"What the hell, Dallas?" I stare at him, "are you kidding me?"
"No, I'm not kidding you," Dal chuckles, "come on, if you aren't dying today, you're dying tomorrow. You've just got to live up what you've got left."
"I want to die around the people I love," I sigh, pressing my hands to my face.
"Oh, so you don't love me?" He asks, being snarky.
"Of course I do, but I love other people too." I push my hair back behind my ears, trying to make sense of a world that feels so unreal. I reach up to check if my nose is still there and then I knock on my head, making sure someone's home. I reach over to touch Dallas, and I am spooked when my fingers finally brush his ear after an eternity of stretching my arms to feel his skin.
"What are you doing?" He glances over at me.
"Nothing feels real," I rest my head on his shoulder and press my nose against his jacket. I close my eyes, my mind swirling with thoughts incomprehensible. I breathe out slowly, thinking of something to say to get my world focused. "Dally, are you going to get a haircut?"
"I dunno," he shrugs, "I will if you will."
"Then I will," I say, snuggling closer on the bench seat as I look out the window, "Dal, who usually cuts your hair?"
"Me," Dallas replies, "and sometimes Two-Bit, but he's not very good at it. Why? You think I let a whole bunch of people touch me or my hair?" He shakes his head and cracks a grin, pushing my reality further into questioning. I reach up and run my hand over his hair, grease from not washing it in a while rubs off onto my fingers.
"You let me touch your hair," I try to wipe my hand off on his jacket.
"Yeah, well that's different," he responds. I nod, keeping my eyes peeled for a barber shop. We pass by shabby stores and gas stations before the blue and red swirls catch my eye.
"Look," I point with a shaky finger.
"Nuhuh," he nods his head no, "not going to a barber shop. You cut John's hair, right?"
"Yeah."
"Then, I don't mind you cutting mine. You can use my blade when we pull over for the night." He lets out a long breath, "man, I hope that kid's doin' alright."
The pain of reality returns to me in short bursts as I try hard to focus on the smell of Dal's jacket and the stretch of road in front of us.
Dallas turns on the radio to drown out the silence that is home to our troubles. I close my eyes and try to block my train of thought by counting to ten over and over. The numbers in my head slowly fade into nothingness.
--
"Hey," someone shakes my knee, "hey, Emily," I blink open my eyes to see Dallas standing in front of me, the car door open beside him and cool air rushing in around me. "Evening, princess," he says, leaning on the side of the truck, "I was going to head in and and get you some Tylenol, did you wanna come in too?"
I sit up and look at the scenery around us. The early evening sun sits far off on the west of a colorless sky. I look ahead at the pharmacy and soda shop before us, it's lights pour our onto the black pavement beneath us.
I rub my eyes, "where are we?" Dallas leans in the car and reaches for the map that sits on the dashboard that he must have pulled out when I was sleeping. He lays it across my lap and points. "Texas?" I say, surprised.
"Not yet," he begins to drag his finger across the paper, "so we'll go through the rest of Oklahoma, to Texas, New Mexico, through Arizona and into Nevada." He pushes the map off my legs and asks, "so, you wanna come in and get something?"
"Yeah," I nod, "I have'ta pee."
"Good to know," he jokes, taking me by the arm and helping me out of the truck. He closes the door and for the first time in a while, he puts his arm around my shoulders as we walk up to the shop.
Making the assumption that the bathrooms are in the back, I separate from Dallas and make my way through the few aisles as he goes to the pharmacy.
I use the bathroom and wash my hands, ignoring the pain in my arms and legs as I stand in front of the sink. I look up from the running water to the blank wall where a mirror used to hang. I breathe out, grateful that it's not there.
Wandering back out, I search the short shelves for something to eat. Finding nothing that looks appealing, I resort to a bag of chips and some candy. I spot Dallas and head back to the front.
"Hey doll," Dally greets me as he sets two Coke bottles on the grey counter. I put the snacks for the both of us next to the register as well.
"Hi," I respond, watching as the man behind the counter add up the price. His movements are slow, but his face is young and familiar.
"Hey," the young man says, catching my attention, "do you remember me?" He asks, "from the fair?" The memories come back to me in a flash. The bright blue eyes, dark brown hair and handsome face before me the same as the night Dallas thought it'd be a good idea to hit on some other girls.
"Yes," I nod, remembering his kind voice and words of wisdom, "I do. Jimmy, right?" I ask. He nods as I smile at him, oddly overwhelmed by his presence.
"Alright, buddy," Dallas says, pulling a couple of dollars from his pocket, "keep it moving." He sets a hand on my shoulder. Jimmy tells him the total and Dal pays. I would be mad at Dallas for cutting my conversation short, but I just don't see a point in caring so much anymore, thanks to the four words that have claimed and torn down the home in my heart and mind: I'm going to die.
"It was nice seeing you," I say to Jimmy as he hands the food and drinks over to me.
