Chapter 15 – Dallas
I’ve been living in Texas for months now, yet still haven’t updated my driver’s license with my new address.
I’m looking to kill some time before meeting up with Stevie and Wylie at the bar tonight.
Even though it’s the day before Thanksgiving and I know the small-town DMV will be even more understaffed than usual, I decide to head over to the Lonestar Junction government building to update my documents.
I tell myself that I’ll take care of this menial task to keep my mind off my inevitable meeting with Dove.
The old four-story speakeasy that houses the government offices has been transformed into a DMV, Social Security office, and courthouse—which, anywhere else, wouldn’t make sense.
But in small-town, rural America, I’m not the least bit surprised by the multi-purpose building and lack of public parking.
I finally find an open spot that’s large enough to fit my truck, park and then stare up at the old building.
It looks ancient from the outside. Wylie had mentioned that it'd been damaged by a rare hurricane that hit the town decades ago and it looks like no one had made the effort to renovate and repair it since that storm.
Bricks are crumbling off of the exterior of the property, weeds are overgrown, and the door practically falls off its hinges when I grip it open to enter the lobby.
I trip on a broken piece of tile on the floor and shake my head.
This place is a safety hazard.
There’s a single, weathered directory encased in a glass box that looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in fifty years located in the middle of the lobby.
I wipe at the glass, trying to clear whatever soot has been caked on it so that I can find which floor the DMV is located on.
It does little to make a difference, but I just barely make out that it’s on the fourth floor.
My eyes shift to the side, spotting the lone door to the stairwell that’s currently blocked by a cleaning cart and an older woman scrubbing at something on the cracked linoleum floor just inside of the frame.
“Elevator’s open!” she calls over her shoulders. “A kid puked in here. Trust me, you don’t want to step in this shit.”
Great.
I spin around to find a single elevator with a plastic covered brown door and press the up button.
The doors creak open slowly with an almost ominous sound, and I step inside, moving to the back of the tight, cramped space.
As the doors begin to inch shut at a glacial pace, a tiny figure with light brown skin and a head full of deep, auburn hair slips in at the last moment, her nose buried deep in her phone, not even noticing me.
I steady my breath, taking in the sight of the woman whose back is now facing me.
She’s engrossed in whatever she’s looking at on her screen, scrolling as if unaware of the lethal stranger leering at her in the cramped space.
She’s tall, maybe about five-foot-seven inches, but I’m still towering over her with my six-foot-four frame.
She has no safety awareness.
Is this...?
The elevator box is already poorly lit by just one bulb flickering ineffectively overhead but I can still make out her shape.
The curve of the back of her neck, the way that her dark curls fall gently in large ringlets on to her shoulders.
I take the first breath I've inhaled since she entered the elevator and catch the faintest hint of cinnamon mixed with peppermint.
Glancing down, my eyes snag on the way her hips flare into tight, jean shorts and then I notice a single tattoo: a simple outline of a dove holding a microphone on the back of her arm, just above her elbow.
I draw in another deep breath.
Dove…
The elevator finally begins its slow ascent, but it feels as if we’re sinking.
Usually, I can anticipate almost every possible scenario before I encounter it, even when no threats seem present I have a good sense of what’s about to happen.
Yet, I never could have imagined running into Dove today, in the elevator of this dilapidated office on the way to the DMV.
This was a threat I didn’t see coming. A threat to my pride, and the idea I’d had around how I’d explain to her why I was here.
Suddenly, the sole blinking bulb overhead cuts out and the elevator car that we’re riding in comes to an ear piercing, screeching stop.
“What the hell?” I hear her mutter from somewhere in the darkness in front of me.
I listen as her fingers fumble for the elevator control panel pad, likely searching for the emergency call switch. Unfortunately, I already know what she doesn’t. There’s no such switch on this elevator.
I think through my next move but decide it’s best to just roll with this unexpected twist. I clear my throat gently, trying my best not to frighten her but wanting to alert her to my presence before she accidentally bumps into me and screams. The space is small, and cramped, it’s only a matter of time until she realizes she’s isn’t in here alone.
