Chapter 15 Sam
SAM
Well, it makes for an exciting trip back to port.
Ash comes back to life about thirty seconds later, good as mostly new. But once the crew finds out what transpired in the bathroom they expedite the trip, pushing the majestic paddleboat as fast as they dare—which isn’t very—and threatening to call an ambulance to meet us back at port.
Ash vehemently declines, of course. I halfway disagree with this, but I don’t bother to argue.
I know it’s pointless. This is the same guy who wouldn’t even go to the hospital for a bullet wound; why would he make an exception for the seizures he has every other day?
Even if this one seemed particularly abnormal.
“It’s pointless,” he says, reading the dismay in my face. “I don’t need the billionth EEG of my life just to put me on medication I’m gonna stop taking.”
“You’re supposed to be on meds?”
He turns his face away from me. “When I can afford them.”
It’s one of those moments where I want to reach out and shake him. Impress upon him in some visceral way that I actually care about him. How the fuck do I get him to realize this? Why is it so damn hard?
And, fuck, am I the only one who feels like that between the two of us? If it was me collapsing in bathrooms, would he give a shit? Or would he be out on the highway with his thumb out looking for his next ride?
Don’t wanna think about that. Better not to think about that. ‘Cause maybe I wouldn’t really like the answer. It shouldn’t even sting so much, anyway. I don’t want to care and I don’t think I should.
So, whatever.
I deposit him safely in the backseat of the Mustang and get the AC blasting before the hot leather seats can give him third-degree burns.
He seems even more out of it than usual and I wish I had a proper blanket to drape over him, or a pillow—something.
Anything to make him more comfortable. The cramped backseat is really not ideal.
“Okay?” I ask him. “Not too hot?”
His eyes are shut. “Fine,” he murmurs.
“We’ve got bad timing, huh?” Trying to make a joke of it.
He just shakes his head.
As the car idles and Ash dozes, I pull the map out of the glove box and spread it across the passenger seat.
There’s not all that much to look at. It’s the same straight shot it’s been, for the most part.
Right on down the I-95 to Miami, eight or nine hours.
Home, finally. And Ash goes off and does whatever it is with his life.
It’s all over tonight.
Unless I make one more stop.
I glance at Ash, then back at the map, tagging pensively at my lower lip. I mean, it’s not an awful idea. He’s not great in the car for long anyway. It’s a kindness, really. Stopping somewhere early. He won’t mind. Surely. Probably. Maybe. It’s just the one stop.
Stashing the map, I set off to the nearest gas station. While the car’s filling up and Ash is motionless in the backseat (asleep and not dead, I ensure) I grab a handful of change from the cupholder and make use of the payphone.
First phone call goes to my parents’ house, and to my dismay my mother actually picks up. Which I’m not expecting at noon and I would’ve much preferred to get the answering machine instead.
“Almost home?” she asks pointedly after we exchange hellos.
“Umm. No. Just about to leave Savannah.”
She brightens audibly. “Oh, hon, how was it? I hope you had a lovely time.”
“Good. Went on a riverboat cruise, did some sightseeing.” Fucked a man in the ass and then ate him out in the shower, just the typical touristy shit you do in Savannah. No big.
“Lovely. I just got back from tidying your condo.” Back to the pointed tone again. “No wonder Adriana moved on to greener pastures, that place was an absolute pigsty—”
“Okay,” I say loudly. “So anyway, I’m gonna be home tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Where on earth are you going now? And where are you getting the cash for this, anyway?”
I ignore her last question. “Daytona Beach. You know, thought I’d drop in on Brett and Carter. I haven’t seen them in a minute.”
“That’s a good thing,” she says dryly. “I don’t miss them hanging around at all.”
“C’mon, Mom. That was high school shit. Like, a million years ago. Everyone grows up sometime.”
“I’m still waiting for you to do that,” she quips. And as I begin making noise, she adds, “I’m joking, honey. Although I’m not sure your dad’s going to be terribly impressed with you ditching work. Don’t suppose you called the dealership and told him.”
“Was hoping you’d do that,” I wheedle. I feel weird about talking to him now. After, well. All this.
She sighs. “Seriously, Sam?”
“Whaddya want from me? I’m on the road. I only got so many quarters to feed this thing.”
“You were supposed to be home yesterday,” she points out.
“What am I scheduled to do tomorrow, anyway? Desk jockey shit? That stuff can wait a day. I’ll do it all when I’m back.”
“Deliveries, I’m pretty sure.”
