Chapter 17 Ellis #3
Spray paint and dry, dusty earth filled my nostrils the closer we got.
I spotted a few people gathered ahead, tagging the cars, as was the protocol for passing through.
I’d seen pictures of the place before, back when I was frantically planning.
I knew the cars were buried nose-first in the earth as a public art installation.
It featured ten Cadillacs, all buried bonnet-first into the ground, supposedly representing the evolution of the Cadillac tailfin. Over the years, people had added to the art, the cars becoming a canvas, layered with decades of spray-painted graffiti.
Dove had managed to get another tourist to snap our Polaroid in front of the cars, and by the time I tucked the photo into the pocket of my bag—into the growing collection I had yet to review—she was already shaking her can and approaching one of the cars with a determined expression on her face.
Liv, meanwhile, was on top of the tail of the farthest car, hopping from one to the next, arms out as if to keep her balance—even in death—whooping as she ran and jumped across them, pink hair flying behind her and sequins dancing in the sun.
Dove was already at work, tongue slightly out as she concentrated, and I tried not to stare too long, taking in the strength of her once-again-visible bicep and the sliver of exposed midriff where her tank top had ridden up as she tagged the car.
I held my own can in stiff fingers, biting my lip as I eyed the closest car.
Dripping and smeared graffiti in every shade lingered, layered over decades of other people’s names and messages, small moments that never stayed long, all temporary until someone came along to write or draw over them.
I could admit there was something sacred about it. Sacred, stupid, and so American. A monument to layers and letting go.
I approached where Dove was working and looked at her tag, my eyes widening slightly at the unmistakable sight of a tarot card. She was finishing the words beneath the image, a proud grin on her face.
The Fool.
“What was The Fool for again?” I asked lightly, remembering our interaction in her shop… which felt like years ago now.
I had been so rude.
Dove grinned as she got to her feet, dusting off her knees. “It means a few things, but for me, in this moment, it means leaps of faith. New beginnings. The Fool leads the way, baby. Even if he looks stupid as fuck walking off the cliff.”
I snorted a laugh and tried not to let my stomach flutter at the word baby.
Not that she was pet-naming me.
People used that word all the time.
She turned back to add a few finishing touches, and I sighed, walking to the next car and looking for a clean spot.
I chewed the inside of my lip while Liv’s voice echoed from farther down, yelling hello into the silent void she currently lived in.
The other tourists didn’t even know she was there.
They couldn’t see her, couldn’t hear her.
I frowned.
What did that truly feel like?
My entire life, I’d felt like I had eyes on me all the time… and yet I never felt truly here. I always felt as if I were lingering in some halfway point, treading the line between life and death.
Except now…
I blinked and swallowed.
I did feel here. I felt more present, and I wasn’t sure if it was because of this impromptu trip or the fact that Liv and Dove kept forcing me to live in my feelings without even realizing it, but I was here.
And so, I raised my hand, watching as it shook slightly, and pressed my finger down on the nozzle. The spray hissed to life, shattering whatever silence I’d been sitting in. I concentrated fiercely, realizing this was harder than it looked.
But I didn’t stop.
This needed to be immortalized.
I needed to read it for myself.
Ellis is here.
I leaned back on my laurels and set the can beside me, admiring my bright red handiwork with a sense of growing self-satisfaction. The warm sun climbed its way under my skin, heating me from the inside out. I took a deep breath of paint fumes and dust and let it go, closing my eyes.
The sound of a spray can right beside me had them tearing open a moment later, and I looked over to see Dove beside me.
…so is Dove.
She grinned and settled back on her own heels, tossing her arm casually around my shoulders as if it belonged there. I could feel a growing warmth in my cheeks, the scent of her perfume dancing between us and wiping out any ability I had to form a real thought.
“You’re gatecrashing my moment, Dove Marley,” I murmured, my voice a little shaky, just as her thumb at my shoulder twitched slightly, like she might stroke the bare skin there.
Her annoyingly perfect smile only widened as she glanced down at me. “If you’re leaving your mark, Ellis Langley, then I want mine right beside yours.”
The air caught in my throat.
She looked back at our work as I tried not to reel from her casual words, as if what she’d said wasn’t casually devastating and beautiful all at once.
“How charming,” I muttered. “Turning vandalism into romance.”
She let out a low laugh and tapped her can against her leg. “Can’t help myself. I’m a poet.”
There was a lightness in my chest as I peered back at Dove, trying to fathom how I’d gone from being roped into a reading in her shop—staring down her cool remarks and judgey eyes—to whatever we were becoming.
How had we gone from two panicked girls in a back room to two girls saying nothing and everything at the same time?
“Um, hello?” Liv’s voice rang out, and we both jumped, parting as we turned to face her.
I missed Dove’s arm almost immediately.
“Do I not get to be immortalized as well?” Liv demanded, hands on her hips.
Dove smirked and shook the can in her hand. “Where do you want it, your highness?”