Chapter 25 Sam
SAM
We pass an interesting night in Ash’s tiny bed.
No, we don’t quite fit as two grown men, but there’s not a chance I’m letting him out of my sight, so we make it work, sort of.
We have to kinda wrap up in each other so we make something vaguely large-man-shaped and it’s just a little bit claustrophobic, but whatever.
Actually, I like it. Having him so close. Tucked up under my chin, arms and legs tangled up with mine like we’re going to meld into each other. I’d wear him like a second skin if I could. I’d glue him to me so I’d never have to not see him and feel him again.
If this is love, I’m cool with it. It just feels so good. I hope I get to keep doing it.
Early in the morning Ash rouses me with a soft kiss. “Hey,” he says. “I wanna go with you.”
I stifle a yawn. “To Miami?”
“Yeah.”
“Really? Like, for real, no buts?”
He nods. “Maybe you’re right,” he says. “I want to see if we can work. I think I’ll regret it forever if I let you go.”
I’m all smiles. My heart’s so full I think it will explode. I pull him back into my arms and kiss him, over and over. “I’ll regret it if you do that, too.”
“But I want to pay rent,” he adds before I can smother him in kisses. “When I get a job.”
“I’ve already got your rent,” I say. “A good few month’s worth.” When he gives me a questioning look, I add, “All that money you left behind? Unless you want it back, of course.”
He blinks. “I…I don’t know. I forgot about that.”
“Stick it in your wallet. Think it over.”
“Yeah, well…I might eventually move out, you know. It’s probably not good for a couple to live together so soon. I dunno.”
“Whatever you want.” The smile splitting my face is so big I must look like a clown. I’m already planning for him to never ever leave, but he doesn’t need to know that yet. “Can’t wait to show you my Pog collection and everything.”
“What? You don’t.” He’s desperately fighting a smile. “Really? Pogs?”
I pull him into my arms and kiss him long and deep, fervent, pouring every ounce of affection I have for him into it. I wish I could show him the depth of my adoration, wish I could even approach the ability needed to show it to him. I have so much to give.
And of course it’s not long before both of us are hot for each other, and we’re making love again at six in the morning.
Being quiet this time, actually quiet, and soft, him in my lap riding me as I rock gently into him.
His moans are so sweet, like the way he tips his head back and his hair cascades down his neck, and when he arches it puts his lovely pecs and pink nipples on display for me to touch and caress and play with. Love this beautiful body of his.
Love, well, pretty much everything about him. Even the parts he wants to hide away, what he’s ashamed of. Everything that’s hurt him, all these jagged, broken pieces that make him up—I love them, too. He might be a little broken but he’s whole in my eyes.
We both sneak across the living room to shower together in the tiny bathroom, and then after we dress and eat a breakfast of Cheerios, we set to packing Ash’s things.
There’s not much of it, all told. He lugs out a big Samsonite suitcase that looks about twenty years old, and we both begin to sort through the drawers in his small dresser.
A lot of jeans, a lot of T-shirts, most of them pretty worn out.
Sweaters, too, which I almost tell him not to bother with, but he’s already got so few belongings. If he wants them, he should have them.
“Hey,” I say, my gaze alighting on a polaroid picture atop the dresser. It’s Ash with his arm slung around the shoulders of another guy. He’s got dark, shaggy hair and a moss green cardigan, his mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Is this Ben?”
“Yeah.” Ash picks up the photo. “From a Tool concert we went to at the Strand a few years back.”
I nod at him. “You taking it along?”
“I guess so. I don’t have a lot of things to remember him by anymore. Not a lot of pictures of us or anything. Didn’t send me many from Florida.”
“I’ve got his postcards,” I remind him.
He lets out his breath. “Yeah. At least those didn’t get taken, too.”
“Shit, yeah. If someone finds your bag and decides to report all that cash, those cards would be pretty damning. Your deets all over ‘em.”
He shrugs and tucks his hair behind his ears. “I sincerely doubt that trucker is gonna report shit. He just hit the lotto, after all. Maybe I should’ve just…”
I slam shut one of the now-empty drawers, stomach twisting at the thought. “Fuck no, Ash. It’s not worth it.”
“I don’t have a lot of worth, if you haven’t noticed.” His half-smile is self-deprecating. “I got to a place where I didn’t care. Like my body was just some thing, you know? It wasn’t til Ben left that I realized how miserable I really was. Just…surviving by the skin of my teeth.”
I grab one of his hands. “Well, I think you’re worth way more than twenty thousand bucks. I’d take you over the money any frickin’ day. And if I’m honest, I’m glad that money’s gone. Not the way it went, but—”
“I know.” He cuts me off. “You think it’s better this way.”
