Johnnie
NOW
After an hour or so of torturous conversations with Harry Sultenfuss, Collins walks out to the front porch with me, his hand on the small of my back as we cross the street toward his truck.
My heart is so heavy thinking about all the decisions I just made.
The sun is trying to peak out from behind some fluffy white clouds.
The crisp autumn air has me pulling my teddy bear Sherpa jacket a little tighter as I climb in the passenger seat.
Ever the gentleman, Collins closes the door once my feet hit the floorboard, but he lingers there for half a second longer than necessary, like he might say something.
As if something’s sitting on the tip of his tongue.
He doesn’t. Instead, he shuts the door and jogs around the front of the truck, slipping into the driver’s seat.
Turning the ignition, the old girl rumbles to life. The cab fills with the low vibration of the engine, and I can’t help my curiosity getting the best of me.
“Why do you still have this old truck? I would have thought you’d be driving something flashier by now.”
Pulling out onto the street, the sunbeams catch yellow leaves tumbling across the pavement as he stares straight ahead. “I hold on.”
From the faint green glow of the radio, I can see his knuckles turn pale as he grips the steering wheel.
And that’s all the answer I get. He doesn’t elaborate.
The silence stretches between us, thick and uneasy. There’s something guarded in the way his jaw tightens, something closed-off behind his eyes, like a door that’s been locked for a long time.
I recognize it.
Because once upon a time, that door was open to me.
I decided to do a memorial for Nan instead of a viewing and funeral.
She’ll be cremated and there will be a small service to celebrate her life.
Collins was by my side as I picked out an urn and chose some songs to be played.
I’m happy with my decisions, and I’m even happier I didn’t have to do everything alone.
Mom has tried calling a few times but I keep sending her to voicemail.
I love my parents and I know they mean well.
Honestly, in recent years, our relationship has grown into something much stronger than when I was younger.
I’m thankful for that, but they still have a tendency to drive me crazy most days.
And since they aren’t here helping with any of the arrangements, I’m slightly bitter.
I’ve just finished explaining the dynamic we have now to Collins, as he pulls into Sonny’s.
“Wow, I didn’t even know this place was still here.”
“Cherry limeade and a chili dog?” He offers me a tight-lipped smile, and I catch myself aching for the glimpse of that familiar gap between his teeth—the one I fell in love with so long ago.
“Abso-fucking-lutely”
Turns out, eating chili dogs and downing limeade with my Ugg-clad feet on the dash, with an old burned CD playing mostly classic Metallica, is just what I needed tonight. My mind drifts back to the night Collins gave me his Wherever We May Roam tour shirt many years ago and how I still sleep in it.
The weight of grief seems a little lighter, replaced with nostalgia.
Being back in Laken, in this old truck with the man I’ve never fallen out of love with, almost has me forgetting that anything bad ever happened here.
Almost.
“How many girls have you brought here since I left?” To our spot.
He stops mid chew, wipes his mouth with a napkin and turns toward me slowly, with a sigh.
“I’m sorry, Collins. I shouldn’t have asked that.
I’m the one who left. I can’t fault you for having a life.
” I pause. “Are you dating anyone, though? Is that okay to ask?” My mind is whirling with nervousness, unsure how the hell to even begin addressing our past. I want to explain myself.
I just don’t know how to let the words come out.
It feels much safer keeping my secrets tucked inside, where only I can see the dark parts.
“It’s fine. Don’t apologize, Johnnie.” His voice is steady, but there’s a rough edge to it, something sharper than I’m used to. “You’ve had a hard day. I know how I feel grieving Nan…I can’t even imagine the pain you’re going through.”
He brings a hand to my knee and gives it a brief squeeze, the gesture gentle, even if the rest of him seems guarded. His hand returns to the steering wheel as if that brief contact will cost him something.
“No, I’m not dating anyone,” he says after a moment. “How about you? You got a boyfriend who’s going to show up I need to prepare myself for?”
The question isn’t playful. It lands somewhere between curiosity and something more on edge.
The fact that he even cares enough to ask does something to me. I feel like I’m about to lie, but the truth is I do not, in fact, have a boyfriend. There’s just a little more to the story than that, but I’ll save that for another time.
“No boyfriend.”
His deep toffee eyes are barely visible in the darkness, but I can see just enough to know they’re looking right through me.
I can feel it.