A Summer Nowhere

I felt really good about this trip to Nashville. I'd shaved my legs every single day for a week, so there wasn't a trace of hair on them and I thought the shorts I'd fringed up looked pretty good with the tank top Heather had gotten me. I filled in all the faded spots on my big, black messenger bag with a Sharpie. It used to be what I carried books in, but after I'd sewn so many band patches onto it, they wouldn't let me take it to school anymore, which was stupid. Anyway, it matched my boots perfectly and I thought I looked really put together.

If there was one thing on earth I was good at, it was preparation. I had sunblock, makeup, body spray, magazines, a couple of rolled up blankets to lay out on the grass, and I talked Brad into stealing some of Dennis' vodka. Instead of putting the bottle in the bag as is, like an idiot, I filled up two empty water bottles halfway and got a bottle of orange juice to mix with it. After shoving my deodorant, toothbrush, and toothpaste into a plastic bag, I tossed it in and was ready to go.

I thought I'd looked okay before Heather came out of the house to join me on the walk to Sam's house. She had on a bright red halter top that showed off her pierced belly button and a pair of shorts that may as well have been underwear. Her dishwater blonde hair was pulled up into a ponytail on top of her head and she'd painted her lips to match her shirt. She smelled like that fancy body spray from Victoria's Secret and I wanted to punch her and be her at the same time.

“Hurry up!” she hollered behind her.

Brad came out behind her, knocking her out of his way. He looked a little bit ridiculous in a pair of baggy black shorts and a wife beater tank top. He was rubbing the top of head, which he'd shaved almost completely the night before. His shorts were hanging low on his hips, showing off a pair of blue and white striped boxers. I wanted to tell him he needed a belt, but I knew he was dressed like that on purpose and I didn't want to sound like an old lady.

“It's so hot.” Heather whined. “Why can't you drive us?”

“Dad needs the car until he gets the new truck.” Brad explained, squinting against the sunlight.

“I'm not getting in a car with him ever again.” I said, digging into my bag and putting on the sunglasses I found.

“Aw, what'sa matter?” he joked. “You don't like snuggling?”

I gave him my best snarl, which only made him laugh.

The plan had changed so many times I could barely keep up with what we were doing. We weren't gonna' take Papaw's truck anymore, we were gonna' take Gary's dad's SUV. But there wasn't enough room for everybody in that vehicle, so we went back to taking Papaw's truck. But then Gary said there was no way he was gonna' ride in the back of that thing, so we would have to take two vehicles. But then Sam finally convinced Gary to take Papaw's truck, because she said he could drive. Then we decided we would head to Nashville a little bit early in case there was a lot of traffic, but then Sam said since we were celebrating my birthday, we should head out first thing so we could explore downtown. But then I said I didn't want to have to get up that early, so we decided to leave at ten, get there by noon, and wander around until the concert started at four. Gary threatened to back out of going about a dozen times, but in the end I think he only agreed because he was tired of arguing.

When we made it to Sam's driveway, James was just getting out of his car, a silver Honda Civic, and he and Gary were shaking hands. Heather was panting like a dog from the walk in the heat and Brad was rubbing the top of his head, like he was worried it had gotten sunburned. When James saw me, he smiled real big and met me halfway up the driveway.

“Hey!” he said, like it was the most excited he'd been in forever. “It's so good to see you.”

“You too.” I mumbled, not knowing what else to say.

This was only the third time I'd ever even seen him, but it was the first time he actually looked like he was dressed for the weather. He had on a pair of khaki cargo shorts and a white t shirt that had The Clash on the front. The sleeves and sides had been cut off and you could see his thin, wiry frame underneath. I was glad at least one person was as pale as me.

“Happy birthday.” he said, pulling me into a hug and pressing his cheek to mine, one at a time and doing an air kiss like we were in Italy or something.

“Thanks.” I said, feeling my skin get all icy.

I knew I should've packed a sweatshirt.

“Her birthday's not 'til Monday, actually.” Heather felt the need to tell everybody.

“Celebrating early.” James nodded, smiling at me like a couple of weeks before he hadn't just humiliated the crap out of me. “Cool.”

“I'm gonna' go see if Sam has a sweater I can borrow.” I said, starting to move past.

“Oh, wait.” James said, jogging back toward his car. “I have a hoodie. Will that work?”

