My Heart for Yours

13. Tobin

13

Tobin

I guess I should stop drinking. The last thing my parents need is me showing up to Eamon's funeral drunk. I take one last long pull from the bottle and then toss it into the pile along the tracks with the rest of them.

This was our spot, me and D. I check my watch. By now, she's probably snuggled in with the boyfriend. Bet they take off for home tomorrow. The look on that douche bag boyfriend's face told me he didn't show up here to leave empty handed. I run my finger along the smooth velvet of that stupid black box. Almost a smaller version of what my brother is lying in right now. Both containing lifeless, cold things.

My heart strains with the enormous feeling of loss. The box croaks as I open it and stare at that pathetic looking row of diamonds. Every time I look at the ring, I'm forced to remember what I thought my future would look like. No more. I've got to forget this girl. I snap it shut once last time and toss it as hard as I can into the darkness. Just how Eamon taught me to throw a baseball when I was a kid. Keep your elbow above your shoulder. Don't smother the ball. Throw in a low arc, Tobin.

It's done.

When Delia and I were together, we used take the back road into the woods and I'd park my truck near the tracks. We'd lie in the bed of the truck and watch the trains. Now I'm sitting on the tailgate alone and all I see is Eamon.

The tracks start to vibrate and I close my eyes. The rumble reverberates from one end of the track to the other. How the hell could he not hear it? It's close now. I can feel the vibration within me. The train lets out a loud whistle and the wind kicks up.

My truck shakes as it finally passes and then, just like that, it's quiet again. The only noise is the faint sound of the radio on in the cab of my truck. Zydeco. My lips curl into an involuntary smile. I let myself give into the memory. It's better than sitting here wondering where each part of my brother ended up. With each scrape of the rubboard, I'm closer and closer to that night.

~ ~ ~

"Come on, Delia," I whispered as loudly as the silent night would allow.

Delia hovered half-in, half-out of her bedroom window. She surveyed the ground for the fiftieth time.

"What if I get caught?" she asked. She bit her bottom lip and checked the ground again.

"You sure as shit will if we spend any more time hanging outside like this. I've got you baby, trust me," I said.

She finally relented and slipped out the window. It wasn't that far of a drop, but for Delia Gentry, who had never broken her daddy's curfew before, it probably felt like leaping off the top of the town water tower.

I caught her, just like I promised her I would.

"You ready?" I asked, clutching her hand.

"I'm a little nervous," she said, tugging on the tips of her bangs.

"Don't be, they'll love you," I assured her. I didn't dare tell her how completely over-dressed she was for a crawfish boil. But she looked freaking gorgeous and I couldn't wait to dance with her.

"Well, no shit!" Eamon yelled from across the old farm. "I thought you were lying when you said you were bringing Miss Priss!"

Delia's eyes widened, and her cheeks went red.

"He means that in the nicest way possible." I leaned in and whispered in her ear. She didn't relax, and her grip on my bicep stayed tight. Eamon was already lit, but was chugging a plastic cup of beer.