Runaway Hearts
Starting Out, Fargo, ND - Delilah
He walked into my life in Dickies and a worn down pair of work boots, and from that day on everything changed. I was only seventeen, he was older.
And people talked right from the start.
It didn’t bother me much at first. It didn’t do any harm.. at first. But that was then, and this was now.
As the dark road stretched out before me my mind chose to wander. To wonder. What were they saying now? When the rumors began to grow, when peoples thoughts and voices kept getting louder and louder.. well, we had to make a decision before the world made one for us.
So we left.
I glance over at the passenger seat. He is sleeping soundly, his head propped against the window, his feet against the dash. I wondered what he was dreaming about. Whatever it was I hoped it was better than the nightmare our life had become.
The clock on the dash read 2 am. It had been close to midnight when I had taken over the position of driver, and quite a while before that since we had stopped for gas or anything at all. I scanned the road ahead. Lights danced in the distance. A town. I checked the gas gauge. We had a quarter of a tank. We would be fine until then, and even if we wouldn’t be, it wasn’t like there was another option.
From where I had been to the lights it was only about a twenty minute drive. I pulled into the rundown gas station. Being as quiet as I could I filled the tank, I figured might as well when I had the chance. I reached through the window and pulled an envelope from the visor. My fingers fumbled through the bills and I pulled out a fifty. I placed it back in its hold and watched as he stretched in the passenger seat. Part of me wanted to ask if he wanted anything, the other part of me wanted him to keep sleeping. It’s easier to pretend everything's okay when someone isn’t there telling you it’s not.
I turned from the car and made my way to the counter. It was only thirty-some odd dollars to fill the tank, so I threw in a pack of cigarettes too. Pall Mall 100’s, Menthol. I browsed the lighters briefly, picking a purple one that read “It’s all in your Hands.” It seemed fitting.
I made my way back to the old beat up Blazer. He was still sleeping in the passenger seat, but he had shifted his position, his back was to me.
It seemed like it had been that way a lot recently.
Climbing in, I started the car and made my way back to the main road. The interstate was smooth beneath the tires, the lights of another city were barely visible on the horizon. It was different from the country roads and back lanes we had been on for so long, it was exciting and terrifying all in the same breath. I pulled a cancer-stick from the pack on my hip and lit it. I watched as the flame burned the paper, the tobacco turning into a red ember. They’ll be the death of me, I’ve come to realize. But the possibility of that was easier to face then the world without them.
It’s sad really, how people can get addicted to such a temporary thing. One cigarette.
Ten minutes of lung damage and calmed nerves, then it’s gone. But if you’re me, you’re already craving another one. My eyes flickered to the passenger seat.
Cigarettes weren’t my only addiction.
When I met him I was gone.
It was like something out of a fairytale. His eyes. His smile. I was absolutely head over heels for him before I even knew his name. Luke, I learned later. His name was Luke. Luke Cane Bulter. He came from a small town South of Montgomery. Troy. He always told me about the mountains. How it was so different from here. Here you could see for miles. Miles upon miles of nothing but flat land. He claimed to hate it, but he still stayed. Away from his family. His mother and his sisters. Some days he’d say it was because of the trouble he used to get in down there, other days he’d say it was because of me. I never knew which what I believed.. maybe I didn’t believe either.
There was a sting on my thigh. Startled, I swept my hands across my legs. The ember of my cigarette fell to the floor, and I struggled to put it out with my non-driving foot. I threw the butt out the window and sighed. A moment or two later I realized just how little it had actually done for my nerves.
The next sign I saw was for Fargo, North Dakota. Only 2,000 and some odd miles left from here. But I knew we’d stop before then. But as of now we just had to make it out of this state. Once we crossed the border we could breathe more freely.
Not by much, but a little at least.
We crept through Fargo and the city lights bounced off of the hood of the Blazer. Everywhere I looked there was colors. Another cigarette rolled between my fingers. Every few moments I looked over at him, every few minutes it was the same result. He slept peacefully, and I lived in fear.
A stoplight came up, I sat there as the red beamed through the night. There were no other cars out. My hand traced absentmindedly across my stomach.