I didn't want to wear his hoodie, because I didn't want to like it and not want to give it back to him, but I took it anyway and thanked him. It smelled like fabric softener and some kind of citrusy cologne and that made me wonder if he kept it in his car just in case whatever girl he was with got cold. I was that girl and I didn't know how I felt about it. Also, the fact that it actually fit me when I thought it'd be too small since he was so skinny made him even more appealing and I didn't know how I felt about that, either.

“Finally!” Sam said, barreling down the stairs and jumping into my arms.

I braced my legs to support her weight, but still had to let out a groan when she landed.

“I'm so excited!” she shrieked, our hands on each others' shoulders.

“I can see that.” I nodded.

She was jumping up and down, her long, platinum hair swaying around her hips. She looked perfect with no make up and an American flag printed tank top that looked more like some scraps of fabric tied together at the shoulders and waist. Her shorts matched and she had on her favorite red Doc Martens. Chris came out of the house carrying a rolled up sleeping bag and tossed it in the back of the truck.

“Alright!” Gary got loud, sounding like a PE teacher trying to be heard over a bunch of rowdy kids. “Who's sitting where?”

There was room for three up front, but that wouldn't be very comfortable. I kind of wanted to sit up there with Gary to avoid being in the middle of the hubbub in the back. But at the same time, I wanted to be included. But then, also, I didn't want to leave Gary all by himself. Although, when I thought about it, he probably didn't mind. He'd probably prefer it that way.

“We're all sitting in the back.” Sam insisted, grabbing my arm and pulling me closer to her, like she was reading my mind and trying to make it up for me.

“Perfect.” he nodded, looking pleased.

Sam, I was told, had laid out a couple of eggshell foam mattresses along the bottom of the bed of the truck so we didn't have to sit on the hard floor. As we all piled into the back, Heather stayed back, looking disgusted.

“I'll sit up front.” she decided all of a sudden, smiling at Gary. “You could use the company.”

“Great.” I heard him grumble under his breath.

I kind of wished I'd offered to sit up there with him, but it was too late. I was sort of pushed into sitting with my head against the window that opened into the cab. James was next to me, his legs bent so that his chin could rest on his knees. When he looked at me, it was like he was asking if I was ready for this big adventure, and I couldn't help but smile.

Sam and Chris sat on the left side of the truck, facing the right wall. Instead of sitting against the tailgate or on the right side, like any normal person would, Brad sat in the corner right next to me. He was wedged uncomfortably close and any time I accidentally looked at him, he was staring right at me, giving me the creeps. I could hear Heather behind me blabbering away about god knows what and I felt a pang of guilt. Poor Gary, I thought.

“I'm really glad you're feeling better.” James told me, smiling hopefully. “Sam said you had some kind of flu?”

I was glad he was soft spoken, because I didn't want Brad to hear him over all the chatter in the back and declare that I hadn't been sick at all and I was just embarrassed.

“Oh, yeah.” I nodded. “Thank you.”

He looked like he felt guilty, and that made me feel bad. It wasn't his fault that he'd gotten roped into hanging out with me at Sam's little get together. And it definitely wasn't his fault that he had a thing for Sam. I mean, everybody else did. Nobody told him I was interested or that he was invited for me, probably. So he didn't know what to do.

I wondered if maybe what Sam had said was true, that just because he liked her didn't mean he couldn't also like me. Or maybe, he once liked her and he didn't anymore. So now, maybe, there was room for me because I was available and she wasn't. I didn't like the idea, but I was used to being Sam's runner-up and I had read something in a magazine once that said if a guy liked you, he'd make any excuse to be near you. James could've sat anywhere in the van, but he was sitting next to me. We were so close that our hips were touching. But all that could've just been my fault, because I was trying my best to get as far away from Brad as possible.

I tilted my head to the side and pretended to be looking out the window, when really I was staring at the side of James' face. There were so many things that I hadn't noticed about him before. Like, for one, he had no facial hair whatsoever. I didn't even see pores that hair could come out of. I had to lace my fingers together and keep my hands in my lap so I didn't reach out and just touch his cheek. Also, even though he was real skinny, his arms and legs looked strong. There was muscle there. They weren't anywhere near as pronounced as Gary's were, but I imagined that James could maybe lift me just as easily. Okay, not as easily. But maybe he could if it was some kind of emergency.

I was being ridiculous.

“What's going on under that mane of yours?” James asked, giving me a smile with half his mouth.

I just about fell out over that. Instinctively, my hand went to my mop of too thick, too long, too unruly hair and flipped it out of my face.

“I...” I said and then repeated myself about ten times so I sounded like a girl with a serious stuttering problem. Then I said the first thing I could think of. “I'm kind of worried about the open container law.”

