To Hell With Your New Shit

“Get in the truck,” I told her, staring at her as she stared right back at me. She uncrossed her arms and stood up so she was right in front of me.

“Fine,” she finally surrendered. She marched to the passenger’s side of my truck and climbed in, slamming the door behind her. I made my way to the other side of the truck and hopped in before starting the engine and speeding off to our neighborhood.

“So, Molly Warner?” she asked with a sneer, though she didn’t tear her line of vision from the road in front of us. “I thought you’d given up on that a long time ago.”

“Yeah, well, it turns out you were right,” I admitted.

“About what?”

“She totally has a thing for big-time rock stars.”

“Hm,” Lindsay hummed with a sarcastic chuckle. “I suppose she would, wouldn’t she?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, glancing sideways at her.

“So tell me, John,” she began, avoiding my inquiry, “do you have a thing for big-time Barbie dolls?”

I shook my head and didn’t answer. Instead, I took a sharp turn down a familiar dirt road that ended at a small park.

“You said you were taking me home,” Lindsay stated. I ignored her and climbed out of the truck, making my way toward the bank of the small river ahead of us. Not a minute later I heard a door slam and footsteps running after me. “Dammit, John, can’t you just take me home?”

Once again, I didn’t respond. I just stuck my hands in my pockets and kept walking. I started whistling, staring up at the clear, blue sky above me. I could still hear Lindsay’s brisk footsteps following me until I stopped abruptly.

“Seriously, you said you were going to take me home.”

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and turned around to face her.

“Why did you leave?” I asked her, pulling my sunglasses off of the bridge of my nose so I could see her better.

“Take me home.”

“No,” I resisted. “Tell me why you left and I’ll take you home.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she responded, glaring at me with her icy eyes.

“Then when will you want to talk about it?” I questioned angrily. “Three more years from now, when you’re in graduate school somewhere even further away? Or how about six years from now when you’re married and have a family? Whenever it’s most inconvenient for me, right?”
I couldn’t help but get enraged. This was not the Lindsay Thompson that I knew. She had never kept secrets from me.

“It’s not like that!” she cried. I stepped back, surprised that she had said anything. “I don’t want to talk about it, John. Please just take me home.”

I kicked the dirt below me with my foot and took off towards my truck. She followed me timidly and got in right after me. I drove as quickly as I could, trying to ebb away at the time spent awkwardly in the cab of my truck with her. She unbuckled her seatbelt as soon as we turned onto Park Street and fidgeted until we reached her parents’ driveway. To my surprise, she didn’t jump out the moment I rolled up to the front path. Instead, she let her hang linger on the door handle and she stared out the window.

“I was scared,” she whispered quietly, before throwing the door open and sprinting inside the house.

I sat in my truck, staring blankly ahead of me.

She was scared?

Of what?

Me?

I pushed my door open and slammed it shut, making my way to the Thompsons’ front porch. I lifted my first and knocked loudly on the door.

No answer.

I knocked again, this time more rapidly and with more force.

“Lindsay!” I yelled, hopefully loud enough for her to hear me. When the door didn’t open and I heard nothing on the other side, I yelled again, and again, and again, all three times to no avail. I jumped from the porch and rounded the side of the house to see if her window was open.

Of course, it wasn’t.

Frustrated, I sighed and walked purposefully into my parents’ house, leaving my truck parked haphazardly in the Thompsons’ driveway. I would get it later, I noted to myself. I had simply planned on dropping Lindsay off and heading back to my apartment, rather than spending another night in a bedroom only a dozen yards from hers.

I took the stairs two at a time to my bedroom and rummaged around my desk for a piece of paper and a marker. As soon as I found them, I uncapped the green marker, not even stopping to wonder why I even owned a green Crayola marker, and carefully scrawled seven bold, important letters onto the white background.

I stood before my window and pushed it open, looking across to Linday’s window. It was still closed, the blinds were down, and as far as I could tell, the lights were off. I sighed heavily, staring down at the pathetic piece of paper in my hand. With one simple decision, I carefully placed the paper against the screen and shut the window. I pulled the blinds down, left my room, and walked back outside. Before I made it to my truck, I glanced up at the window to make sure my sign was visible. I smiled half-heartedly once I found that I could easily make out the letters, then climbed into my truck and drove away.