However, my attempt at softly clearing my throat comes out more as a deep, choked, garbled noise that I’m sure sounds terrifying.
Something hard hits the elevator door, and I can only assume it’s her throwing her body around in the pitch dark, trying to break free.
“Help!” she screams loudly, doing her best to wrench away from me in the tight space. If only she knew how easily it would be for me to grab her. To silence her. "GET AWAY FROM ME!"
I reach my hands out instinctively to try to steady her then pull back, realizing that’s probably a bad idea too.
“Sorry, I was trying not to scare you. Looks like I failed.”
“Ohmigod. I had no idea someone was in here with me!” Her voice comes out as a pant while she works to catch her breath, finally stopping her manic thrashing.
“You were pretty focused on your phone when you stepped in.”
I can still hear her heaving quietly in the dark, her nerves palpable even through the inky blackness surrounding us.
My hearing, always keen, had been sharpened in the trenches overseas where detecting the slightest crack of a branch or crunch of a leaf was a matter of life and death.
And right now, I was detecting her taking in too much air, too rapidly.
“Try to steady your breathing. It's still uneven. If you keep sucking in air like that, you’ll black out.”
"I'm sorry... I... I..."
I can hear her striving to get ahold of her breathing but proving unsuccessful. If she keeps this up for even a few more seconds I know that the next thing I’m going to hear is the thud of her body as it collapses to the floor at my feet.
I shift into crisis-stabilization mode, quickly considering how to get her to calm down and keep her from passing out.
It’s been years since I’ve needed to be gentle or tender with anyone, but I remember one surefire way to steady her breathing that I picked up long ago.
It’ll mean getting closer to her—this woman who I’m almost certain I know better than she realizes.
I want to confirm if it’s really her, but first, I need to earn her trust.
I take a tiny step forward, “I’m taking a step towards you. I’m going to take your hand, and I’m going to place it over my heart so that you can feel how slowly mine is beating. Try to sync your breathing to the thrum of my heart rate. Do you understand?”
I assume she’s nodding her head because she doesn’t protest. I move forward another step, reaching towards where I believe her hand is likely positioned, grasping it and then gently lift it to touch my chest.
Her skin is smooth, just like butter. I can feel her pulse fluttering beneath my fingertips, so fragile and frantic.
Her breathing is still rapid, far too fast for someone confined in a cramped, old elevator with questionable air circulation and poor ventilation.
I really don’t want the firefighters to force open the doors and find her sprawled on the floor passed out with me towering over her.
‘Former marine found in compromising position with town’s beloved rockstar in broken elevator.’
I keep her hand over my heart, my big one engulfing her small, resisting stroking it with my fingers the way I want to and enjoying the softness of her skin against my palm. After a few more measured, deep breaths from her I can sense that she’s calm enough not to pass out in my arms.
“What the hell are we going to do?” she blurts out.
I chuckle in the darkness, removing my hand from where it covers hers even though I’d like to keep holding it. She keeps hers in place, still pressing firmly against my heart and I resist the urge to puff out my chest just so that she can feel how strong it is.
Show her how much I've grown up.
That's ridiculous. She doesn't even know who you are.
But I know. I know that it’s my Dove trapped in here, terrified, seeking reassurance from me.
When did she begin to feel like mine? I’m not even sure, but now that I know she’s here, all I want to do is wrap her in my arms like a long-lost friend.
Because that’s how she’s always felt to me.
Someone I could confide in. Someone who made me laugh during some of my toughest days.
Someone who encouraged me to keep going, trying new things.
Part of the reason I joined the Marines.
She was a presence I’d taken advantage of expecting to always have around.
“There’s no emergency call button but you should be able to call the Fire Department from your phone,” I suggest.
“I dropped it when the lights cut off and you coughed.”
I rub my temples firmly realizing now that we actually might be in trouble.
“Can you use the flashlight on your phone to help me find mine?” she asks.
“I don't have a phone.”
“You don’t have a phone...” her voice trails off as if she’s considering those words carefully, testing them in her mouth for how they feel. It’s a common reaction I get when I tell people that. “At all?” she finally asks, her voice filled with shock.