“The open container law.” he repeated, looking like I was speaking a language that he kind of knew, but wasn't fluent in. “What about it?”

“I brought vodka and orange juice.” I told him, pulling my bag into my lap and opening it for him to see. “But I'm kind of worried about drinking it in the car.”

He reached into the bag and pulled out all the water bottles one by one. I watched him mix the vodka and orange juice carefully so that we had two perfectly full ones.

“Well,” he said, shaking them up and handing me one of them. “We'll just have to drink really fast.”

He knocked his bottle against mine, like we were clinking champagne glasses, and then we both chugged down about half the contents. When I coughed a little and rubbed my chest from the burn of the alcohol, he patted me on the back. I was sure it was just a nice gesture. His parents probably raised him to be polite and gentlemanly, but I couldn't help gushing over it a little. To myself, anyway.

As the scenery passed and blurred out the window, I got a little bit drunk and a little bit relaxed. I wasn't so relaxed that I could fall asleep and I wasn't so drunk that I could make a fool of myself or pass out. It was Saturday and the weather was real nice. We were on an adventure. In two days I'd be seventeen and one year closer to freedom. I just felt good.

When we got to Nashville, Gary bitched about having to pay to park, but forked up the ten bucks it took to leave the truck in a lot by Riverfront Park. We had a few hours to kill, so we wandered around, going in and out of little shops. Sam told me she wanted to get me a birthday present and dragged me through the entrance to a tattoo parlor. There was a bright neon sign on the window that said PIERCINGS 2 FOR ONE.

“You've told me about a million times that you've always wanted your nose pierced.” she told me when I refused to go any further than the counter up front.

I had maybe said that one time.

We were on an adventure, though, and I didn't want to be a chicken. Gary was in some store a few doors down and I had no idea where everybody else was. It was just me and James and Sam and Chris and they were all kinda looking at me like they knew I could do it.

“Which one hurts the most?” I asked the lady behind the counter.

She looked like she was maybe thirty, but probably not quite, and her hair was dyed black with red streaks going down her short, straight bangs. Her arms were tattooed from the shoulders to the elbows and she had a little ankh behind her right ear that looked like it hurt like hell. There were little studs and rings all over her face: right eyebrow, left nostril, two hoops on each end of her bottom lip and one little silver ball just above her chin.

“Um.” she said, tapping a black painted nail on her chin. “For some, the septum. There's a nerve there that's easy to hit.”

I had to think for a minute to remember what exactly the septum was. Then when I did remember, it made me think of some of the bulls on Granny's farm that had rings between their nostrils and a little shudder went through me. No way.

“Can I make a recommendation?” she asked, but then didn't wait for an answer. “For girls, I always suggest the navel for their first piercing.”

I lifted my shirt real quick to make sure I wouldn't have to take my shorts off for her to get to my belly button. Luckily, the waistband was a few inches underneath it. I still didn't like the idea, though.

“It's not too painful, and it's easy to hide.” she said, shrugging her shoulders and smiling at me. “And it's cute.”

“Jobie, please!” Sam squealed, clapping her hands and bouncing up and down like a trained seal. “We can both get one!”

Sam had gotten her belly button pierced a couple of years before, but when her Granny saw it, she made her take it out. I didn't know why she'd want to do it again, but it was so hard to tell her no.

“Fine.” I whined, wrapping my arms around myself and rubbing up and down.

She led us into the back room where there were a couple of chairs that looked like ones you'd see in a dentist's office. A man that seemed like he was covered in ink from head to toe was running a disinfectant cloth over one of the chairs and when we entered, he looked up eagerly at us, rubbing his palms together.

“What've we got?”

“Two belly buttons.” the lady announced, motioning for me to sit in the chair on the left.

The vinyl was cold on the backs of my legs and my teeth started to chatter. I looked up at Sam and she was hopping happily into her seat, grinning from ear to ear like the Cheshire cat.

“Here.” James said, “I'll hold your hand.”

Instead of just sort of holding it limply, he took my wrist in his left hand and lifted my arm up to him, lacing our fingers together and holding on tight, pressing our hands against his chest. I warmed a little bit and felt the back of my neck tingling.

“It's okay.” he told me.

“Oh, yeah. You're gonna be just fine.” the big tattooed guy said, rolling up to me on a swivel stool. “I've done this about a million times and haven't killed anybody yet.”

“That's good to know.” I managed.

He lifted my shirt and rubbed alcohol over my stomach. When I jumped from the cold, he laughed.

“That's always the worst part.” he said. “Is this your first?”

