Chapter 6: Run Every Time

Chapter 6

Track 6: Run Every Time, Gavin DeGraw

Summer 2002

My alarm blared. Disoriented, I rolled over to look at the clock and nearly fell out of bed: ten o’clock. It was ten o’clock! I bolted into the shower and dried my hair just enough, so it wasn’t dripping. I wriggled into my jeans and threw on a t-shirt and got straight to work on my bedroom floor. An explosion of maps, sticky notes, highlighters, glue, and magazine clippings were scattered across the carpet, as if a flurry of kindergartners had snuck in during the night for arts and crafts.

I picked up where I had left off after collapsing on top of my sheets somewhere between midnight and pressing repeat on Tim McGraw’s greatest hits. I had spent the last few weeks cramming for finals and logging as many babysitting shifts as I could handle. I had also successfully won back my writing gig with the Register-Guard, after relentless begging and pleading, a job I was thankful for and working extra hard not to lose again. Any spare moments in between were spent with Andy. All that meant I was now scrambling and covered in glue with only an hour left to apply the finishing touches before heading to the Willamette.

Andy was leaving for the summer.

It had been nearly a year since he catapulted into my world. I replayed that July evening in my mind endless times, wondering why Andy chose to get into my car that red sky July night. I was no one special – an overly complex girl with too many checklists and ambitions for a teenager. Andy was laid-back and overly practical, turning every problem into something that could be resolved with simplification and a little patience – I lacked both. Andy never concerned himself with the details. If I stressed over an exam, his response was simply, “just go study and you’ll know it all by morning.” When my tailpipe flew off on the Parkway on my way back from a spring shopping spree at the outlets, Andy listened to me spew all the reasons why the missing piece of metal was the end-all-be-all. “Just take it in to get replaced,” he said without regard for how long I would be without my car, how would I get around in the meantime, and how was I going to pay for it? Andy was right though, it just needed to be replaced.

We lost track of the sunsets and weekend drives to wherever the universe lead us, and when last September came, we somehow survived a whole school year as Andy and Annie, much to the disapproval of the vast majority of the Southridge cheer leading team.

Much to my doing, we spent our spring break mailing demo CDs to studios in California, New York and Nashville. Who was I kidding? I did the research, wrote the letters, stuffed the envelopes, and licked each stamp until my tongue tingled, launching each brown manila into the mailbox with a good luck kiss. Andy aimed to resist my persistence, insisting my efforts were a waste of time and postage. The world had to hear his voice if it were the last thing I would do! Letters arrived one after the other, complimenting Andy’s vocals but with the request for original songs, not the covers we had submitted. Andy brushed off each 8.5 x 11 letterhead with an “I told you so” as he crinkled each one before tossing it into the recycle bin. I encouraged Andy to write his own music, something I absolutely knew with every ounce of conviction that he could do and even offered to help, which only seemed to irritate him and push him away. I decided I was better with Andy than without, so I dropped the subject all together.

The day before graduation, Andy received a call from a booking agent at a club in Santa Monica who was in need of an acoustic guitar player who could sing back-up vocals for a local band that mostly sang covers – a dime a dozen in Cali. Someone had passed along his demo – thank you very much – and wanted him to start in a week. Weary of the offer at first, Andy declined, only to change his mind a day later. Andy never asked me for my opinion, but if I had a vote, mine would have been to accept. It was what exactly what he needed. The first step toward something extraordinary. I just knew it.

Accepting the gig meant we would be apart for the summer which made me both nervous and excited for Andy. We talked about how he would call each day, and he would drive back home for a day or two when he had time off. We would both keep busy and spend the last weekend of August together when he returned, and tell each other all about our summer adventures - surely his would be far more exciting than mine.

Today I was meeting Andy at the river to see him off. A place that was so obvious and special to us. Frantically assembling my farewell gift to Andy distracted me from what was to come.

***

The ten-minute drive to the river felt longer than usual. I drove in silence, windows down despite the cool mid-June breeze, the fresh air making it easier to breathe. My chest felt heavy and my stomach felt like a tornado was twirling in a constant spiral.

I pulled up to our meeting spot and a sense of calm overwhelmed me when I saw Andy propped up against his tailgate. I looked in the rear-view mirror at my wavy air-dried hair and pale cheeks, my olive-toned skin lacking its natural brightness. This was the best I could do given the circumstances.

Andy shot me his come-here smile that got me every time. “I thought you weren’t coming,” he joked. I was early and he was perpetually late. Today was the first time he had beat me anywhere. Ever.

I walked up to him without saying a word and immediately buried myself in his arms. Andy met me with a warm embrace before gently releasing me, wiping the hair away from my face. “It’s just one summer, I’ll be back in no time. Repeat after me, ‘It’s just one summer’.”

“Okay, it’s just one summer,” I replied. I repeated the phrase back in my head and tried to believe it. I really did. But who were we kidding? One summer was a lifetime in teenage-love-years. I wanted to believe that seven weeks would fly by and life would return to the way it was, but the wide-eyed rational side of me knew better than that. Andy knew better too.

“I brought you something,” I said, returning to my car to retrieve my “art” project. I handed the leather-bound book to Andy. He opened his tailgate and set it on top, opening the cover.

“What is this?” he asked.

“Well…it’s a uh…I guess it’s kinda a collection of things,” I began. I didn’t know what to call it. Unsure whether he would find my gesture endearing or ridiculous, I continued. “It has a map of the Pacific Coast highway, from here to Santa Monica. I’ve highlighted all of the stops with the best views and made note of where to go for pancakes and burgers. There’s a list of motels in the back with all the phone numbers. That’s just the first few pages. The rest are clippings from my journals, and some poems and entries I wrote,” Andy knew I kept a diary and asked me from time to time to share with him what I had written. He loved it.

“I also included a new CD for the road,” flipping to the back of the book. I was still waiting for the one he had promised me but wasn’t holding my breath.

“This is amazing,” he said. “But don’t you want to keep this? These are your words. I love that you’re sharing them with me, I really do, but don’t you want to keep them for yourself?”

“No,” I responded. “The memories belong to us and I want you to have them.” Deep down I didn’t want him to forget.

Andy smiled and kissed me on my forehead. It was exactly the reaction I had expected. “I love it.” He said. “It’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever given me.”

I met his thank-you with a kiss and hoisted myself up on the edge of the tailgate next to him.

“We’re going to be okay, right?” The quintessential question that you would ask your now-graduated high school boyfriend who was leaving for the summer.

There was an unspoken hesitation that was not unexpected that made me feel woozy.

“You will have the best summer, Annie. It will all be fine. When I come back, we will pick up right where we left off. Don’t worry about that.”

He said exactly what I needed to hear, and that worried me.

“You’ve got lots to keep you busy. You have your writing and you have all this,” Andy waved his arms to emphasize the beauty of the Willamette. “You’re tough Annie Walker. Just wait and see.”

We spent two hours on the tailgate, hand in hand, neither one of us saying much of anything. Any longer and Andy would be leaving in the dark, which meant our time was up.

“I better get going,” Andy said as he released my hand and hopped off the tailgate, helping me down.

“I know,” I whispered softly. I choked back the tears and my innocence, knowing I had to let him go and didn’t want to make a scene.

“The sooner you leave the sooner you’ll be back,” I said, trying to make light of the moment.

Andy smiled.

“I love you, Annie.”

“I’ll love you always,” I replied.

Wishing if only we could have one more sunset I watched as Andy’s taillights vanished between the willows.

I knew in that moment it was the last time I would see Andy.