"It was nice to see you too," he smiles before glancing over at Dallas, "is he the guy that you requested the song for?" He asks, shrinking back at Dal's cold look.
"Yeah," I say, feeling the want to hug him.
"Seems like everythin' worked out alright," Jimmy says, trying to ignore Dal's glare.
I nod and look over at Dally. With a sigh I say, "yeah, everything worked out just fine," I breathe out and turn back to Jimmy, "goodbye," I smile at him, but there's a pang of hurt in my stomach, knowing that's probably the last time I'll ever see him.
"Goodbye, Emily. Have fun where ever you're going."
"Thanks," I smile again, "I will." I follow Dallas out of the door.
"Who the hell was that?" Dal asks, opening the truck door for himself.
"Jimmy," I respond, trying to press his buttons.
"Okay, yeah," he climbs into the truck as I do, "But what about him, how d'you know him?"
"Remember when you chased after some girls at the fair we went to?" I hand him a bottle of Coke in exchange for the Tylenol.
"Yeah," he nods, starting the truck.
"Well, this is the guy I talked to when I requested that song. Truck you for all that by the way, Dallas," I down the pills.
He lays his arm across the back of the bench seat as he turns his body to see to pull out of the parking spot, "truck me?" he laughs, "yeah, yeah," he chuckles, "truck me."
"Did you do it because you were genuinely interested in them?" I ask stupidly.
"No," he says, driving down the road fifteen over the speed limit, "I did it 'cause I knew if I hurt you by hitting on someone else, you'd leave and that'd hurt you less than staying with me."
"Dally," I let out a shaky breath and decide to change my words, "why'd you change your mind, why'd you give me that string to hold onto? To, if I remember correctly, make sure I remember that you like me more than any other girl?" The memory I had forgotten finds its way back to the front of my mind.
"I think it was because of that dance we went to."
"What d'you mean?" My insides squirm.
"Why didn't you want to have sex with me in the beginning?" He asks.
"Because I was afraid it was all you wanted from me." I keep my eyes on him as he keeps his on the road.
"You made the right choice then," he says, "I thought that dance was a sure way into your pants," I'm not shocked by this statement, "'thought I'd play house with you for a while to get you buttered up, make the job easier."
I laugh at this, he glances over at me, a little surprised by my reaction. "Mother trucker," I call him, rubbing my eyes, "why didn't you just stop and leave me since I didn't do the diddly-done-do with you?"
He chuckles and mutters, "the diddly-done-do," he shakes his head, "well Emily, I didn't leave you because you didn't want to fuck me," he says aloud, correcting my terminology, "because," he sighs, "'cause you just changed my mind. That night, I guess it came to me that you're more than a body to use. You're a sneaky devil," he notes, "finding your way into my heart and all."
"And you're an ass hat," I joke, smiling at his remarks, "I call it even." I rub my wrists and look for a good way to go about what I need to say, "can I be honest now?" I ask.
"Yeah, don't see why not." He nods.
"Well," I swallow, "in the beginning, when we first met, I don't think I wanted you in specific, I just wanted somebody to love."
Dallas lets out a long breath, "and what about now, do you still feel that way?"
I shake my head, "no, I want you. I most definitely want you." The silence returns to the car and my attention shifts to the darkening sky and the flickering signs. Dallas pulls into a parking lot of a beat up motel. I look up at the sign by the road. Instead of it all being lit up, only a few letters are and it reads: OTE.
I laugh, "ote," I say, pointing at the sign, "ote, ote, ote."
"Em," Dallas looks at me seriously, "are you okay?"
"I won't be if you keep asking," I wrestle with the sigh that's found it's way into my lungs, trying to ignore the fact that I'm free falling back to reality.
"You didn't sneak any of those pills, did you?" He asks, still serious.
"No," I respond in honesty, "where d'you keep 'em anyways?" I ask nonchalant, wanting to be away from this world for a while, "d'you have them with you?"
"I don't," he replies, turning off the engine and pocketing the keys, "but if I did it's not like I'd tell you." I nod, watching him get out of the truck. I do the same and grab my bag from the back seat. Dal slings the other backpack over his shoulder. I round the vehicle and grab hold of his hand as I observe the long building in front of us. A bare oak looms over the roof, windows are broken and siding is missing. It doesn't seem to have occurred to the owner that you can indeed clean the outside of a building. If I am honest, I don't mind the filth all that much.
"I don't know, Dally," I say as we approach, "this looks awfully shady to me."
Dallas laughs and stops in his tracks. He looks over at me, "princess, you don't know shady."
--
Dallas plops down on the shabby wooden chair that squeaks under his weight. I take a breath as I look around the small motel room. The walls are an off shade of white and a bed is pushed up against the back wall next to the bathroom door. A small nightstand sits against the front wall, close to the entrance, under a small window and about a foot away from the bed. The carpet would probably look as new as it is if it was clean, but all in all, I have neither the want nor need to complain about the cleanliness of the small room.
"Here," Dallas passes me his blade over his shoulder.
