“When did I ask you about your dad?”
“Last summer,” I remind him. “When we were in the tent and we…and we kissed a lot.”
More memories swarm around us as I remember and I can tell he remembers, too, because he touches his lips and gets this really strange look on his face. Then he swallows hard and flicks his cigarette onto the ground. “I was normal,” he finally answers my question. “Just a normal guy who thought about college and who liked to draw and wanted to be an artist. Who hardly got into trouble, and who had only been in love with one girl…a normal boring guy.” He sounds so conflicted, like he misses that guy, but at the same time he doesn’t want to.
The song switches to one I know, even though I’m not into oldies. But it’s one my dad used to listen to, “Heaven” by Bryan Adams, and it makes me think of the good times in my life, when I used to dance around the living room with my dad, listening to music, and everything felt so easy. I wish I could capture some of that easiness now and spill it over Quinton and me.
“I like the sound of that boring guy,” I utter softly. “I hope one day I can meet him.”
“You won’t, so you should go find another one.” He sits up like he’s ready to go, but instead he stretches his arms above his head. “What do you see in me, Nova? What keeps you coming around? I mean, I’m not that nice to you, at least not always. I have a shitty life and do shitty stuff.”
“All of that’s because you’re hurting, though, something I get really, really well.” I sit up and bend forward to meet his eyes, which are wide and full of panic. “I see a lot of things in you, Quinton. I’m not going to lie. You sometimes remind me of Landon and that’s part of the reason why I think I’m so drawn to you,” I say, and when his expression falls, I quickly take his hands. “But that’s not the only reason…when I’m around you sometimes it seems like you and I are the only two people that exist and nothing else matters and for someone who over-thinks everything, that’s really hard to achieve.”
I can tell he sort of likes my answer because his pulse starts slamming against my fingers. “Is that all?” he asks and I shake my head, wondering how long it’s been since someone said nice things to him.
“No way. I’m just getting started.” I hold on to him tighter. “Last summer you made me feel things…things I thought I’d never feel again after Landon died. And it’s not because I was high. Trust me. I haven’t felt that way again, not until I came back here to see you.”
“I’m a junkie, Nova,” he mumbles. “I shouldn’t make you feel anything.”
“You’re not a junkie,” I argue, tightening my hold on his hands. “You’re just someone who’s really, really lost and hurting and won’t admit it and drugs take that all away for you.”
He’s starting to look scared, panicky, his eyes sweeping the area like he’s looking for a place to run, hide, and get high. So I clutch him tighter and move on.
“If you could do anything right now,” I say quickly. “What would you do?”
“Get high,” he replies, meeting my eyes, and his are so full of anguish it steals the breath out of me. “What about you? What would you do right now if you could?”
I think he thinks I’m going to say I would save him, and I want to, but I’m not going to say it because I need a break from the repetitiveness and so does he. We both know why I’m here and I’m not forgetting why I came. I’m just trying to work my way into his head the only way I can think of. By trying something that’s easy and uncomplicated. Because we need easy at the moment.
“I would dance,” I answer, then let go of his hand and slide off the hood of the car. I know I’m being goofy, but it’s all I’ve got at the moment, so I stick out my hand. “Will you dance with me, Quinton?”
He glances warily at the speakers on the trim of the gas station, at the vacant pumps, then over to the street. “That’s really what you want to do? Right here? Right now?”
I nod with my hand still out. “Yep, now will you grant me my request?”
He considers this and there’s hesitation in his eyes but he still gets down off the hood and takes my hand. The contact gives me a brief break from all the crappy stuff surrounding us. Easy. We’re going to do something that’s really, really easy. I know it won’t erase all the hard stuff. But sometimes taking a break from the complicated stuff is enough to get me through the next step and the next one. One step at a time. One breath at a time. One heartbeat at a time.
One life at a time.
I reach out to put my hand on his shoulder, but instead he pushes me back and spins me around. “You know you’re getting in over your head, right?” he says, jerking me to him and crashing me against his chest.
I’m breathless as I put my cheek up to his chest and feel his heart racing beneath it. “Where’d you learn to dance like that?”
“From my grandmother…she taught me right before I went to my first dance in middle school,” he says, breathing into my hair as he rests his chin on top of my head and we begin to sway to the music.
“Was it because she wanted to teach you?” I ask. “Or because you wanted to learn?”
“Sadly it was because I wanted to learn,” he says. “I thought knowing how to dance would make my crush want to dance with me.”
I press my cheek to his chest. “But she didn’t want to?”
“Nah, but I wasn’t the kind of guy girls wanted to dance with,” he says. “I was too shy at the time.”
I try not to smile, but it’s hard. “I was shy too at one time.”
“I can see that,” he says thoughtfully.
I pull away slightly and tip my chin up to look him in the eyes. “How? I’m not shy anymore.”
The corners of his lips quirk. “Yeah, but sometimes you get embarrassed over stuff you do and the shyness comes out,” he says, and when I frown he adds, “Don’t worry, it’s only happened a couple of times, back when we first started hanging out. And besides, I like it.”
I press my lips together and return my cheek to his chest and he puts his chin back on top of my head. “Well, I’m glad you do, because I don’t.”
“Well, I do.” He keeps dancing for a moment, leading me in a slow circle. Then I feel him swallow hard and he says, “I guess you learned another thing about the old me—that I used to know how to dance.”