I pause. “Can’t Joel do those?”
“Joel turned in his two weeks yesterday, so I’m not sure he’ll appreciate being loaded with the nepotism hire’s duties he shirked for an impromptu day off.”
“Well…” I glance behind me at the Mustang. I don’t see Ash in the windows, so he must be asleep still. “Look, I never do stuff like this. It’s the end of summer. First road trip and all. And I just got dumped,” I add, as a total afterthought. “Gimme a break.”
“You seem very torn up about that.”
“Heartbroken,” I protest, smiling. “Shattered.”
“So Camila was saying.”
“You guys need to stop talking shit about me behind my back. It ain’t fair.”
“Watch your mouth, Samuel,” she scolds me, and I laugh. “Alright, fine, I’ll break the news to your dad. I’m sure we can figure something out.”
“Thank you,” I say gratefully. “You’re the best.”
“Have fun. Go be young and beautiful. Don’t get anyone pregnant.”
That’s one thing I don’t have to worry about with Ash, at least. “Christ, Mom, I won’t.”
We hang up, and I pump the payphone with more coins as I make another phone call. This time to my friends down in Daytona.
It’s nearly five by the time I drive into Daytona Beach. Even without the signs telling me so, without knowing ahead of time, I would know it to be true. It just feels different, from the light filtering through the windshield to the foliage lining the streets. Georgia is officially memory.
Feels good to be back, I guess. Familiar territory, home turf.
Ash sleeps most of the drive, which is pretty lonely, and gives me all too much time to think about things that I don’t have any business thinking about.
Like what the fuck we’re going to do tomorrow when we get to Miami, finally, at last, because I’m out of excuses and we’re just five hours away now.
What am I supposed to do? Drop him off at a Days Inn and say so long?
Drive off into the sunset with him in my rear view?
It sounds like that’s what he wants or at least expects.
Do we pretend none of this happened?
It’s sort of crazy, actually, how fast you can start to care for someone. How quickly they can carve out a hole in your heart and really hunker down in there.
Like, not that I’m in love with him or anything.
Nothing like that. After all, I’m still trying to parse my feelings when it comes to my sexuality.
Still don’t know what exactly I’m gonna do about all that.
Need more time to confront it, sit with it, see how it all fits.
Is this something I tell my parents about?
God, my dad’s gonna hit the roof. Mom won’t love it either; she’s cool, but she’s a Southern lady from the bowels of Georgia at the end of the day.
My antics are already too much for her and she doesn’t know the half of them.
They were always cool with Gabriel, though.
I mean, I was the last person to find out he was gay—‘course I was, because I’m as dense as a brick—and they never cared when he came around for parties and stuff.
Never told me off for hanging around him either, actually.
Though I suppose they would never suspect we were up to anything.
I’d had the veneer of a womanizer since senior year.
When girls started really taking notice of me and vice versa.
My sisters wouldn’t care, I don’t think. Olivia has better shit to do than worry about whatever I’m up to, and Camila’s never had a bad thing to say about gay people. Abu is a coin toss; she’s opinionated, but usually fair. She liked Gabe, I remember. They’d always been chatty at get-togethers.
(And here I wish I’d tested the waters with all of them a little more, my first go-around. Tried to figure out what they really thought about it, see if they’d full on disown me or not.)
Who knows, though. Maybe by this time tomorrow, when Ash and I finally part ways, I’ll be over all this and I won’t wanna pursue it any further, anyway.
Or after a little time and distance I’ll feel the same way I did about Gabe—doesn’t count, don’t want it or need it in my life.
Being any flavor of homosexual might just be too hard for me.
It eats you alive.
All that aside, though, even if we aren’t anything at all, it’s hard, the idea of leaving Ash behind.
He’s just so…vulnerable. A kid with epilepsy who ran away from home to escape his alcoholic mother and her abusive boyfriends.
And in my mind’s eye he seems so small, too, even though he’s not.
He’s a guy, guy-sized, guy-shaped, could fend for himself I’m sure, but with that baby face of his and everything… I don’t know.
I don’t know.
Maybe I’m just overprotective after taking care of him for the last few days. And having him in my arms, where he fits perfectly.
As if summoned by the sheer intensity of my thinking, he finally rouses in the backseat, groggy—and I’m so excited just hearing him groan and sigh and make grumpy-sleepy noises—before he sits up. I see him stretch in the rear-view mirror, his tousled hair framing his face.
“Hi, sleepyhead,” I say affectionately.