Page 7

Until the rain slows, and the clouds part.
When my eyes dry, I slowly lift my head, and roll onto my back, gazing up at the stars. “Trav,” I whisper.
“Yeah?”
“You think she’s in heaven?”
His fingers intertwine with mine and he rubs his thumb across the back of my hand, “Doesn’t matter what I believe Spencer, what do you believe?”
“I don’t think I believe in heaven, or hell…or any of it for that matter. Because if there were a God… if he really existed, he would be one cruel piece of shit for taking her away from me. For making her suffer.” I pause for a minute, “Maybe she’s in the stars Trav. Looking down on me. Is that such a silly thing to believe?”
“Nah babygirl, not silly at all. Mama Dee will always be watching over you. I think that sounds exactly like what she would be doing right now.”
“Look at that one, right there,” I point up at the biggest star in the sky, shining brighter than the rest of the tiny luminous balls of gas lighting up the night. Like a beacon, it pulses slowly, calling to me.
“There she is,” he whispers, resting the side of his head against mine.
“What do I do now Travis? She lingers in every corner of this house. I see her everywhere, I smell her everywhere.” I feel my heart speeding up in my chest, it’s beating roughly, painfully, making it so hard to breathe. “Dad goes away for work next week and I’ll be so alone without her here.”
Rolling onto his side, he props his head up with his fist, and locks of wavy brown hair fall into his eyes. Peering at me through the strands, he hovers his hand over my face, the way he always does when the world is too much for me. With feather-light pressure, he gently traces his middle finger down my forehead, my nose, my lips, before gripping my chin gently. Calming me, soothing my intrusive thoughts. Slowing my breathing.
“You’ll never be alone Spence, you’ve got me, always. I’ll never leave you.”
I feel my eyes well up with tears all over again, “Promise, promise?”
“Promise, promise.”
Pulling his hand away from my chin, he reaches into the pocket of his jeans, and retrieves a slim silver ring with a small Onyx gemstone. He slides it onto my ring finger and presses his lips to my forehead.
“Where did you get this?” I gasp.
“It was my mom’s. One of the few things I have left from her.”
“Travis, I can’t…”
“You can, and you will. She would want you to have it. She loved you so damn much,” a single tear trails from the inner corner of his eye, running down the side of his nose, “just like mama Dee loved me. I meant what I said, I’m not going anywhere. Ride or die. I love you Spencer Rae Maddox. School starts in a month and a half. We graduate in the spring, and then we run away together. You and me. Always you and me.”
“I love you Travis,” I whisper, letting his words wash over me, dulling the pain of today in a way that only Travis James Price can manage to do.
When Travis says he’s my ride or die, he means it. It’s not just an empty sentiment from a teenage fling that will fizzle out when high school ends. He’s always been there, through everything. Our entire lives.
In 3rd grade he gave Kevin Myers a black eye for pantsing me on the playground. In middle school, when I started filling out before my peers, Jake Dawson called me fat bitch at the skate park, and Travis smacked him across the face with his skateboard, breaking his nose. That one - he got in big trouble for. Someone called the cops and Mr. Price had to go pick him up from the police station. Strings were pulled and he managed to get off without charges being pressed, but his dad didn’t let it go so easily.
Mr. Price is by far, the scariest man I’ve ever met, and I don’t ask questions about what he does, but whatever it is, it allows him to call in favors when needed.
Travis’s mom, Layla, died in a horrible boating accident when we were only in middle school, leaving Travis alone with his dad. Their relationship is more than strained and for years, Travis has been sneaking off in the middle of the night to sleep at my house, just so he can rest without worry. Worry that he did something else to piss the old man off. I’ve seen the bruises and the black eyes he tries to hide, and when I pry, Travis always tells me not to “sweat it”, that he can “handle it”.
Except I don’t want him to have to handle it. He deserves more than that.
I can’t really pinpoint the exact moment in time that it was official, that we were an us, but we’ve been glued at the hip since the sandbox. There was never actually a time when it wasn’t us. Somewhere around freshman year though, Travis went from being the best friend who I did everything with, to giving me butterflies, and making my heart race so fast I thought I’d pass out.
He never had to ask me. I’ve always just belonged to him. One day when we were 15, he finally kissed me, really kissed me, and I’ve been a goner ever since.
Stroking my cheek with his thumb, he leans in and presses his lips to mine. They taste like cinnamon gum, weed, and everything my dreams are made of. I kiss him back, desperately. Needing to feel his love for me. Aching to burrow my way inside of him so nothing else can hurt me anymore.
Our legs inch together until we are impossibly close; my graffiti covered Chuck Taylor All-Stars scraping against his Etnies as our legs intertwine. When we finally come up for air, he pushes my hair behind my ears and smiles lazily at me.
“Come on babygirl, you’re wet, and it’s cold, let’s go inside and get warm.”