I’m all ready to go. My tent and sleeping bag and surf board are in the back of the truck. Milo is watching me from the living room window with his tongue hanging out, smiling, if a dog can smile. I wave at him, throw my pillow in the passenger side, I’m about to toss my duffel bag in there too when my back pocket buzzes. I take my phone out and look down at the text.
“I can’t do it”
I stand there holding my duffel bag in in one hand, my phone in the other, staring at the words, waiting for them to somehow magically change. They don’t. I scroll up and down to see if I missed anything. I didn’t, and I feel my face get warm and the back of my neck get prickly. I look up slowly at the apricot tree that maybe I will hurl my phone at. But then I put it back in my pocket.
I lean on the truck door and look up at the night sky. I’m all ready here to drive all night. Now what the fuck am I going to do? A part of me wants to go inside the house, throw my shit down in the living room and completely forget about this whole stupid waste of my time, which is what I would have done in any other situation, with any other girl.
But instead, I just throw my duffel bag in the passenger side, slam the door then go around and get in the truck anyway. I plug my phone into the stereo. I have a new play list all made up, one that could only be done justice by a highway surrounded by trees and the full moon overhead.
Damn that girl. Eight hours of driving and imagining what we could get accomplished in my tent, was now going to be 8 hours of trying to think of anything…anything but walking willingly into a mess that can’t be cleaned up.
photo credit links for pics from left to right: