Chapter 5: Take Me There

Chapter 5

Track 5: Take Me There – Rascal Flatts

Andy was waiting at my doorstep as I pulled into the driveway. Headlights illuminated his hoodie-wearing silhouette hunched over in a backwards ball cap. I cut the engine and felt stiff, as though every bone in my body was frozen in its place. Andy was either about to apologize or break up with me – probably the latter. My heart was pounding like a base drum thumping as if it were about to explode right out of my chest. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as Andy approached. I cranked down the car window with the handle like I was about to place an order at a drive thru.

“Can I drive?” Andy asked. Neither one of us making eye contact, I nodded and crawled over the gear shift and into the passenger’s seat. He opened the door and ascended into the bucket seat, immediately reversing down my driveway, buckling his seat-belt and adjusting the seat back and rear-view mirror while we were in motion. We drove in silence, which was a first for us. My gaze was fixated forward as I played out in my head how the rest of tonight was about to go down. I knew we would get here eventually, because young love simply does not last, I just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. The hardest part would be pretending I was okay with it, and that life would merely go back to the way it was before we were us. The truth is, no matter how hard I would try, I would inevitably miss everything about him.

Andy sensed my angst; it was obvious. He reached over and placed his right hand on the thigh of my jeans, and I concentrated with all my might to refrain from trembling as he left it there. For once I was thankful for my debilitated tailpipe which muffled the sound of my heart throbbing in my throat and my short breaths.

We made a left off Creston Street and into the Dairy Queen drive thru. We pulled up to the speaker, Andy’s hand still stuck to my thigh. “What would you like,” he asked, displaying his crooked boyish smile.

This wasn’t exactly the time for soft serve. I had zero appetite. “Nothing for me, thanks,” I responded.

“I know you better than that,” Andy pressed. “I’ve never known you to decline something sweet.”

He was right about my sweet-tooth, but regardless, I insisted, “Really, I’m fine.” Emotionally, I was not.

“Alright, suit yourself,” Andy said, removing his hand from my jeans to reach into his back pocket to retrieve his wallet. We pulled up to the window and he handed over a ten-dollar bill, collected his change and dropped it into the cup holder next to his caramel ice cream sundae. Andy kept driving and replaced his right hand back on me where he had left it.

We pulled into the public lot of Mahlon Sweet Field – Eugene’s regional airport – where I had been parked several hours earlier. Andy settled on a spot closest to the chain-linked fence that lined the runway. He turned off the car and began to devour his sundae, offering me some between spoonfuls which I politely declined.

“Twelve.” I said.

Andy turned towards me still gripping his spoon. He had a small drop of vanilla on his lower lip I wanted so desperately to kiss away. “What do you mean, twelve?” He asked.

“Twelve.” I repeated. “That’s the number of planes that took off tonight while I waited here for you.”

Andy dropped his spoon into his now empty ice cream container and shifted his shoulders towards me as much as he could. He crossed his arms in such a way, I felt I was about to be interrogated. “And how many landed,” he asked?

Annoyed by his follow-up question, I replied anyway. “Three.”

“Interesting,” he said. “More planes coming than going.” I was puzzled by his statement of the facts I had presented.

“Andy, I’m confused,” I confessed and was slightly irritated. “What’s going on here?”

Andy cracked the window ever so slightly to allow air to circulate and to prevent us from steaming up the car too quickly with our breath. He uncrossed his arms and took both of my hands, folding them together inside his. “Honestly, Annie…” he began, “I don’t know. I guess. I’m trying to find the words to apologize for standing you up earlier and I’m not doing so great at that. I feel awful, I really do. And the worst part is, I don’t know why I did it. I should have come. I meant to. Truly, I did. And I’m sorry for that.”

His apology was genuine and not at all what I was expecting. I wouldn’t question him or pretend to berate him at the risk of pushing him away. At the same time, I was not a push over. So, I said the only think that made sense to me.

“You owe me twelve songs,” I said. I had made Andy several burnt-CDs since we had met. It was fun for me to share my favorite songs with him, but he refused to reciprocate. “I’m not that kind of guy,” he would say, implying my gesture was sort-of pathetic in a way. But Andy kept asking for more and I kept delivering.  

“Done.” He replied without hesitation.

I was surprised by the assertiveness of his response. No push back or smart remark. I clarified, “They have to be songs that mean something to you, not just whatever is trending on the top 40 this week. And they can’t be a copy paste of what I’ve given to you.”

“Consider it done, Annie.” He said, implying there was no need to push further.

“Good,” I smiled. It was a relief to breathe normally again and for my muscles to unbuckle from the tightened state they had been in since I pulled into my driveway. I leaned in and kissed Andy, wiping the spot of vanilla from his lip, enjoying the aftertaste of sweet caramel.

To avoid fogging-up the car from just our presence, we walked out and sat on the concrete block meridian at the front of our parking stall, wrapping ourselves in a blanket I kept in my back seat for cold star gazing nights at the river. It was a rare mild November evening, probably the last before the arrival of the next four months straight of West Coast rain.

“Andy, can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he replied.

I hardly knew anything about Andy beyond his love for music and what he ate on his burger. Each time I tried to extract something personal, he would change the subject or reply with “I don’t remember.” Meanwhile, I shared everything with him and attempted to include every single detail.

“You know so much about me. I’ve told you all my hopes and dreams, and you probably know more about me than you really care to.” Andy smiled and continued to listen. “But it goes both ways. I want to know everything there is to know about you. Your past, what you want to do, who you want to be. When you’re having a bad day or feel crummy. I want you to feel you can share that kind of stuff with me. I know so little about you. I don’t mean to push. I guess I just want you to know you can tell me anything and talk to me about anything.”

“Annie, you know you’re too good, right?”

I wasn’t sure what he meant. Too good at reading him? Too good as in ‘too polite’? Too ‘goody-two-shoes’? Too good for him?

I didn’t respond.

“Twelve songs because of the planes taking off, right?” He asked.

He was a subject switching ninja. “Yes,” I confirmed.

“Thought so,” he said. “Tell you what - for the three that landed, l’ll throw in some bonus tracks.”

“That works for me,” I said.

***

Andy was the definition of complicated. His moods were confusing, and he had the ability to take my emotions on constant roller coaster rides that were both terrifying and exhilarating. At times I wasn’t sure if I should fearlessly throw my arms in the air like a maniac or hold on for dear life on the drop down. But if I had to choose, I would pick complicated every single time.