Track 2
“Spread Your Love”
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Enzo, E, and I were sorting through CDs at the record store.
Kat had met up with some friends of hers on our way and split off to do her thing. I didn’t mind. She didn’t like Enzo much. She’d put up with him when she had to, but they always bickered relentlessly. After the morning we had, neither she nor I was in the mood.
“What brings you to this neck of the woods?” E said when I landed at the bin next to his.
We were in the classic rock section. His voice startled me.
I heard it while he and Enzo spoke on our walk, but this was the first time he directed it at me.
It was deep—deeper than any boy I’d ever met.
The vibration of it made me excited and nervous all at once.
His chocolate brown eyes lightened in the gleaming ray of sunlight that slid between us, becoming a stunning shade of amber. When I pulled up an Allman Brothers disc, one corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked grin that tingled in my chest. “Ramblin’ Man or Southbound?”
“Do I have to choose?” I smiled back, trying hard to read between his words so I could make the right choice.
“Yes. It’s important that you choose.” He turned to me then, focused, waiting for my answer.
My heart kicked up, and my nerves began to dance. “Well, I love Southbound. That coming home to the one you love will always get me, but if I have to choose… Ramblin’ Man.”
“What?!” He smiled widely through his loud accusatory words, and I laughed as I defended my case.
“It’s a classic! The wandering soul, restless and longing. You can’t beat that!”
He shook his head, turning back to his bin. “And to think, I had high hopes for you.” He grinned playfully, glancing at me from the corner of his eye—and the spark that came alive in me was something new entirely.
Exciting. Unexpected.
And it caught fire fast.
E and I kept ending up in the same genres, laughing through a half-serious debate over which tracks were best on which album.
E swore by deep cuts, claiming the mainstream tracks were too predictable, while I stood by the classics.
The banter was easy—familiar in a way that made the rest of the store seem to fade into the background.
Every time I made a point, E would shake his head with a grin, like he couldn’t believe how wrong I was.
If I chose an older song, he would select a track from a decade earlier that was even better, and he always seemed impressed when I recognized the artist. He listened to my points, and sometimes, just to humor me, he’d pretend to reconsider.
It was playful and warm. It was so simple that I didn’t have to think about it.
It was that part of being young and careless where you can click with just about anyone, but I think even then, I knew this click was different. Although I didn’t know what it would eventually become, I knew it mattered.
Maybe I imagined it, but I caught Enzo watching us once or twice from a few bins over.
“Look at this one,” Enzo said to E, holding up a CD case with a provocative image of a young woman. She was spread-eagled, with her hand between her legs and her breasts spilling out over the tiny fabric that barely covered them.
I rolled my eyes, trying my best not to note the significant differences between myself and the curvaceous woman printed on the cover.
I had developed by then, but I wasn’t womanly in the way boys my age wanted.
My breasts were small, and my butt wasn’t much, though it was perky and pronounced.
My lips were full, and my skin was smooth as butter.
It gave me a few points in my book, but I didn’t feel like it was enough.
I had an exotic look about me with golden bronzed skin, onyx round eyes, and long, warm brown hair that flowed in curls down my back. I didn’t think much of myself then, though. Teenage girls rarely do.
E looked over to Enzo’s vile choice but made no comment or reaction before turning back to the stack of discs he was sorting through. He was unimpressed. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t send a flicker of satisfaction through me.
After over an hour in the store, we each made our selections and waited at the counter to pay. I had three CDs with me—Allman Brothers, The Pixies, and Gwen Stefani’s solo album. When the register rang for thirty-three dollars and fifty cents, I cursed.
“Shit.” Enzo and E, who had both paid ahead of me, turned to face me.
“What’s up?” Enzo asked.
“It’s thirty-three fifty. I only have twenty-five.”
Enzo’s face twisted, annoyed, like he was tired of waiting for me specifically. “Okayyy, so put one back.”
He chuckled toward E in an I don’t get the problem way, and I gritted my teeth.
I wanted to hide my disappointment. I wanted badly to seem unaffected, to not be a damsel in distress in any form of the phrase, but I couldn’t help it.
Enzo's not offering to pay the difference bothered me.
He wasn't my boyfriend, and I wasn't his responsibility, but the moment, the ease with which he dismissed it, and the lack of hesitation to let me go without stung more than it should've.
It wasn’t about the money; it was about the gesture. Knowing it didn’t even cross his mind to help me said more than I wanted to admit.
They walked outside, and I looked at my three CDs, placed one to the side—sorry, Gwen—paid, and walked out to meet them.
“What’d you get?” E asked.
“These.” I showed him my two picks, and he nodded in approval. “You?”
He showed me his selection—Eminem, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and the same Brothers and Sisters Allman Brothers album I chose. A tiny light lit up inside me as I reveled at how we both wanted to mark the moment, purchasing an album we likely already owned.
I grinned up at him. "I'm surprised you don't have this one," I asserted, gesturing to the final one.
He shrugged, taking the discs from my hand. “Maybe I need to hear it again.”
“You can play CDs more than once, you know.”
“No way, really?” A smile crept onto his lips. We locked eyes in our witty little exchange, and I wanted to lose myself completely in it, never finding my way home.
“Should we go back to my place? Lara and Kasey said they’ll meet us,” Enzo said from a few steps ahead of us, splitting the trance he wasn’t aware of. I shrugged in agreement. Even though I wasn’t really allowed at Enzo’s, I was willing to risk it today.
“Woo! Let’s get the birthday girl drunk.
” He wagged his eyebrows with a sly grin, and again, if this were years later, my stomach would churn like sour milk at his implication, but I was sixteen.
So instead, naive little butterflies fluttered in my belly.
However, those butterflies didn’t feel the same as they once did, and I couldn’t help but notice.
“It’s your birthday?” E turned to me, and I nodded in a way that said it’s no big deal.
“Come on, let’s go!” Enzo shouted, now way ahead of us. I started walking, but E stood in place.
“I’ll meet up with you guys,” E called out, and then he turned, and he was gone.
I jogged to catch up with Enzo, walking with him the rest of the way, mostly in silence on my part. E found us in the living room only ten minutes after we arrived. He took a seat across from me while Enzo went to let his dogs out in the yard.
“Here.” He tossed a thin square in my direction, wrapped in brown paper.
“What is it?” I asked, toying with it between my fingers.
“Open it,” he said, and his deep, confident voice sent a thrill through me. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, hands folded before him as he watched me pull apart the wrapping, unveiling Gwen Stefani’s Sweet Escape album—the one I’d put back.
“Happy birthday,” he said with a grin, and a knot lodged in my throat. My vision blurred, and I fought off tears I couldn’t explain.
“Thank you,” I barely choked out. He shrugged as if it were nothing—as if he bought every girl he just met a gift on their birthday.
“No doubt,” he said with a wink, and I laughed at his terrible pun.
“Okay, that was lame,” he laughed with me, and I wiped at my nose. “But it made you laugh, so that makes it worth it.” He smiled again, and my heart skipped a beat in my chest when my eyes found his.
Enzo walked in then. “What’s so funny?”
We shook our heads and said it was nothing—just a stupid joke not worth repeating—and Enzo moved on like it never happened.
But something did happen. Something changed in that moment for me. It wasn’t big or loud like fireworks or booming symphonies. It was just… simple. That small act of kindness, that tiny spread of love shifted something and rooted itself deep inside me.
It was the start of something I couldn’t name at the time. Something so real, you’re not sure if you can handle it. I felt the movement, but I couldn’t place it.
It took me years to realize it was because that was the beginning of everything.