Submerged: The Mer Chronicles

Drop Off

Blood rushed to my cheeks and I turned away, facing out my window, willing my body to stop giving me away. He had such a brazen way of talking to me.  The last thing I needed was him seeing how easily he could rattle me. My rosy cheeks felt hot against the cool air shooting out of the vents, making me feel like some schoolgirl with a crush. What was wrong with me? Calvin winking was sending me blushing? I most definitely had been locked up too long.

And what did he mean exactly by most of the time? Did he run around naked, which for some reason I wouldn’t put past him, or... maybe... just maybe... did he have a way of getting the thing off?

“What do you mean most of the time?” I turned, giving him a small smile, hoping it said yeah right. I knew the type of pain it was just getting the thing on, and if taking the wire off felt worse, he would have to be crazy to even attempt it.

He nodded. “Yeah, my parents get pissed when I don’t wear it.” He paused. “Don’t you mom and dad?” He said, his voice getting louder at the end, a reminder that his parents were most definitely listening in on our conversation. “But I’ve learned my lesson and keep it on.” He turned to me again and slowly shook his head, making a face that clearly said he did not wear his wire all the time. 

Gradually, I was realizing this was the way you had to communicate. Say one thing out loud, but use body language to say what you really meant. And right now what I really wanted to know was how to get the wire off.

After all, Calvin had found a way. That much was encouraging; I’d just have to figure out how he did it. He was busy bobbing his head along to some country song on the radio, rolling down the windows so the roar of the wind mixed with the raspy vocals of the band.

He cranked the music louder, the whiny love song now rocking the entire truck.

“Hey! Can’t you switch the song? This music sucks.”

He started pointed towards the glove box, motioning for me to open it. “I can’t hear you. Isn’t this a great song?” Another wink. More pointing.

I tilted my head to the side, trying to figure out what he meant. More pointing, more frantic motions to pull the glove box latch. 

“Okay, fine. Be that way.” I said more for his parents, than for Calvin, then reached for the latch.

The glove box clicked open, and I threw my hands up to say, now what? He made a scribbling motion with his right hand. Digging inside, I found a pen and held it up. He nodded yes and kept pointing, making more scribbling motions, like he was writing. I reached inside and found the back of a crumpled McDonalds receipt.

He nodded his head, and motioned for me to pass the pen and paper.

I handed it over and watched as he glanced up and down, alternating between scribbling a letter on the receipt and glancing at the road. I tightened my seatbelt, thankful that the highway was dead.

He handed me back the receipt, his eyes usually so full of laughter were now sad. Sorry, was scribbled on the back of the paper. He shook his head when I looked back at him, saying it softly, under the volume of the music, but loud enough to be heard if I strained. Now, the blasting music and the windows rolled down made perfect sense, the noise made recording the conversation near impossible. 

I grabbed the pen out of his hand, writing, Tell me how to get it off.

He motioned for me to pass the paper back. Too soon, he wrote.

“So, my parents are gonna have me check on you in a week,” his voice stressed the last part, the obvious answer to when he could help me. “We should plan where to meet. Some place public.”