To Be Alone With You

“Anna convinced me to do recruitment with her today,” I told John as I entered his dorm room, excitement lilting in my voice. “I just got back from signing up.”

“Recruitment?” he questioned, sitting straight up in bed. “Like the army?”

“Like sororities,” I clarified.

John wrinkled his nose. “You’re not a sorority girl, Josselyn.”

“What do you know about sorority girls?”

“I’ve seen the movies.”

“Oh John, you don’t really believe everything you see in movies do you?” I hummed, going to his side and cuddling into his lanky frame. “Besides, it’ll be a good way to make friends.”

“Make friends?” he scoffed. “Half our high schools go here. Don’t you have enough friends to begin with?”

I gave him a pointed look. “I’m doing this, whether you like it or not.”

A week later, I received a bid from Kappa Kappa Gamma, my first choice. As we ran through Greek Town to our houses, Anna was by my side the entire time, squealing excitedly about our new sisterly bond. That day, I found a new sense of sisterhood outside my very own twin, something I never thought I would find. And ever since that day, John resented me for it.



“Are you sure you’re okay? You won’t be lonely today?” Kennedy insisted at the door, Jared’s car chugging gas at the bottom of the driveway. He was on his way to dig through the bulk of Austin Gibbs’s most recent work, trying to sort through what was good enough to put on the new album. He’d spent some time recording with Trey Nickelsen when they were on the road and now he wanted a second opinion. In the back seat, I could see the Nickelsen brothers, Garrett looking at me with a completely unimpressed expression.

“Ken, I’m an adult,” I hummed in response. “This is my hometown. I know my way around; there are a thousand things for me to do. You don’t need to set me up with a craft project and a snack before I leave.”

I pressed a teasing kiss to his cheek, earning a dark flash of blush from Kennedy. “Alright,” he muttered shyly, tugging absentmindedly at his shirtsleeves. “Well, my car is in the garage. If you need it, take it.”

“Thank you,” I replied softly, pressing her hands to his sides and directing him toward the door. “Your friends are waiting.”

He shrugged and turned to leave, hopping down the front steps to the path. “Oh, Kennedy!” I called after him. “Please don’t be too hard on John when you see him.”

Kennedy paused and turned to face me, his expression darkened. “I can’t make any promises.” And then he turned on his heel and jumped in next to Garrett, taking off down the street. I watched them drive away until the car disappeared around a corner.

He’d spent the last few days raging around the house at John, fitfully pretending that he wasn’t as mad as he was. It wasn’t Kennedy’s battle, it was mine. But he was outraged at the fact that John had intended on showing up to yell at him, and then the next best option fell to me. And while I was furious with John, I didn’t want Kennedy to beat him to a pulp; even worse, I didn’t want to break up an amazing band.

I stood there for a minute, not quite knowing what to do. Like I’d said, there were a million options, but it was hard to choose just one. I glanced at my watch, realizing it was already one o’clock. As it was Wednesday, most everyone would be at work or school, leaving the town quiet and a pretty empty. Suddenly, it dawned on me. I had to go to the one place I’d been avoiding.

Grabbing my bag from the couch, I headed out the door to the garage. Sitting in the driver’s seat of Kennedy’s car was a strange sensation – I couldn’t remember the last time I’d driven a car, having not needed to when I lived in New York. I got the hang of it by the time I’d driven down the street, getting onto the highway and mechanically driving the route I drove so many times over the years.

The neighborhood looked the same as I drove through it, past the houses I once played at and the trees I once climbed until I reached the end of the block. The little yellow house with the modest front porch was exactly the same as I left it, the front steps still the same one’s I’d scraped my knee on before kindergarten graduation, the same ones I’d once begged my father not to go from as he packed his bags into the car. It appeared to be dead inside, no one home to catch me as I parked the car on the curb and snuck to the backyard.

This place was once my home, and it felt like it was greeting me as I ran my hand along the yellow vinyl siding. The fence was unlatched, as always, allowing me to slip undetected through the chipping white door. Seeing my backyard took my breath away, with the gardens my mother dutifully kept, the shed tucked in the corner behind rows of chrysanthemums. I carefully stepped around them on my way to the shed, pulling open the door to reveal the treasure inside.

It was there, just as I’d expected: my bike. Bright blue and fixed gear, a Schwinn from ten years ago, still in the condition I left it. I couldn’t help but wonder if my mom had taken care of it, hoping that one day I’d come back and ride it again.

“Oh, Mom,” I murmured sadly, running my fingers over the worn in handle bars, the seat I’d saved up for to ride long distance. I missed her. It took everything I had to walk away. But still, I carried it out of the yard, careful not to drag the wheels on the grass for fear of leaving tracks.

When I reached the street, I looked wistfully over my shoulder at my childhood home, wishing I could go inside. I wondered if my mother had changed the garage code, or if I went and typed in the age-old combination the house would open it’s time capsule of a world to me, ready to be explored. It had been ages since I’d been inside – since the last time I’d been home years ago under those terrible circumstances. But with a kick of my foot off the pavement, I squashed those thoughts from my mind. Going inside would be too painful. And my mother would notice someone had been there – she’d always had a set of eagle eyes.

With all of Tempe at my fingertips, I could only think of one place to go. So I went in the only direction I knew anymore. Riding my bike felt like being free again, with the wind whipping through my hair as I peddled out every frustration I’d harbored in my heart for the past weeks. All my troubles caught on the breeze and floated away into the sunbeams of the afternoon, not knowing whether they’d ever come back to me. I thought of just staying on my bike forever, taking off for the Carolina’s right then and there, from coast to coast and not a care in the world. Not Rick, not Garrett, not Kennedy, not even John O’Callaghan.

