Dallas shifts uncomfortably in the booth across from me, his longs legs bumping against mine. I watch as he digs through each of his pockets, searching for a cigarette. Knowing he is never without one, I sigh as he presses the cancer-stick between his lips and lights it.
"One of these days," I start off, "you're going to smoke a hole straight through your lungs."
He waves his hands, brushing my comment off. I turn to look out the window, my eyes fall upon the run-down houses and trash twirling about itself in the wind. Clouds loom overhead in the sky, promising a chilling rain. Ice covers the sidewalks and spills over onto the road in small islands.
"This place ain't so bad," Dallas says, regaining my attention. He looks around the diner, "just wish I knew where the damn waitress went."
"Patience, Dal," I reply, looking over his features. His hair has grown, a few pieces brush his eyebrows, it curls around his ears and has begun trying to reach down his neck. His eyes still hold tight to the sleep he's lost in the midst of all of the chaos. Dallas's face is home to a plethora of patchy stubble and faded scars, "when are you going to get a hair cut?" I ask.
"Whenever I feel like it," he shrugs.
"Why not today?"
"We got more important things to do."
"Like what?" I raise an eyebrow.
"Like I said earlier, you'll see."
"Okay," I rest my chin on my palm and say thank you as the waitress sets a cup of coffee in front of me and a large plate of every breakfast food I can think of in front of Dal.
"You sure you ain't hungry?" Dally asks after the waitress leaves. I nod. "Eat anyways," he pushes his plate towards me. "You can have whatever you want, except the pancakes. Those are mine."
--
I pull Dallas's hand off of his lap and into mine, letting my fingers find their resting place between his knuckles. He leaves his hand relaxed, refusing to fold his fingers down. Watching his other hand on the steering wheel, I breathe out slowly, shifting my gaze to look upon his face and serious eyes.
"Dally," I say out loud, listening to the beat of a steady rain against the roof of the truck, "why do you refuse to let people know you love me? Why do you refuse to let me know?" I press his fingers down in between mine. He stays silent and keeps his eyes on the road, acting like he didn't hear me. I feel my mouth drop into a frown as I turn on the radio, trying to fill the quiet that rings out in the car and in my head. A song I recognize to be Love Me sang by Elvis hums through the speakers. "Well, isn't this ironic." Dallas continues to ignore me as I turn up the music as Elvis begins to sing.
"Treat me like a fool, treat me mean and cruel, but love me. Wring my faithful heart, tear it all apart, but love me. If you ever go, darling, I'll be oh so lonely. I'll be sad and blue, crying over you, dear only."
Dallas becomes agitated and takes his other hand off the wheel for a second to slam off the radio. I squeeze his hand a little tighter and start speaking the words of the song where it left off, "I would beg and steal just to feel your heart beatin' close to mine. Well, if you ever go, darling, I'll be oh so lonely. I'll be sad and blue, crying over you, dear only-"
"- what'd you do, remember the whole damn song, man?" He cuts me off.
I shake my head with another sigh, "what goes on in that brain of yours?"
"You don't wanna know."
"I do, I think you just don't want me to." I rest my other hand on top of ours, my feelings for him become so overwhelming that it feels as if they've begun to suffocate me. "I love you so much," I say, my voice cracking, tears forming in my eyes. He's silent once again as the scenery around us changes into smaller houses that are so close to one another they seem to be touching. The walls of the houses look as if they're crumbling and spots on the roofs are replaced with sheets of cheap, rusting metal. The lawns are short slopes of dirt, spotted with yellow, dead grass. Doors and windows are missing from the houses and replaced with blankets in attempt to keep the cold out. Children play in the mud, being drenched in freezing rain. My heart aches for them and I pray that they have a safe, warm place to take refuge in. They watch the truck as we pass them. I look back at Dallas, my eyes no longer filled with the tears that drown my heart.
"You see the lawns?" He finally speaks, "Nothin' pretty grows up on this part of town. This is where I grew up." Then, he glances over at me at me and says, "I don't know what else you want from me. I've given you all I have."
"I'm sorry," I reply, looking down at our hands in my lap, "I don't want anything else from you, I just want you." I run my thumb over his knuckles, "if it means anything, I think you're pretty. I think you're beautiful."
