Shirlene #3
“Do you know what a pueblo actually looks like, Auggie?” I seethed. “Did you know The Pueblo doesn’t look like a freaking pueblo?”
The hammer came down faster and more violently against the table and metal.
“Did you know radio stations all over this country play a variety of songs by a variety of artists?” I asked. “They don’t just play one song all day long for twelve hours until the town’s residents start to go batshit crazy?”
Auggie’s hammer was so loud against the table I was having to scream over it to be heard.
“Any other place in America?” I asked, chuckling angrily.
“Wyatt would be in a home. He’d be locked away.
So would Grandy. So would half of this damn town because everyone is batshit crazy.
Everyone here is psychotic. No one anywhere in America acts like the people of this town—and if they do, they’re locked up. ”
The hammering stopped and Auggie threw it against the wall of the barn behind the table, spinning to face me. Red was creeping up his neck into his face and his hands were rolling up into fists at his side.
“Yeah!” I screamed. “This town is stupid! The people are stupid! You! You’re…you’re…”
I couldn’t say it.
“What am I Jordan?” Auggie demanded, his eyes no longer empty, but fiery with rage. “Tell me what I am, Jordan!”
We stared into each other’s eyes, anger rolling off of both of us as Pale Blue Eyes played softly in the background.
I twitched, wondering if I was going to throw a swing at Auggie.
However, when I considered the thought, I felt my stomach sink.
I didn’t want to hit Auggie. I wanted to grab him by his shoulders, pull him into me violently, and put my mouth on his.
The redness of his face. His anger. Everything about his body language.
The fact that I had stirred up such passion in him made me want to press my mouth to his.
My hands immediately unclenched and I felt every ounce of blood drain from my face. Subconsciously, I stepped back.
Reality punched me in the chest.
What was it that I had been adjusting to—what I was trying to understand—that had frustrated me so much over the last two months?
Was it Possibly? A change in scenery? Or…was it something else?
I’d had to adjust to a million different places over the course of my life on the road with my mom.
Why was Possibly so different?
“TELL ME, JORDAN!” Auggie rushed forward, his arms out in front of him.
His hands connected with my pecs and he pushed me back. The guy weighed so little compared to me, and if I knew anything, it was that he wasn’t trying his hardest to push me. I still took a step back out of habit.
“SAY IT, JORDAN!” Auggie pushed me again, his eyes suddenly misty. “SAY IT! WHAT AM I?”
Once more, Auggie rushed at me, his hands braced out in front of him, ready to slam into my chest and shove me backwards.
I reached up, my stomach doing flip-flops, and caught Auggie’s wrists, stopping him.
His forward momentum nearly caused him to plow into me, but he stopped himself at the last second.
The two of us stood there, only his hands on my chest separating us, Auggie’s fiery eyes boring into mine.
The anger had been completely flushed from me, replaced by confusion. And desperation. And longing. And fear.
My hands trembled as my fingers clutched at his wrists, gripping them just tightly enough to keep his hands against my chest. Auggie snarled at me, glaring into my face as I held his hands against my chest and prayed for my stomach to settle.
A whirlwind of thoughts swirled through my head as I stared down into the fiery eyes of my… friend?
As we stood there, unspeaking, staring into each other’s eyes, Auggie’s expression softened bit by bit.
His breath was warm on my face and his hands felt like fire against my chest. I didn’t want either to be taken away.
Auggie’s eyes didn’t return to their former blank, uncaring state, but the anger was flushed from them, replaced by an emotion that was…
unreadable. Maybe disappointment? Gently, though with intention, he pulled his hands from my grip.
When he stepped back, taking his hands from my chest, I nearly moaned with displeasure.
Auggie stared at me a moment longer, the space between us like a widening chasm, then he was looking anywhere but at me.
Finally, he spoke: “Go home, Jordan.”
“I—”
“Get out,” he said softly, but with resolve. “Leave.”
“I—”
“Please. Now, please.”
With no idea what it was I wanted to say to Auggie, or what I had intended to say, I let my eyes linger on him for only a moment longer.
Then I turned on my heels and shuffled back to the barn doors.
I intended to honor Auggie’s request to just leave, but when I crossed over the threshold and stepped out into the sun, I found myself turning to get one last look at Auggie.
“You’re not stupid, Auggie,” I said just loudly enough to be heard by him. “You’re brilliant.”
Auggie didn’t look up, but he kicked the toe of his shoe against the ground.
“I think you’re brilliant,” I said.
Then I left.