screen a few times to make his choice. Suddenly there’s a soft piano that begins to enrapture me. Then a unique raspy, soulful woman’s voice fills the car. She sounds familiar but I can’t place her voice.
“Who is this?” I ask after a bit.
“Adele,” he replies.
“Oh, yeah! I like her, Rolling in the Deep, right?”
“The very same,” he says, as if he wants me to listen to the song instead of talk. It’s about holding someone. It says Make You Feel My Love , on his iPod plugged into the dashboard. I listen closely as she sings. I look up at him through my lashes. He stares at the road, his expression impassive—maybe hopeful.
I sink into the seat and listen to Dillon’s love song to me. I take in the aching sound of the violin as it cries to me, almost like a lone wolf howling in a low holler. He’ll do anything for me. I know that now. Even if it hurts him and I don’t want to hurt him. I want to give in—feel everything he has to offer. Let him make my dreams come true, as Adele says. But I can’t.
A stinging tear falls down my cheek before I even know I was going to cry. My lips twitch under the feelings so I hide behind my hair. He takes my hand carefully, silently.
He knows I understand him but he says nothing. I clutch his hand tightly as I let his song tell me all he wants to say. This isn’t breaking the friend rules, really, since he isn’t saying it’s for me. I just know it is, that’s all.
I think he knows music has always been the way to reach me. All the way back to when he let me put on that little musical on his front porch when I was six and he was nine. I wrote a script and everything. I made kids audition. No one really tried hard. I think they were just bored enough to let me have my way.
Out of habit, I hold my breath as we drive over New River Gorge Bridge.
“You still do that?” he says, when he notices I’m not breathing. I nod yes and wipe my cheeks. “Okay, I’ll do it, too,” he says, as he takes a deep breath and his cheeks turn into a balloon.
Before the oxygen is cut off from our brains we’re over the hurdle and I want to curl up in his lap again. The lump has shown up in my throat. The lump makes me mad because it reminds me of Donnie.
“How’s your family?” I ask nonchalantly as if I’m trying to make small talk so I’ll stop crying.
“Mom’s good. She’s still at the house down a bit from you all. Donnie...” I wince and my hand twitches in his hand. He stops for a second and looks at me, confused, “...He’s married. I have two nephews. One’s eight and the other’s just a two year old. The kids, they’re great. The best reason to go over there is to see my momma and the grand youngins as she calls ‘em.”
“They live with her?” I say, astonished. He’s that close . I realize my whole body is stiff. Dillon looks at me puzzled. My body is talking to him. Whispering my secrets. I open my hand and he lets go.
“Donnie moved back. Momma needed help with the house. She didn’t want to sell or rent it out. Might end up with one of the Whites moving in or something.” I laugh. The Whites of West Virginia must still be pretty famous around these parts.
“They still raising hell?” I say, my façade coming into place.
“As far as I can tell. Rumors are that they’re still shooting each other, drinking, snorting pills, just like always.”
“Who’s your source?” I ask with a playful wink.
“Donnie’s in charge of the Ansted Police Department now. Runs the place and his two officers like they’re in the military. He’s heard some stuff about ‘em.”
I look up at him, shaken. “Yeah, hard to believe, huh. He came back from his tour in Iraq and took over when old Roemer retired about two years ago.”
Adele is singing another song about always loving me. As the guitar croons I’m oscillating in a complete stupor.
I have no thoughts.
I’m blank for quite a while.
I can’t even think about the situational
“Who is this?” I ask after a bit.
“Adele,” he replies.
“Oh, yeah! I like her, Rolling in the Deep, right?”
“The very same,” he says, as if he wants me to listen to the song instead of talk. It’s about holding someone. It says Make You Feel My Love , on his iPod plugged into the dashboard. I listen closely as she sings. I look up at him through my lashes. He stares at the road, his expression impassive—maybe hopeful.
I sink into the seat and listen to Dillon’s love song to me. I take in the aching sound of the violin as it cries to me, almost like a lone wolf howling in a low holler. He’ll do anything for me. I know that now. Even if it hurts him and I don’t want to hurt him. I want to give in—feel everything he has to offer. Let him make my dreams come true, as Adele says. But I can’t.
A stinging tear falls down my cheek before I even know I was going to cry. My lips twitch under the feelings so I hide behind my hair. He takes my hand carefully, silently.
He knows I understand him but he says nothing. I clutch his hand tightly as I let his song tell me all he wants to say. This isn’t breaking the friend rules, really, since he isn’t saying it’s for me. I just know it is, that’s all.
I think he knows music has always been the way to reach me. All the way back to when he let me put on that little musical on his front porch when I was six and he was nine. I wrote a script and everything. I made kids audition. No one really tried hard. I think they were just bored enough to let me have my way.
Out of habit, I hold my breath as we drive over New River Gorge Bridge.
“You still do that?” he says, when he notices I’m not breathing. I nod yes and wipe my cheeks. “Okay, I’ll do it, too,” he says, as he takes a deep breath and his cheeks turn into a balloon.
Before the oxygen is cut off from our brains we’re over the hurdle and I want to curl up in his lap again. The lump has shown up in my throat. The lump makes me mad because it reminds me of Donnie.
“How’s your family?” I ask nonchalantly as if I’m trying to make small talk so I’ll stop crying.
“Mom’s good. She’s still at the house down a bit from you all. Donnie...” I wince and my hand twitches in his hand. He stops for a second and looks at me, confused, “...He’s married. I have two nephews. One’s eight and the other’s just a two year old. The kids, they’re great. The best reason to go over there is to see my momma and the grand youngins as she calls ‘em.”
“They live with her?” I say, astonished. He’s that close . I realize my whole body is stiff. Dillon looks at me puzzled. My body is talking to him. Whispering my secrets. I open my hand and he lets go.
“Donnie moved back. Momma needed help with the house. She didn’t want to sell or rent it out. Might end up with one of the Whites moving in or something.” I laugh. The Whites of West Virginia must still be pretty famous around these parts.
“They still raising hell?” I say, my façade coming into place.
“As far as I can tell. Rumors are that they’re still shooting each other, drinking, snorting pills, just like always.”
“Who’s your source?” I ask with a playful wink.
“Donnie’s in charge of the Ansted Police Department now. Runs the place and his two officers like they’re in the military. He’s heard some stuff about ‘em.”
I look up at him, shaken. “Yeah, hard to believe, huh. He came back from his tour in Iraq and took over when old Roemer retired about two years ago.”
Adele is singing another song about always loving me. As the guitar croons I’m oscillating in a complete stupor.
I have no thoughts.
I’m blank for quite a while.
I can’t even think about the situational
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