The path wound through the edge of the city, down a trail that lead parallel to the highway. I felt weightless as cars flew past me in the opposite direction, just meters from my outstretched hands. I didn’t realize how out of shape I was until I hit the hill, and shamefully walked my bike up the entire way. My legs were exhausted by the time I reached the top, leaving me remembering the days when I could ride my bike up it without a change in pulse. But my exhaustion faded into the background when I reached the top, the view catching my breath and taking it right away from me.

Tempe was splayed out in front of me, with the mountains behind that, and Scottsdale just beyond there, the arid desert promising a forgiving winter. The trees still held their leaves, unlike the ones I’d left in New York. I absent-mindedly propped my bike against one, still captivated by the view. It had been awhile since I’d come to that place – my quiet place, my happy place. I’d only ever shared it with one other person, a person I would surely never speak to again.

And it was then that I noticed the white truck parked at the bottom of the hill on the road entrance, opposite from the trail entrance. A cold chill ran through me as I realized. I knew that truck. My eyes darted to the bench at the edge of the cliff, just before the guardrail along the edge. I saw the outline of his broad shoulders in a plain white t-shirt; a grey beanie perched on his head. And though my brain thought better, my feet had a mind of their own. I walked over to John O’Callaghan and sat down right next to him on that bench.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded flatly.

“It’s a free country,” he countered, his eyes closed in relaxation. “This is my thinking place.”

“This is my thinking place,” I responded, wishing he would just look at me. “I’m the one who brought you here in the first place. This isn’t your thinking place at all.”

John was quiet for a moment, the profile of his face stark against the light blue sky. His expression was emotionless, like he really was lost in his thoughts. “I repeat, Joss,” he hummed with no tone at all. “It’s a free country.”

I was at a loss for words. He really did have the balls to come up to the place that I’d shown him in secret, a place that he’d only ever been to with me, and make it his? After everything he’d done to me, he really had no guilt at all for completely taking that away from me.

“You’ve been gone for a while anyway,” he added. “You can’t just expect a spot like this to not get snatched up by someone else. Really, you’re lucky it’s me. It could be some creep, just waiting to prey on unsuspecting little dreamers like you.”

Though there was no way of him knowing, that hit home a little to closely. Immediately, I thought of my experiences with Rick – the feeling of being lied to, of being completely and utterly deceived for the majority of my short-lived dream job. He was some creep now, just waiting to prey on all the young girls at the office. We were silent for a moment, not knowing what to say to each other. Finally I opened my mouth to yell at John, to tell him how insensitive he was, but he beat me to it.

“Josselyn,” he murmured, finally opening his eyes and rolling his head to face me. His eyes were sunken, exhausted, almost tortured. “I’m sorry. For how I treated you the other day. And for how I treated you in New York.”

There was nothing for me to say to that. I was completely unprepared for an apology. John never apologized – absolutely never. My anger towards him began to melt from me like a second skin.

“You’re right,” he continued, his expression sincere and openly wounded. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“That’s really mature of you John,” I breathed, dumbfounded.

We paused, taking in the sight of each other being completely civil in a space. Perhaps it was because we weren’t confined to the inside of a studio, a hot and sweaty bar, or the inside of Kennedy’s house. Perhaps, in the open, sunny afternoon air, we could be ourselves again. Not the abundant hatred that had plagued us for so long, that we allowed to define us. Just us.

“You’ve changed,” I murmured.

He scoffed, looking back out over the highway. “Don’t tell me you miss who I was.”

I smirked. The thought of the John I once loved coming to my mind - hair long and shaggy, jeans bought from a women’s section, crooked smile perpetually on his lips. “I guess you’ll never know, then.”

Again we were quiet, just gazing out over the highway.

“Why aren’t you at Austin’s? For the music thing?”

John shrugged. “Wasn’t invited.”
“Really?”

“Kennedy made it pretty clear he didn’t want me around after I showed up at his house and ended up yelling at you.” A feeling of dread permeated my stomach.

“Oh John, I never meant to come between you two…”

“He seems to think you’re his girl or something,” he stated.

I made a face. “I’m nobody’s girl.”

John laughed. “I know that. You’ve never been anybody’s girl, as much as I wish I could say otherwise. But I don’t think Kennedy knows that.”

I was quiet for a long while as John tapped his fingers on the worn wood of the bench, carvings of names grazing his fingertips like jagged edges of the cliffside.

“Do you remember when you brought me here for the first time?” he asked after a while.

“Of course,” I replied. “You drove up the hill in your truck, just to prove you could. And we listened to that Tom Petty song about a thousand times.”

“It’ll All Work Out,” he clarified absently, his mind somewhere else.

“Yeah,” I repeated softly. “It’ll all work out.”

We sat in silence for a while longer, for so long I lost track of the sun. Every so often, John would hum a tune under his breath, like he was writing a song in his head and couldn’t quite figure out the melody. His presence was infuriating yet somehow, at the same time, soothing. I let him hum into the wind for the longest time before finally getting up, getting on my bike, and leaving. We didn’t exchange so much as a goodbye.

I returned my bike to the shed, the house still lifeless. My mom had picked up extra work at her job since I left for New York, wanting to keep busy outside her empty nest. When I returned home, Kennedy was there – ready with a bowl of homemade popcorn and a movie to watch on Netflix. That night, I slept in his bed for the first time. I fell asleep on his chest and dreamt of Casey – we were at her home in Santa Barbara, playing on the beach just meters away from her backdoor. I woke up the next morning with an incurable aching in my heart, wishing more than ever I still had her number so I could hear her voice.