking about myself and then he’ll open up too. Maybe that’s the key here. I’ve been doing a lot of talking, and asking him questions he’s not been answering, so I might as well give it a shot. I want to know more about him. I want to know everything and I want to know what I’m dealing with.

This is the night before a new beginning, the night when the old dies and the new begins. I’m pretty much certain of that. We’re in the middle of nowhere, in the dark, lost to the world, no one knows where we are. We might as well not exist. Anything can happen on a night like this, and anything can be said.

“This is nice, don’t you think?” I ask, chickening out again.

“Yeah,” he says lazily. “You already said that a bunch of times though.”

“Well, what do you want to talk about?” I ask. “You can tell me anything.”

He fixes me with a long sideways glance. “Why do you keep asking all these questions? Don’t you just wanna enjoy the silence?”

“I want us to get to know each other better,” I counter. “It’s a long way to California, like you told me before.”

“Not if we ride hard,” he says and chuckles coldly.

“I want to have fun while we do,” I say, sounding too needy, but who the hell cares.

“You keep thinking you’ll have fun getting to know me better,” he snaps. “You won’t. What else do I gotta do to prove that to you? Even that palm reader told you to stay away from me.”

I gasp, can’t help it, because that hard anger in his voice tells me he’s gonna make me shut up, if I don’t do it on my own, and I really don’t want that. Not from this guy. He’s done too many good things for me and I like being with him. He can’t turn out to be bad like all the rest.

“Tell me something about yourself if you wanna talk so bad,” he adds in a softer voice, echoing what I was thinking before I got cold feet, and once again proving just how well we click. “Or do I know everything already?”

He’s talking about the whore argument we had yesterday, I’m sure he is, the way he’s looking at me tells me that plainly, he doesn’t even have to come out and say it. I don’t like the implication at all.

“Yeah, fine, so I’ve been with a lot of guys, so what?” I snap.

“I figured you’d be sick of hearing their stories by now, that’s all,” he counters, grinning at me a little less mockingly.

“I never had a lot of choices,” I say defensively. “I left home when I was seventeen, because my stepfather was getting too pushy. He started fucking me when I was thirteen, and he wanted to divorce my mom and marry me and all sorts of other bullshit. But he was too old and too nasty, and I was sure I could do better. My mother didn’t care, the only one who cared was my grandma, but she got cancer and then she died. So I left, it was autumn then too, almost thirteen years ago. October 21st to be exact. It was a very cold autumn that year. It started snowing a week after I left. I remember that very clearly.”

I have no idea why I told him all that. Maybe it’s the dark, maybe it’s so he’d stop thinking of me as just a whore and a slut who’ll get with any guy. Or maybe it’s because tonight’s the night when the past dies.

“You remember that date very clearly. Sounds like you regret it,” he says.

I roll up my sleeve and move my arm into the light, showing him the date tattooed there. October 18th. “This was the day my grandma died and I left right after her funeral. She was really afraid I’d turn out a junkie whore like my mom, right up until the night she died. But I promised her I wouldn’t, and I kept my word.”

He grabs my arm to get a better look at my tattoo, then glances at my face, his all tight and contorted.

“My mom was a junkie too,” he says after awhile.

“It sucks, doesn’t it?” I ask. He’s still holding onto my arm, so I stay completely still because I like his touch.

He shrugs. “Don’t remember much of her. She overdosed when I was six, and Pop never talked much about her after that. She wasn’t a whore though, at least not while she was married to my dad.”

“I stayed away from drugs all my life so I wouldn’t turn out like my mom. I don’t even drink much,” I say. That was a very sad thing he told me, but at least he’s talking. I guess.

“And what’s that date below it?” he asks, running his thumb across it and causing sparkly shivers to run up my arm. Maybe this wasn’t a bad idea at all. Maybe we’re about to get closer.

“Is that the day you met the guy I took you from, the one who tried to sell you off to his buddy?” he adds, shattering my hopes of this night heading into a direction that’ll make me scream in pleasure and not share sad stories.