“Safer,” I amend. “You would’ve been looking over your shoulder forever. I don’t want that for you.”
“You’re right,” he concedes. “I’m glad I said no. Just wish the consequences weren’t so shitty sometimes.”
I reach out to touch his face. “You always get to say no. To whoever you want, for whatever reason. Even me. Remember that.”
This time when he smiles at me, it’s genuine. “But I like saying yes,” he says. “To you.”
It’s half past eight by the time we’re done.
He simply doesn’t own a lot of stuff to take with him.
It all fits nicely into the suitcase, his clothes and books and things, and a few keepsakes, too—like the photo, and some of the ticket stubs.
By that time Mike’s awake, making coffee out in the kitchen, and I hang back while Ash tells him he’s leaving.
“Oh, thank god.” Mike clasps him in a quick hug. “I was terrified I was gonna wake up to you skulking around and Sam gone.”
“Sorry you’ll have to deal with getting rid of my furniture and shit.”
“Forget it, Ash. Half this shit’s going in the dump by January, anyway. It’s just a couple more pieces.” He drops a quick kiss on Ash’s cheek. “But you better write and call. I’ll be wicked pissed if you don’t.”
“If you remember to give me your new number and address, sure.”
Julian’s a little more emotional when he rouses a few minutes later, baked as shit: “No fucking way. You’re going now? But you just got back!”
“I was originally never going to come back,” Ash says, sort of bemused.
“Oh, fuck, really? I thought it was temporary. Didn’t you say?” He blinks bleary red eyes at me. “Hey man, did you make sure your car didn’t get jacked? I was checking on it all night. I was fuh-reaking out.”
Mike sticks a finger through the warped blinds covering the kitchen window. “Your due diligence has paid off. The car is in one piece.”
He actually wipes his forehead. “Phew.”
“I’m gonna miss you guys,” Ash offers.
Mike’s pragmatic: “Eh, you can always visit. We’re not dead.”
“Bro, I’m gonna cry. For reals,” Jules asserts, tugging at his hair.
“Please don’t,” says Mike.
“Can we do a group hug or something?”
“Absolutely not. You reek of pot.”
I glance sidelong at Ash. He smiles into his coffee.
A round of tearful goodbyes later, we’re back in the Mustang. It snarls to life as I turn the key in the ignition, startling a small flock of pigeons from their roost on a nearby building. They take abrupt flight, wings iridescent in the morning sun.
“Anywhere you want to go before we head out?” I ask Ash. “People or places you want to say goodbye to?”
He stares out ahead through the windshield for a moment. “No,” he says at length. “Not at all.”
“Okay. If you’re sure. Not like we can’t come back someday, anyway.” On a plane, ideally. If I never have to get in a car after this, it’ll be too soon. “Vámonos.”
“To Miami. For real this time.”
“For real this time,” I echo. “No bullshit. No South of the freakin’ Border. No Pedro. No riverboats.”
Ash turns his head. “What was all of that for, anyway? All the little detours. You just that apprehensive to go back to work?”
“Didn’t I already tell you? That was so I could spend more time with you, you goofball.”
He smiles. “Not-uh.”
“Yes-huh.”
“Stop.” He kicks back into the corner, feet on the dash. “I’m gonna blush. Ew.”
“It’s cute when you do,” I say. “And put your damn seatbelt on. Every time I hit the brakes I feel like I’m gonna put you through the windshield.”
“Okay, okay…”
There’s not a whole lot to say about the trip. Sort of retracing steps at this point. The I-95 is so familiar it’s almost comforting to get back on, awful drivers and insane traffic and headaches and all.
We drive nearly twelve straight hours, barring pee breaks, fuel stops and snack runs.
We watch trees turn to mountains turn to built up areas and then loop around again to trees, over and over.
We talk about everything and nothing, or let conversation lapse and radio fill that comfortable valley between us.
Or we sing along instead, to 311 and No Doubt and Garbage and Soundgarden, belting out the lyrics in our shitty voices like we’re standing before an adoring crowd of thousands.
Sometimes Ash’s hand rests on mine atop the gear shift, and I get butterflies in my stomach from that alone.
When we finally pass over into Florida once again it’s an exhale, and this time Ash is awake to experience it.
From the palms that fringe the giant WELCOME TO FLORIDA sign and line the interstate, to the way the very light seems to change, I feel an immense sense of homecoming.
The last part is probably in my head as much as it was before, but I can’t help but smile anyway.
“The Sunshine State,” Ash reads from the sign.