"Thanks," I say, trying to ignore the tightening of my lungs, "are you sure about this, Dally?" I ask, combing a final knot out of his hair with my fingers.
"As sure as I'll ever be."
"Okay," I struggle at first, getting several cuss words from Dallas.
"Holy shit," Dal says, "Emily, why are you pulling so damn hard?"
"It's the only way I can cut it," I defend, "but we wouldn't have this big of a problem if you would keep your head still." He responds with a grunt and keeps quiet for the rest of the time. As I move to the front, he grimaces but doesn't say anything.
"There," I say, taking a few steps back and bumping into the wall. I nod, proud of my work, "it doesn't look bad."
"Okay," he stands up and brushes the hair from his shoulders, "your turn." I sit down, feeling as unsure as Dallas looks. "How much am I supposed to cut off?" He asks. I take my fingers and put them a few inches above the ends of my hair, showing him where to cut. "Alright," he takes hold of my hair and tugs it to keep it tight. I do my best to make sure my head remains in the same place and to silence the swear words that sit in the back of my throat. After a little while he says, "there, all done." He tosses the hair into my lap. I get up and put it in the trash in the bathroom. Unable to take the pain in my legs any longer, I sit down on the cold, tile floor with a heavy thud.
"Dally-" I say, peering around the bathroom doorway. To my delight, Dallas hands me two more pills and a half-drank bottle of soda. I take the Tylenol and lean against the wall as Dallas yawns and sits down on the floor across from me. I tilt my head back and rest it against the wall and stare up at the spider webs and shadows that gather on the ceiling. Looking around for a light in the room, I find none and find myself feeling hopeless in the fight against my own darkness within my mind. I avert my gaze back to Dallas. His face is illuminated by the single, weak lamp that stands in the corner of the other room. Its light falls upon him and the small amount of tile between him and the bathroom door, trying its best to crawl its way through the nothingness. My lost path of thought finds its way back to reality and I am reminded of the nagging hurt in my arms, legs, and soul.
"Time for you to shower, Mr. Stinky," I joke, trying to take my attention away from the pain.
"Time for you to shower, Ms. Stinky," he responds, standing up and pulling off his shirt.
"At least I wear deodorant." I crack a weak smile.
Dal tilts his head to the side and narrows his eyes at me, "I do too. And if I'm so stinky, why the hell were you smelling me until you fell asleep?"
I laugh lightly, "'Cause."
"'Cause why?" He starts unbuttoning his jeans.
"'Cause even if you're smelly, it reminds me that I'm with you, it reminds me that I'm safe." I say. He nods and finishes undressing before stepping into the shower. "Hey, Dal," I speak up as the sound of running water fills the room.
"Yeah?"
"You're beautiful."
He peeks his head out from behind the curtain, "what does it mean to be beautiful?"
"I dunno, it means what it says," I bring up one side of my mouth into a smile again, "but if I had to explain it I'd say that it means even though you've been through hell and back, you're still fighting. It means that your attractiveness runs much deeper than the surface of your skin. It means that you're real, authentic and original, like a work of art. It means that you are so overwhelmingly human that you think, breathe and feel like the rest of us do, something that I am very grateful for." I am overcome with my feelings for him once more, "Although, I think beautiful is an understatement."
"Thanks," he lets out, "you're more than beautiful too."
"Thank you," I get to my feet, thankful that the Tylenol dulls the pain. I take off my sweater, ready to shower as well.
--
I dry my hair as best I can with the towel that has a questionable smell. As long as I don't catch bugs or a disease, I'm fine. Handing the towel to Dal, I step out of the bathroom and back into the cold main room. I dig through my bag to find a shirt to wear over the one that I have on now before looking down at the bedspread and its small red flowers against a dark blue background.
"The blanket is pretty," I note, "think it's clean?"
"Probably not," Dallas yawns, "but no worries, princess, dirty sheets won't be what kills you."
I look over at him, silencing the thoughts that race through my head, "Thanks for reminding me." I say with a sigh. I rub my eyes before pulling back the blanket to get in bed. "Ewe, Dally, there's a bug on the bed." I point to where it is. It begins crawling towards me. I begin to back away, "Dallas," I say again out of panic, "what is it?"
"A centipede," Dallas says, calmly walking to the bathroom. He returns with some toilet paper in his hands and reaches for the bug without hesitation. Dal tosses it to the ground and smashes it with his boot. I wait as he throws it away before shaking out the blankets and pillows to make sure there are no more bugs.
"Thank you," I say, laying down in bed once I'm positive nothing will crawl on me.
"Yeah, you're welcome," he checks the lock on the door again and flicks off the light. I snuggle close to him once he is beside me, I wrap my arms around him and he slings an arm over my waist in return.
"I love you," I say, knowing I won't hear the words echoed back to me. Even so, I am content with the warmth of the feeling of safety that spreads across my chest when I am in his presence, and the reminder that no matter where I am, if I am with him, I am home.