Reach for the Sky

Carefully, I pulled my old blue trunk from beneath my bed while Travis hovered over me, watching my every move and absorbing it as he was apt to do. There wasn’t really much to watch through, I pulled out a pair of twelve-gauge, double barrel, over-under shot guns (I knew what they were by the color of their cases). Then I loaded my shooter’s bag with two pairs of “everything;” my normal shell bag and a spare, two pairs of safety glasses, and double the amount of shells I would normally bring because I was sure somehow Travis would be good at shooting (probably because he was good at everything).

Travis took the heavy shooter’s bag from me and I carried the guns out to a big red Ford King Ranch I hadn’t ever seen before.

“Where did this come from?” I asked, as I set the guns in the backseat before I climbed in the passenger’s seat. Travis shrugged, and took off toward the gun range.

“It’s been around, it’s a whore of a truck. Everyone uses it, mainly to go get new bikes from the dealer in town and stuff like that. It was actually a mobile hot tub at one point…” I laughed and settled in for a ride

“So tomorrow I have the photo shoot with Jo and then I have to cut weight off the motocross quad. So I’ll probably need your help.” I finally spoke after a few minutes of silence, twiddling my thumbs.

“I can’t cut quad weight, I’m useless when it comes to anything with four wheels. Except cars. And Rhino’s. And Monster trucks. And Go-karts…” He glanced over and caught a despairing pout as I contemplated how much fun asking Bell to help would be. Pulling teeth would have been more enjoyable. “I was just giving you a hard time, Sweet Cheeks, sure I‘ll help.”

“Where did that nickname come from anyway?” Travis grinned as if it were something for him to know and me to eventually find out.

The shooting range was beautiful, it was one of the nicest facilities I had ever seen - but as usual the old timers gave me a hard time. Travis and I had to check in to sign up in order to shoot, and when I informed them I’d probably need a station alone to teach the gangly kid beside me how to shoot, the man behind the counter saw fit to question my shooting experience; a girl my age wearing skinny jeans, a tank top and a baggy sweatshirt wasn’t usually very qualified to teach someone how to shoot at all.

“Sir, you’ll find I’m qualified. If you’d like to shoot a round with me first, I’ll shoot any game you want me to.” After that, the man backed off a little bit and allowed Travis and I to take one of the trap houses to ourselves.

“Okay so, we’re going to be shooting clay pigeons. They look like this,” I hit the trigger that hung from my belt, which sent a launched orange disc through the air in front of us. “So you’re going to lean forward and track it. Just try not to shoot the trap house, right? Ready to try?” His eyes widened briefly, but he nodded. “Put a shell in the bottom barrel, and close the gun. Good, now stand like I showed you. And when you’re ready to shoot, turn off the safety and say pull. Don’t hit the trap house or you’ll never live it down!”

Travis stood poised for a few seconds before he finally called for a bird. His shot was way under, and as he swung around proudly to ask if he had hit it, I danced around the barrel of the gun, guiding his hands down.

“So when you’re done shooting, you break the barrel like this,” I showed him how to move the mechanism with his thumb before I had to dodge to avoid being hit in the face by a spent shell. “Be careful of where it shoots out! Alright, well you shot underneath that one, so what you need to do is lead it a little more. The barrel of the gun should be right over the pigeon, and when you shoot, don’t stop the motion of the barrel, follow through.”

“That’s an awful lot to think about, I thought I would just get to point and shoot! They make it look so easy over there.”

“Well, it is easy, you just have to know all of this stuff and have it engrained in you before you can clear your mind and just shoot.”

“That makes sense. Can I go again?” I nodded and guided him through the motions once more. After twenty minutes of shooting under my guidance, Travis had managed to hit five shells (out of twenty-five, but it was very good for a beginner).

“So I’m going to shoot a round with these guys, maybe you could stand behind us and watch?” After a few hours of hanging around with the old timers and talking shop, Travis looked about ready to take the nearest gold cart and jump the nearest ditch, he was so bored.

“Sorry, I just love sitting with the old guys, they’re like this wealth of information.” I apologized as we walked to the truck, laden with the guns and shooter’s bag.

“No, it’s alright, I’m just impatient when I suck. It’s not your fault,” I laughed at his statement as he tossed me the keys.