I resent the mocking darkness in his tone, the way he’s brushing past one of my saddest stories like I’m full of shit, like I’m just some whore whose stories don’t mean shit, because she’s worth shit. But tonight’s the kinda night where anything goes. It’s the kind of night when even the dead can be released. It actually feels exactly like the night I left my home to start a new life, and caught a ride with a guy that was the first in a long line of guys who were no better than my stepfather. Some of them were a lot worse.

“That’s the day my baby died,” I tell him and start to pull down my sleeve again, but he’s still holding onto my arm, almost gently.

“That’s rough,” he says and finally releases me. “How old was he?”

“My son was never born,” I say, pulling my sleeve down all the way and crossing my arms over my chest. “Brick beat him out of me when I told him I was pregnant. But I wanted something to remember him by. I wanted to put butterflies and hearts around the date, but I could hardly stop crying for long enough to get the date on there. I’d also rather have the date of his birth on there, but I’ll never know what that would’ve been, so I chose the date of his death. At least that I know. His birthday would’ve been sometime in the summer. Late June, early July. I really wanted to have my baby, because then I’d have someone I mattered to, you know?”

I never get choked up and I never cry anymore, but my throat is painfully tight by the time I finish speaking.

I didn’t expect an answer from him, and I’m not getting it. He’s looking at me from the side of his eyes, which aren’t as cold as they usually are. I think. Because it’s too dark, and I can’t really know.

“In that case, I’m glad I gave him a good beating the other night,” he says quietly. “I hit him hard, he’s probably still recovering given his age, for what it’s worth.”

I nod because I can’t speak. It’s taking everything to stop myself from crying. I was wrong. Again. This is not the kinda night when you can let go of the past. A night like that doesn’t exist. My past will always stay with me, and it will always hurt.

“I don’t know how to comfort you,” he says, and just the idea that he wants to eases the tightness in my throat.

“I lost everyone and everything seven years ago, and I lost my mind a couple of times over since then,” he goes on in a cold and calm way, like he’s just talking about the weather, and not sending shivers down my back. “I’m no good being around other people, Barbie. I shouldn’t be, and I don’t want to be. I can take you to California, but that’s all I can do for you.”

“I don’t want much,” I whisper, completely unsure of what else I could say to that. Though maybe I could tell him he’s already given me more than I expected I’d ever get.

“I can’t even give you a good time,” he says and grins. “But I’ll take you to see the ocean. Maybe you’ll have better luck finding what you’re looking for out West, near the ocean that matches your eyes, where the winters aren’t so damn cold.”

“Aegean blue,” I interject stupidly, since the more he talks about not wanting anything to do with me, the more I want to change that.

He just frowns at me questioningly.

“Aegean blue, that’s the color of my eyes,” I elaborate. “I looked it up online once.”

“Alright, Aegean blue, whatever the hell that is,” he says.

“It’s the color of a sea in Europe,” I tell him, because I looked that up too.

“Yeah, we’re not going all the way there. The sea in Cali is blue enough,” he says and laughs warmly, which gives me hope.

“I’m sorry for what you went through,” I say. “What happened?”

“It’s a long, sad story and you got plenty of those already, no need to add mine to it,” he says with finality.

“I got plenty of time,” I say and smile at him. “And despite how much I talk, I’m also a good listener.”

He looks at me, not saying anything, making me think he’s gearing up to tell me his full story. Or kiss me. Either would be great. But he stands up and starts kicking dirt over the fire.

“Let’s get back on the road,” he says. “We got a long way to go.”

He’s almost put out the fire already, and I can’t think of a damn thing to say to stop him.

I take his hand and try to make him sit back down anyway. “Come on, let’s stay a little longer. There’s no rush.”

But he just shakes his head and puts out the last of the fire. It’s cold now without its warmth and his iciness is making it worse.

He didn’t get that name of his by chance. It’s exactly who he is, and it describes him perfectly. And even though it’s stupid and probably impossible, I wish I had enough fire in me to melt the ice around his heart, because I think that’s a very good heart beating under all that frost, the kind I wish I could have, the kind I always longed to find. But I fear a fire that hot doesn’t exist.