I glare at Zack, making sure he’s not laughing.
He grins and leans over to start the truck again, motioning for me to push in the clutch so he can. “It’s like the first time we had sex. Keep popping the clutch, and you’ll stall.”
“That makes no sense.”
He laughs. “If you were a sixteen-year-old guy, you’d totally get the reference. Now, feel the car. It hums, and you can feel it in your palms. Listen to it. It’ll scream for the next gear. When you drop it into the next one, listen with your body. Feel it purr back up and do it again.”
I push on the gas and pop the clutch. The car jerks, and I move a few feet before it dies again.
Zack doesn’t flinch when he leans over and starts the truck again. His attitude tells me we’ll do this until I get it right.
And we do.
We try again.
This time, the car makes it a few more feet before stalling.
On the fourth try, I get it into first gear and then miss the moment when I’m supposed to bring it to second.
Over and over, Zack shows patience as I worry about the transmission. I know he won’t let me quit until I get this right. The calm way he doesn’t flinch at every jerk of the vehicle or mistiming of the clutch gives me the desire to keep going.
So I do. With my palms on the wheel, I take a deep breath and feel everything as I turn the ignition back on. It’s a slow, simmering pulse. I release the clutch and press on the gas.
We move.
With gentle ease, I go faster. As I do, there’s a siren building from within. It calls out, and I move the gear while simultaneously switching the clutch and gas. The car goes silent for a second and then roars back to life.
We zip around the vacant space, and I smile, even laugh a little, at the fact that I did it.
I’m driving a stick shift.
It’s not a plane or something that requires a degree. It’s a simple task, done by millions of people every day.
And yet this small feat feels good. As I drive faster, I feel the truck screaming now, begging to be taken to the next level. So, I give it what it wants. There’s that silent stall again, and then we’re off, careening in the open field, moving beyond the stagnant jerks and ill-timed maneuvers.
Maybe that’s what happens to all of us.
There’s a gentle calling from within, begging to be released. With every step, we stall and then take off.
And when we do, it’s glorious.
I glance over at Zack, who has his hand on the back of my seat and his other hand resting on his knee. He’s grinning, beaming at me with pride.
With a gentle ease, he helps me bring the truck back down to a slow speed. When I pull over to the side of the dirt road, in the middle of tumbleweeds and a bright, sunny California sky, I park the car and look over at him.
He’s so beautiful. Tanned skin with a masculine jaw. Dark hair and those eyes that make me weak. But it’s not just the gorgeous face on him. It’s what’s inside. The facets of the boy he once was that make him the man he is today.
This is the Zack I remember. The guy who never gave up on me, stood by my side until I got it right.
And then I left him, on my eighteenth birthday. I left without a word when he needed me.
I’m such a horrible human being.
I turn to him, needing to get the words off my chest. “I’m sorry.”
He inhales as his eyebrows rise, not hiding his surprise from what just spilled out of my mouth.
I turn the truck off, pressing in the e-brake so I can face him completely as I beg for his forgiveness.
“You didn’t deserve what I did to you.” I glance down, ashamed.
He places his finger under my chin and lifts it to meet his eyes. “Are you finally going to tell me why?”
I nod, blinking away the tears. “I have this recurring nightmare. Something terrible is happening, but I can’t move. My feet are stuck to the ground, and if I try to lift them, it’s as if they weigh a thousand pounds. I try to pull my weight forward, but the drag is too slow, and time is running out. That’s how I felt. The entire world around me was changing without my control. I had zero say, and it killed me.”
His hand reaches for mine, holding it tightly.
I let out a ragged breath, closing my eyes and recalling the night it all changed with just me and Zack in the loft of my dad’s barn. “One minute, we were making love in a barn, and the next, the lights appeared, and it was like I knew what they meant. I knew the sheriff wasn’t coming with anything good to say. When we went to the scene and their car was crushed, their bodies being taken away on gurneys, I felt my entire self float away. I can tell you what I looked like, standing on that corner, in your arms with the tears streaming down my face and my fists clutching on to you so tight, praying that it was all fake. I remember this because I was out of my body, watching it all.
“Everything that happened, the funeral and moving into your parents’ house while we figured out what was going to happen … it was all a blur. A life that I walked through with blinders on. I didn’t want to see any of it. I lost my parents, and without them, there was no one to take care of Grandma. She went into a home without my say, but it was no use. She didn’t know who I was anymore; she kept talking to me like I was my mother, and it hurt so bad. My whole world, the three people who had raised me, vanished in a matter of minutes. It was too much, and I couldn’t take it anymore.”
“You had me.”
I rub my lips together, trying to figure out how to tell him he wasn’t enough without breaking his heart all over again. “I needed out of Dixon. I needed to get away from every reminder here of everything I lost. I couldn’t go anywhere without people asking me about my grandma or remembering my parents. The farm was sold to pay for Grandma’s living expenses. My things were sold in an estate auction. All I had were the memories this town offered me, and not all of them were good. Can you imagine what it feels like to drive past the same place your parents were killed every day of your life?”
He shakes his head, his blue eyes wide and glassy as he takes in my words.
“I didn’t want to leave you, but staying here was killing me inside. I couldn’t take another second. I needed to go to a place where no one knew who I was or about my past. I needed to live my life without every single person I passed on the street, knowing my business and showing how sorry they felt for me just by the expression on their faces.”
He slides over and takes me in his arms as a tear slips from my face.
“People only looked at you because they loved your parents. They loved you,” he says. Lowering his blue gaze to mine, he declares, “I loved you.”
“Not enough to leave with me,” I say and then hold up a hand, keeping him from stating his case. “You had your priorities, and they were the right thing for you. At that time, I couldn’t think of anyone but myself. I turned eighteen and left. It was selfish. Not leaving you an explanation. I knew I’d never be able to leave you if I didn’t do it that way. It was wrong, I know, but it was the only thing I could think of besides dying by suicide—which had crossed my mind more than I’ve ever admitted to anyone before.”
My confession leaves him breathless.
His hand runs through his hair and pulls at the ends. “Why didn’t you tell me it was that serious?”