The Untitled Story

Chapter 11

"Tucker!" I yelled as I was running through the yard to his house. "Tucker?" Him not answering was stranger than anything else at the time. I had the car packed up and it was time for us to make our first leg of our trip. I was 17 with my full parental permission to be safe, no sex, drugs or drinking and a mandatory phone call from a hotel room with a reference number for them to call and be able to reach me every night. Although, I had known we had made other plans that involved elevating our relationship. Dad had a good sale year and was able to help pay for some of our whirlwind travels together. My dad had a private talk with Tucker the night before and a lot of "Yes sir, No sir" came from that kitchen. A firm hand shake and hat tilt sealed the deal. Whatever that deal was.

I continued to his house thinking that maybe he was in the shower, or that he was knee deep in duffle bag and had fallen in. Whatever the case, he would not ignore me. Not for this. I reached for doorknob and turned it to the left, the door cracking as I pushed it open. I could hear him talking to someone on the phone, but wasn't able to discern who it was. He sounded so shaky and unsure when he was responding. "Alright, I have to get going now. I told you we are leaving here in a little bit, Yes I will stop by before we leave town. I already told you this. No there isn't a reason why I am rushing off. Damn it you don't listen. I will be there when I get there." Hearing his voice more so irritated by whoever had called him, I stood still by the entryway to the door. Not moving, not speaking, just staring.

Who could have pissed him off that much that he needs to stop by before our big trip. "Who was that?" I asked candidly. He responded and sounded rushed, but also not like himself. Like he was worried or lying. I could feel the tenseness in the air, the room now tight. "That was Morgan, ya know my cousin from down the road. He wants me to stop by there and pick up a few things from the old house. I guess they are finally selling it off and he wanted to make sure that I had everything I wanted from it."

While I was sure that everything in his statement was complete bullshit, I just wanted it to be over with already. I just wanted it to end so we could leave and experience life alone together for a short time. "Well, that's fine." Ah, supportive girlfriend points, "Do you just want to go pick the stuff up and I will meet you back here? I can make us something to eat real quick before we go so we don't have to stop and we can make up sometime." He tilted his head like a confused puppy before that smirk turned up the right side of his face "That sounds perfect." He kissed my forehead with my head in his large callused hands "I will be back in about an hour." Tuckers trucked pulled off down the road, I could hear him speeding and laying hard into the gas as he shifted ripping up patches of grass and slinging dirt and small stones in his wake.

So much for one hour. I hope he got everything he needed from there. Damn what else could be doing? I snap out of my thought process when I saw his truck pull back into the drive. My stomach lifting from its perpetuating sinking feeling that something was wrong. Tuckers truck door swung open and he leaned over to grab a small box and a plastic store bag before stepping out on to the grass and smiling with a nod to help him. I walk over quickly reach behind him and shut the truck door. We walk in silence for a moment before speaking. "So, what's in the box?" I question him lightly. I don't want anything else to push us more behind then we already are. "Just some of my mom's old things. I know one is a photo album. I want to bring it with me." He sounded solemn in his answer. Almost exhausted. "That's fine. Are you ready to go?" I say softly trying to usher in urgency and reassurance at the same time.

I never did ask him what took over 4 hours to come back with a box and a bag. Often I found that with Tucker if it involved his family it was best to stay out of the way. I wouldn't say he was an angry boy, but almost. He never raised his voice with me, never once spoke an ill word about me but often times I could feel him wanting too. I could sense it all too well. How he would retract when I said something that bothered him. You could see the tenseness in his forehead, making him age if only ever so slightly his eyes losing track of the moment and his muscles swell. While I never feared his anger, I would speculate it was only because I had never really seen it boil over. I honestly, never wanted too. The idea behind this tall gentle boy with the soft pale skin, bright and brilliant blue eyes with his lean muscular build ever being angry made my shudder slightly. I knew the possibility was always there. I just don't want to be present when it does.