"Don't give me that bullshit," He says, I look up to catch him rolling his eyes. "Man, I can't believe you. First, you get me to talk to you about some deep shit or whatever, man," he talks like he's telling a joke, "Then, you steal from your father, somehow get me to fall in love with you, then you go on and try and kill yourself, wishin' you were never born. Now, imagine if that were true. Where the hell would I be without you?" He shakes his head and the truck comes to a stop at the corner of the street, in front of a small, shabby house, one in worse conditions than the rest, "I'll be back, 'kay?"
I nod but before he has the chance to leave, I press a kiss to his cheek and wrap my arms around his shoulders, "where the hell would I be without you?"
He hops out of the car without another word. I watch as he walks through the rain that has lightened to a drizzle and up the muddy, trash littered yard. Yet, in all of that there's a sad beauty in the way the house leans a little too much to one side and how it casts a dark shadow upon the ground.
Dallas steps up onto the concrete that stretches along the base of the front wall. He knocks on the chipped siding next to the makeshift door. A woman peers out, her expression twisted with shock. Her face is home to dark eyes, a small nose and wrinkles formed from hard, long years of worry and fear. Her skin is framed by dark, messy brown hair.
Her eyes fill with tears and I see her mouth form the words, "where have you been, Dallas? I'm so sorry."
Dallas shakes his head and responds, I cannot hear what he is saying, but whatever it is that falls off of his lips helps her tears fall and a hand press to her mouth. She slips her arms around Dally and pulls him into a hug, he stands limp, not returning the embrace, but he doesn't pull away from her.
When she finally lets go I see more words, "thank you." Dal nods once and walks away, his face just as it was before he left, and my guess is that it never left its composure of a blank slate, for he doesn't want people to know what is written within him.
He opens the truck door and slides in and I ask, "Dally, who was that?"
"My mom," he says, letting his shoulders drop and his expression change.
"What happened?"
"I told her that I forgive her," and as Dallas presses his hands to his face, I realize that when you're broken, you are never too far from breaking free.
--
"Where are we going now?" I fold my fingers around his again, he drives a lot slower, but occasionally swerving for the fun of it.
"To the hospital."
"Why?" I watch as it comes into view.
"Because," he breathes out, "there's gotta be somethin' wrong with you. You're always pukin' and gettin' these bruises and complainin' about your legs."
"Dally, I'm fine." I try to reassure him, I try to reassure myself.
"You ain't fine. It's not normal to be as sad as you anyways." He shakes his head and parks the truck in the hospital lot.
"Everybody gets sad, don't you?"
He looks away from me and straight ahead, "that's not the point. I -" he can't find anything else to say.
"I know you're sad too, but instead of hurting yourself like I did, you hurt yourself by drinking a lot and getting in too many fights."
He stares over at me, "sometimes you make a lot of sense, and other times I can hardly understand what the fuck you're sayin'." I nod, knowing that he does understand, he just doesn't want to admit it. "Come on, get out of the car and let's go. It can't be that bad."
I nod and open the door. Letting my feet fall onto the asphalt, the cool air hugs me like I wish Dallas would. Dal rounds the car, placing a hand on the small of my back, he shoves me slightly to get me to start walking up to the hospital.
--
I kick my feet gently as I sit upright at the edge of a bed, waiting patiently for the doctor to come into the room. Dal sits in a wooden chair, messing with his fingers and occasionally looking up at me.
"You doin' alright?" He asks.
I nod, "just a little nervous I guess," a little is an understatement, I feel as if the weight of the world is upon my chest, "you don't really think there's something wrong with me, do you?"
"I dunno," he shrugs and leans his head back, looking up at the ceiling. I let out a long breath and stare down at my hands and the fingernail marks I have pressed onto them.
The door opens and there a man stands, draped in a clean white coat and glasses hanging off the tip of his nose, "Miss Hughes?" He asks, I nod in response. He looks over at Dallas who returns the stare, "who are you?"
"Dallas." He replies shortly.
"Are you related to her?"
"No-"
"-then I'm going to have to ask you to leave. If you aren't by blood you have to wait outside. There's a chair right by the door there-"
"-what? I'm not going anywhere." Dallas defends, I swallow hard, not sure if I want him to be here or not.
"Sir, I just have to ask her a few questions and do a quick physical. Hopefully there won't be a problem, and then it won't take long."
"Nuhuh," he shakes his head, "ask the questions right here, ain't nothin' I never heard before. Do the physical now, ain't nothin' I never seen before."
"Dally," I speak up. Dal looks over at me and rolls his eyes. He stands up and pushes his chair back in the process with a few muttered swear words and with that, he is out the door.
The doctor sighs and sits down, "well, Emily, what seems to be the problem?"