“Everything will be okay.”
I don’t know who I was persuading. But I was hoping someone believed it.
And people talked right from the start.
It didn’t bother me much at first. It didn’t do any harm.. at first. But that was then, and this was now.
As the dark road stretched out before me my mind chose to wander. To wonder. What were they saying now? When the rumors began to grow, when peoples thoughts and voices kept getting louder and louder.. well, we had to make a decision before the world made one for us.
So we left.
I glance over at the passenger seat. He is sleeping soundly, his head propped against the window, his feet against the dash. I wondered what he was dreaming about. Whatever it was I hoped it was better than the nightmare our life had become.
The clock on the dash read 2 am. It had been close to midnight when I had taken over the position of driver, and quite a while before that since we had stopped for gas or anything at all. I scanned the road ahead. Lights danced in the distance. A town. I checked the gas gauge. We had a quarter of a tank. We would be fine until then, and even if we wouldn’t be, it wasn’t like there was another option.
From where I had been to the lights it was only about a twenty minute drive. I pulled into the rundown gas station. Being as quiet as I could I filled the tank, I figured might as well when I had the chance. I reached through the window and pulled an envelope from the visor. My fingers fumbled through the bills and I pulled out a fifty. I placed it back in its hold and watched as he stretched in the passenger seat. Part of me wanted to ask if he wanted anything, the other part of me wanted him to keep sleeping. It’s easier to pretend everything's okay when someone isn’t there telling you it’s not.
I turned from the car and made my way to the counter. It was only thirty-some odd dollars to fill the tank, so I threw in a pack of cigarettes too. Pall Mall 100’s, Menthol. I browsed the lighters briefly, picking a purple one that read “It’s all in your Hands.” It seemed fitting.
I made my way back to the old beat up Blazer. He was still sleeping in the passenger seat, but he had shifted his position, his back was to me.
It seemed like it had been that way a lot recently.
Climbing in, I started the car and made my way back to the main road. The interstate was smooth beneath the tires, the lights of another city were barely visible on the horizon. It was different from the country roads and back lanes we had been on for so long, it was exciting and terrifying all in the same breath. I pulled a cancer-stick from the pack on my hip and lit it. I watched as the flame burned the paper, the tobacco turning into a red ember. They’ll be the death of me, I’ve come to realize. But the possibility of that was easier to face then the world without them.
It’s sad really, how people can get addicted to such a temporary thing. One cigarette.
Ten minutes of lung damage and calmed nerves, then it’s gone. But if you’re me, you’re already craving another one. My eyes flickered to the passenger seat.
Cigarettes weren’t my only addiction.
When I met him I was gone.
It was like something out of a fairytale. His eyes. His smile. I was absolutely head over heels for him before I even knew his name. Luke, I learned later. His name was Luke. Luke Cane Bulter. He came from a small town South of Montgomery. Troy. He always told me about the mountains. How it was so different from here. Here you could see for miles. Miles upon miles of nothing but flat land. He claimed to hate it, but he still stayed. Away from his family. His mother and his sisters. Some days he’d say it was because of the trouble he used to get in down there, other days he’d say it was because of me. I never knew which what I believed.. maybe I didn’t believe either.
There was a sting on my thigh. Startled, I swept my hands across my legs. The ember of my cigarette fell to the floor, and I struggled to put it out with my non-driving foot. I threw the butt out the window and sighed. A moment or two later I realized just how little it had actually done for my nerves.
The next sign I saw was for Fargo, North Dakota. Only 2,000 and some odd miles left from here. But I knew we’d stop before then. But as of now we just had to make it out of this state. Once we crossed the border we could breathe more freely.
Not by much, but a little at least.
We crept through Fargo and the city lights bounced off of the hood of the Blazer. Everywhere I looked there was colors. Another cigarette rolled between my fingers. Every few moments I looked over at him, every few minutes it was the same result. He slept peacefully, and I lived in fear.
A stoplight came up, I sat there as the red beamed through the night. There were no other cars out. My hand traced absentmindedly across my stomach.
“Everything will be okay.”
I don’t know who I was persuading. But I was hoping someone believed it.