I told him yeah and he chatted me up while he gathered his supplies. He had some kind of clamp, a big long needle that freaked me out, some kind of little plastic tube, and a marker. The exciting part, he said, was picking out your jewelry. He wheeled back over to the counter against the wall and came back over with a little piece of laminated paper. On it was a bunch of different colors and shapes of belly button rings. After a minute, I decided on a simple diamond looking one.

He put the clamp over the top of my belly button and used his little marker to line up two dots, one underneath and the other above.

“Ready?” he asked, grabbing the needle with his other hand.

I nodded my head and squeezed my eyes shut.

It didn't really hurt, but it was the weirdest sensation I think I'd ever felt—like when you poke a hole in a plastic bag and air goes in and out at the same time for a second. It made me look down at what was going on and I saw him putting the little plastic tube through the hole he'd just made. He cut it with a pair of scissors and shoved a little curved bar with a fake diamond one end through the hole; then he took the tube out and tossed it into his little bowl of stuff to throw away. Before I knew it, he'd screwed the other little fake diamond on the other end of the bar and said I was good to go.

Sam got up a few seconds later, giggling as she pressed her belly up to mine. Her studs were decorated with bright blue plastic sapphires and it made me wish I had gotten some kind of color, too.

“You look so cute!” Sam gushed, locking arms with me and practically skipping us out the door after she paid.

“Thank you.” I said, examining my belly button through my shirt. “It didn't hurt as much as I thought it would.”

“And how sweet is James?” Sam seemed to be ignoring me as she leaned in and whispered. “He is so adorable the way he held your hand.”

I felt my cheeks heat and tried really hard to hear what Chris and James were talking about behind us. All I could make out was James saying he didn't think he'd ever be able to put a needle through his skin and Chris saying it was a cathartic experience, like he even knew what that word meant. Heather came out of a consignment store next door and I was shocked to see that Gary hadn't come out before her. The fact that she wasn't following him around anymore meant that he threw off his scent and she hadn't found him again yet, or she'd just gotten bored.

“Where's Gary?” I asked.

“I don't know.” she shrugged her shoulders. “He went into some kind of outdoorsy type store and I went in there.”

As though on cue, Gary used the crosswalk up ahead and met us where we were standing. He had a long white box under his arm with some kind of logo across the top.

“What's that?” I asked, curious.

“It's your birthday present.” he said.

“What is it?” I reached for the box.

He backed up, laughing. “It's not your birthday yet. You'll get it then.”

“That's so unfair.” I whined. “I have to try and figure out what it is for another two days?”

“Or you could just think of something else.” he shrugged, unfazed.

“Show him what we got.” Sam elbowed me, lifting her shirt.

I did it too and he leaned down to get a closer look until his nose was practically touching my stomach.

“Why the hell would you want a piece of metal poking through your skin?” he asked, looking confused and a little bit grossed out. “Usually when that happens, you want to get it out as soon as possible.”

“I don't know.” I shrugged. “Just something to do.”

“It looks cute!” Sam argued, lowering my shirt for me and locking our arms back together, like she was telling him he didn't have to look at it if he didn't like it. “And she didn't even cry. James held her hand the whole time.”

I rolled my eyes. Of course I didn't cry. I wasn't a toddler getting her ears pierced at the mall.

Gary looked over my head at James, his jaw working. What was his problem?

“I'm gonna' bring this back to the truck.” he finally said, looking back down at Sam. “Where are we meeting?”

She looked around for a minute and saw a truck that advertised shaved ice.

“How 'bout there?” she pointed, looking at me for confirmation.

“Yeah.” I nodded.

By the time we found Brad—naturally, he'd been holed up in an adult bookstore—and got to the little food truck to meet Gary, we had less than an hour to get in line for the concert. James bought me a pineapple and coconut flavored snow cone and we walked ahead of everybody to get in line.

“I don't like him.” we heard Gary saying from behind us.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

“I mean,” he said, repeating. “I don't like him.”

She laughed. “Why don't you like him?”

“You know why.” he grumbled.

“I feel like they're talking about me.” James leaned close to whisper in my ear.

“No, they're definitely talking about Brad.” I whispered back. “Because nobody likes Brad.”

James laughed softly. “He doesn't seem that bad.”

“He is. He's the worst.” I assured him. “He's a creepy little perv and he's probably a psychopath.”

“Don't worry.” he said, holding out his hand for me to take. He laced our fingers together like he did in the tattoo parlor. This time he held them between us, swinging them back and forth. “I'll protect you.”