20. Callie Rae
Callie Rae
My lips purse around the end of the cigarette, and I inhale the burnt tobacco. I’m normally not one to compromise my lungs, especially after witnessing Daddy’s rough coughing fits. But occasionally, it’s required.
Elvis Presley’s “If I Can Dream” hums from the portable CD player. I take it out every once in a while, playing the songs Brant burned for me as a parting gift ten years ago.
I blow out a line of smoke, my eyes pinning to my garden in the right corner of the yard. The vivid colors scorn my indecency, and I slump against the padding of the patio chair. My knees bend to plant my feet on the cushion, my palm laying on top of my thigh.
I’m a selfish woman.
Deceitful and disloyal. Yet part of me is still trying to justify my actions from last night.
Or maybe that’s my heart playing devil’s advocate.
Yeah.
My fingers mindlessly dig into the fabric of my sweatpants. The morning rays touch the rich grass, igniting a sparkle atop the green needles. I slip the end of the cylindrical paper through my lips, ingesting before releasing a cloud of smoke once more.
I’m not shocked I caved.
The moment was always certain. It was just a matter of time before the barrier between Brant and I snapped.
My gaze lands on the statue nestled between the stems of the flowers of the garden. A tinge of grace sweeps through me. There’s a saying: “Where there are two doves, there is peace.” With the way my guilt is rocking me, I need that.
Peace.
I’ll never forget the weight lifted from my shoulders when I found Jesse. He’s handsome and confident, but the thing I despise admitting most of all?
His money only attracted me more.
Not in the sense that I wanted him to buy me anything and everything under the sun. But in the sense that I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, I’d never be trapped in another trailer park again.
Nausea bubbles in my stomach. Brant read me like a damn book that night outside The Wild Corral.
Could I really abandon the security I already have?
It’s a repelling question. Disgusting, even.
But this is trauma in its rawest form. I bleed it every single day, until I’m forced to remind myself that I’m safe from those hills.
I’m safe from Daddy.
I’m safe from that life.
When I study the statue more, time retreats. I see us. The younger version. The side of us that was honest and raw. Our vulnerability was our superpower, and I don’t think we ever celebrated it enough.
There aren’t many people who jump at the chance to be transparent or to expose themselves in front of someone. But for Brant and I, we dive into those feelings headfirst. We never stumble to speak what’s on our mind, and we’re not the ones to cower from an argument.
And I guess, maybe there are some things that are truly priceless.
There are times when I feel like a robot, programmed to cater to the people around me. As if my true self will offend them in some way. When I think about all those years of wanting to be right where I’m sitting now, I wonder if my dream had a fault.
I never thought to carry my heart with me—all of my heart.
Physically, I may have, but I forgot.
I broke our promise.
Tension collects in my chest, quiet breaths expelling in a severed rhythm.
For so long, I’ve wanted to make it to the other side.
Back then, my dreams were of the physical kind.
I imagined the places I would go. The nicer places I would live.
All the clothes and accessories I would wear when I got here.
All these dreams that were valid but cost me a pretty penny.
I’m living out all of those fantasies, but there’s a price I paid for it.
I lost a part of me.
The realization stacks in my heart like a ton of bricks, and I wonder if my two lives can ever co-exist in harmony.
I consider love.
Love between me and the boy who lived across the way.
The boy who stretched the same smiles and shed the same tears as me.
The boy who knew my soul like it was etched onto the back of his hand.
The boy who was able to fuel my resilience with every hug.
Every sweet gesture. Every touch. And every kiss.
The boy who made this life possible at all.
For just a moment, my eyes close. I see those two kids sitting under a cluster of loblolly pine trees right beyond that trailer park.
And for the first time in ten years, I wonder what it’s like now on that side.
Brant
Callie and I met in my office parking lot to drive to the arboretum in my Tacoma. My elbow is planted on the sill, palm curled around the top of the window frame as the wind brushes my skin.
A smirk creeps over me when I look over at Callie in the passenger seat. Her legs protrude from the flowy hem of this floral, satin dress she’s wearing under her jean jacket.
My attention turns to the scenic backroad lined with farms and vineyards. The Spotify shuffle lands on “Freedom Was A Highway” by Jimmie Allen and Brad Paisley, and Callie’s already reaching for the volume knob.
“I take it you’re still a huge Brad Paisley fan?” I quip.
She leans her forearm on the center console, the floral notes of her perfume braiding with the wind. “How could I turn my back on him after all those years of pining? Seems pointless,” she teases.
I grin as I quickly pivot my gaze to her. The lax waves of her half-up, half-down hairstyle dance around her face with the breeze streaming through my open window.
Her fingers brush a strand out of her eye before she beams a smile my way. “Of course I am.”
Redirecting my focus, I drop my left palm to the steering wheel. My right elbow falls next to her arm on the console, and our warm skin collides.
I tap my hand on the wheel as Callie sinks back into the leather seat. She rocks her body to the beat of the chorus, and my fingers catch the brim of my snapback. I adjust it on my forehead before joining in on the car karaoke, our random chuckles slipping between the lyrics.
My teeth ghost my bottom lip, palm now tapping on my denim thigh through the music. The second verse enters, and Callie’s dropping her head as she raises her arms.
I slump my back farther into the seat, fastening my grip around the wheel. The line, “and love was the girl next door,” hums through the truck stereo, and my fingers ghost the underside of her chin. My attention remains averted, but I catch her bright smile out of the corner of my eye.
As we drive down the backroad, open fields of green invade our line of sight. Warmth infiltrates my chest, my heart pumping with newfound adrenaline as we sink seamlessly into old habits.
As it turns out, time never progressed in our years apart.
It stopped.
Only to pick back up right where we left off.