Chapter 7
Price
Withdrawal is a bitch.
Six weeks ago, if someone had asked me if I had an addiction to technology, I would have laughed. I spent countless hours using technology for my job, which was also convenient for my personal life. But addicted? No.
I would have been wrong.
It’s hard to go more than ten minutes without thinking about something I’d like to do that requires technology. I need something. The quietude is unnerving after a while. My thoughts aren’t that comforting, and I haven’t figured out how to stop thinking while I’m awake.
I consider getting a radio for music, but I don’t want the commercials, news breaks, or even the weather forecast. So off to the store I go to buy a record player.
“What vinyl records do you have?” the gray-haired salesman asks, adjusting his round, black-framed glasses.
“None. Do you have any suggestions?”
“Absolutely. Vinyl albums are cool again. There’s been a huge resurgence in popularity, but if you ask me, they never went out of style.” He thumbs through a box of albums. “Definitely Zeppelin and The Beatles. Fleetwood Mac … Springsteen … The Rolling Stones … Hendrix … I’d get some Nirvana and throw in a little Maroon Five and Harry Styles for a nice mix.”
I stare at the stack of albums in his bony arms.
“If it’s too much to buy all at once?—”
I shake my head. “I’ll take them. Do you have some good chill albums?”
“Sure. Let’s see …” Again, he thumbs through the albums. “How about Steely Dan and Sade?”
“I’ll trust you.”
He laughs. “You’ve got a great mix. What made you want to get into vinyl?”
I follow him to the register. “I’m doing a technology detox of sorts.”
“I love it.” He scans the albums, slides them into a bag, and sets the bag on the box with my new turntable while I dig out cash.
“Thanks,” I say.
“Enjoy.”
I’m unsure how to use a turntable, but there are instructions, so I’m good. When I get home, it only takes me five minutes to set it up, and The Beatles play “Can’t Buy Me Love.”
For the rest of the day, I listen to music, stare at the ceiling, and contemplate the meaning of life. I come up empty. So before bed, I break out my new journal and pen. Maybe writing my thoughts will help make sense of life.
I stare at the blank page and tap my pen on the first line until I have nothing more than a conglomerate of ink dots. Twenty minutes later, I have a drawing of a cat on a windowsill. What’s most shocking is I can draw. I’m good, really good. How did I not know this?
But now I’m tired, so I run a toothbrush over my teeth and crawl into bed. No sooner do I shut off the light and there’s a knock on the door. With a heavy sigh, I climb out of bed and head to the door, pulling a T-shirt over my head.
Scottie’s smile fades when she inspects me. “Were you in bed?” She glances at her watch. “It’s not even nine o’clock. Are you sick? Do you want me to come back another time? Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Do you want to come in and play something besides Twenty Questions?”
She steps inside, combing her fingers through her bangs before flipping them out of her eyes. A new mix of aromatherapy follows her. It’s heavy in citrus. I like it.
“I asked you four questions, not twenty. But I could easily think of another sixteen.”
I turn on the gold porcelain lamp in the living room. “I’m sure you could, but I’ll spare you. I was up early this morning,” (a lie), “so I decided to turn in early. You knocked on my door before I pulled the covers over my body. You didn’t wake me.”
Scottie turns in a slow circle, tugging on her long sleeves to ball her fists into them while inspecting my place. She’s divine. Always in comfy, flowing clothes. Face makeup-less save for a hint of lip gloss or probably some sort of homemade lip balm. And her smile is content and soothing, even when she’s concerned about me.
“I was going to see if you’ve had dinner yet, but I think I know that answer.”
I skipped dinner.
“I could eat.” Another lie. “What do you have in mind?”
“I don’t know. What do you have? Wait … whoa! Have you been listening to music on this?” She inspects my new turntable on the white media console below the TV, flipping through the small pile of records.
“I just got it today.”
Scottie eyes me like she’s seeing me for the first time. I understand. Every time I look in the mirror, I feel like I’m seeing the reflection of a stranger.
She pads her fuzzy-socked feet along the wood floor toward the fridge. Opening it, she chuckles. “You are definitely not the Price Milloy I remember.”
I bought a dozen bottles of local cold-pressed juice yesterday and filled my fridge with fruits and veggies.
“I guess we’re having pomegranate and…” she surveys the counter filled with fruit “…bananas.”
“Do you know how long it took me to deseed that pomegranate? What makes you think I’m willing to share it?”
She plucks two slate blue bowls from the floating shelf by the stove. “I’ll replace your deseeded pomegranate. I love deseeding them. It’s meditative, don’t you think?”
“You mean frustrating?” I hand her a spoon.
She deposits seeds into each bowl and uses the spoon to cut the banana. I love watching her do things. Her soothing motions and gracefulness have stuck with me all these years. I could watch her do anything, and it would lull me into a peaceful state.
“Can we eat on your sofa?”
I look back at the sofa as if I forgot I had one. “Sure.”
Scottie plops into the corner with her feet tucked beneath her. “So I had something really embarrassing happen to me yesterday.” She takes a bite of fruit and grins while chewing it.
I don’t care what happened. As long as it keeps that grin on her face, that’s all that matters.
“At the store?”
She shakes her head and swallows. “After the shop closed, I walked with a friend and his dog. We played fetch in the park, which can be tricky at night because the park isn’t well-lit, but he had a glow-in-the-dark Frisbee. I became a little obsessed with trying to catch the Frisbee before the dog, and on the last throw, he tossed it in a different direction to give me a head start. Then he yelled for me to stop, but I was already airborne to catch the Frisbee, and I landed in a pond.”
God. She’s so beautiful.
I laugh because it’s funny, but also because her laughter is contagious.
She shakes in a fit of giggles. “B-but I caught it.”
I try to swallow but nearly choke as I picture her landing in the pond. “That’s all that matters.”
She tells me the rest of the story with animated expressions that captivate me, like everything else about her. By the end, she has tears streaming down her face, and I’m not far off.
I wonder if this guy, her friend, knows how lucky he is to experience absolutely anything with her. Countless memories of our summer together have permanent space in my mind.
Those memories are why I’m in Austin.
When the laughter dies, we start to speak at the same time. And we say the exact same words. “Remember when we?—”
I grin. “You go first.”
“Remember when we planned that outdoor surprise party for your dad, which ended in a torrential downpour?”
I nod. And we spend the next two hours reminiscing. She has no idea how much she’s influenced my life.
“I should go. I’m sure you’re exhausted,” she says.
I stifle my yawn, but her frown confirms she doesn’t miss it.
“I’ll report for five o’clock duty tomorrow. Do you think I’m ready?” I ask, walking her to the door.
“Of course. You rise to every occasion like a phoenix in the Arabian Desert.”
With a chuckle, I open the door.
She slips her feet into her shoes. “This was fun.”
I rub my arms as the cool breeze barges into the entry. “It was.”
She presses her lips together and eyes me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s waiting for me to kiss her goodnight. But I do know better.
At least, I think I do.
While I ponder the idea, which is a bad one, she steps toward me and wraps her arms around my neck, lips at my ear. “Goodnight,” she whispers.
“Goodnight.” I gently wrap my arms around her.
Scottie’s hands cup my neck, and she kisses my cheek.
In the next breath, she’s out the door and hustling to her red truck in the driveway.