“You don’t suck - hey, what’s this about?” I threw the keys back at him over the hood. “I can’t drive stick.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself!” He teased, as we climbed into the truck. “Do you want to learn?”

“I am!” At which point I paused, and considered the long stick between the seats. “Maybe when we get away from civilization.” Travis drove for a few minutes, and then stopped, looking over with a broad grin.

“Okay, we’re away from civilization!”

“Not fair! I didn’t even have time to think!”

“Well you have no choice. Come over here,” Travis patted his lap, and I looked at him with a raised eyebrow, gaining a laugh.

“For real? You’re going to teach me like my dad tried when I was five?” That wry grin convinced me, though, and I clambered over the center console and sat on top of Travis's legs. He buckled the seatbelt over my lap, prompting another; “For real?”

“Safety first. So you know the gas, clutch and brake, right? And you know you need both feet, right? And you know you need to have your hand on the shifter?” His feet guided mine to the brake and clutch, and his hand settled over mine on the shifter. “Okay, well then… Game on.”

“What? That’s all the help I get?” With a laugh, I depressed the clutch and the brake, shifted into first, and stalled out as I let the clutch out too quickly.

“Way too quick with the clutch, I kind of feel bad for your bikes,” Travis joked; I was all too aware of his free hand resting on my knee. “So try again. Little slower on the clutch, and watch the brake a little more closely.” So I tried again, and nearly stalled before his foot pushed mine back down on the clutch, and then guided me as to how fast I could let it out.

“Ah, I got it!” I felt Travis nod into the back of my head, obviously more than a little doubtful. When I moved to shift the truck into second, I managed to continue the forward motion.

“Very good! So remember that there are five gears, and we can’t go down the hill in third, so it’s probably best to slow down a little bit.” I grinned at him in the rearview, and shifted up into third gear to power the huge, dually truck down the side of the hill, and around a corner. Travis wrapped his arms around my waist and buried his head in my loose curls, as if he was actually frightened of how fast I was going.

“Oh stop it you, like you haven’t flown down this hill going fifty!”

“Good point.” He sat up again, but his arms remained looped around my waist. I leaned back a little more comfortably, forgetting my conversation with Jolene for a moment as I drove the enormous truck like a race car around the twisting corners before I finally stalled out on a shift back down to second and only some quick thinking from Travis saved us from missing the rest of the corner and shooting down the hillside.

We sat on the shoulder, shaken but no worse for wear, on the side of the road.

“You suck at driving!” He reprimanded me stiffly - we were both locked in a death grip on the steering wheel.

“Do not!” I unbuckled the seatbelt and began to crawl back into the passenger’s seat under Travis's long arm, but a hand on my waist stopped me.

“Scottie, I -” Oh, fantastic. When I got home, I was going to beat Jolene with a stick. Travis's arms wrapped around my waist as I sat with my legs in the passenger’s seat. “Oh man. I can do a backflip in a monster truck, but I can’t…”

“Travis,” He shushed me before I could finish my sentence.

“No, wait.”

“Jerk!” I punched him in the shoulder.

“Brat!” He jabbed a finger into my stomach, which made me gasp and break out the “bigger” swear words.

“Ass ho-” Travis's hands made it from my hips to the side of my face in half a second, and he pulled my lips to his, which instantly stunned me into silence. After a stunned second, I deepened the kiss, burying my hands in his curly brown hair as the steering wheel slowly pressed into my side.

“Travis, ow! Ow! Steering wheel in the ribs!” Ribs which had only just healed and were definitely still tender and bruised tremendously.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Travis wrapped his arms around my waist once more, hugging me close; I laid my head on his shoulder as I tried to catch my breath. Finally, biting my lip, I was able to look up at him and smile tiredly.

“So what does this mean?” I asked, as I buried my head in his shoulder again; and as he began to say something about how he didn’t know, I silenced him. “We better figure it out before we get back to the guys and this gets awkward, right?” It made sense; the boys in the house could notice anything and exploit it.

“Scottie, will you be my girl?” It was very difficult to bite back a laugh into his shoulder.

“Only because you asked me like we’re in the fifth grade back in the fifties,”