Tethered

Twenty Two || Disappearing

{I Remember Everything ~ Zach Bryan ft Kacey Musgraves )

....you're drinking everything to ease your mind, but when the hell are you gonna ease mine, you're like concrete feet in the Summer heat, that burns like hell when two soles meet....

———

Beau's truck sputters along the dirt roads across the valley, a whistling wind through the open window whips in at me, but still, it is not enough to cool me down. It is one of the hottest days yet, almost unbearably so, and the rickety little rust bucket of a truck Beau called Beulah, has never heard of the invention called air conditioning.
Still, it has a radio that croons out lilting notes and a thrumming guitar to a song I don't know, but Beau's thumb taps on the steering wheel in time with its rhythm. I find myself stifling a smile at the sight of it as we ride through the rolling farm fields that get smaller and smaller the closer we reach downtown. Fewer wildflowers and grazing horses, and more cement buildings and parking lots. I can't help but feel tension within my gut at the sight, hearing Uncle Deacon in my mind.
I had replayed his words over and over since we returned from our fishing trip as the lilac of the sky dipped to indigo. For all the cementing of our bond the trip had done, I have been left heavy like lead with the weight of how much is at stake. Even in my practice with Beau this morning I was distracted, hesitating in moments where I will not always have the luxury, the ticking time taunting me every morning. I swallow down the fear with a deep breath, my eyes fixed on a bright afternoon, hoping that I can ignore it long enough that it will disappear. Because facing the thought that I've made a huge mistake is too much to hold right now.
"I've not picked up a lot of dresses in my time," Beau starts, slicing through the thick silence. "But I don't think I've ever seen anyone quite so pensive."
I don't even turn my head, instead let my eyes flit to the wing mirror, and wince slightly at my furrowed brow, my set jaw and half-hunched shoulders. Forcing my muscles to relax, I offer him a calmer smile, to which he half laughs, turning back to the road.
"Sorry," I mumble. "I'm just"— Exhausted. Terrified. Struggling. "—Tired."
"You've got nothing to apologise for, Ruby," he chuckles, playfully, almost like a puppy trying to force me to play. "It's alright, I'll just sing along myself."
"I don't even know the song," I whine. "But please do give me a performance."
"I need my Dolly Parton," he croons. "C'mon, girl."
And before I can even laugh, he joins Kenny Rogers, a bassy tone emerging from him but one that keeps in tune. He has a beautiful voice, I can tell, even though he's not trying, one that is easy to listen to as I take in the sound of him reverberating around the truck. I hum along, trying to harmonize where I can, which elicits a wide grin from him, prompting me to continue more sincerely. My shoulders relax and before I know it, we are belting out old country songs as we cruise along the road. He taps the steering wheel with his palm now, more purposefully, energy and gentle distraction infecting us as the silence dissipates and all I hear is the road, the wind, the music and our voices cutting through the nerves.
"You're a goof," I giggle, the song coming to an end a few minutes later. "But thank you."
"I'm getting used to knowing your moods," he answers, surprising me. "You get pissy when you're hungry, which is why I've taken to carrying cereal bars to our training, in case you rip my head off, you're energetic in the morning so I know to push you as early as I can, and you go ever so quiet when something's on your mind. Some people talk when they've got thoughts, talk a lot, about anything and everything even if it isn't worth hearin'. You go still and quiet. It's almost like you disappear entirely."
"And you?" I ask, curiosity lacing my words as I rest my head on the headrest, and turn to face him. His blue jean shirt and dark blue jeans are crisp and the scent of him hits me again. Oak and jasmine, or some kind of lavender. "What do you do when you've got things on your mind?"
"Drive," he answers quickly. "Me, my truck, and the open road."
"So you just drive away?" I laugh.
"Long enough until I've figured some things out, it means when I drive back, I know the path I need to take," he nods, the grin on his face infecting me. "Sometimes disappearing is important."
His eyes lock on mine as he says this, sincerity lancing into my chest.
"Not for too long, though," I sigh. "It makes it harder to come back to yourself."
Silence sits between us again, humid and stifling.
"So where do you go?" He asks.
"What do you mean, Beau?" I raise an eyebrow.
"When you disappear? Where do you go?"
The question lingers in the stagnant air that refuses to leave the truck, another weight to the lead balloon in my throat, latching me shut. In an echoing chamber of my mind, I hear the bass of the music from that night, a night that is far in the past, but where the lights sounds and smells of the party still linger too brightly. I hear the click of the door, closing, alone in a secluded room. In flashing images, fleeting and yet full, I feel the weight of concrete as I walk home barefoot with the morning bird calls crying out for me. And even on this humid day, when I take a breath in, I smell the cologne I couldn't scrub off. I know where I am led, and what I am taunted by and reminded of. It is clear in front of me, even now.
Realising I haven't answered him, I offer a wordless shrug, turning my head back towards the window, something uncomfortable shifting with me that I can't co-exist with. Images and phantom hands that I silently plead to leave me be. The heat rises in my cheeks, a bead of sweat threatening to run down my spine. The air dries around me, and the car seems to be all too fast that my world goes dizzy around me. Disappear, I want to disappear.
     Maybe it is the song playing or maybe it is Beau calling my name, but all I hear is the muffled music of a song that is not playing. A place I once stood, but no longer exist in. And for all my strength, all I can do is prick my skin with my nails, a deep digging in. It could draw blood, I worry, but I need to sit in this car. I need to remain in this car, and if it meant clawing my way out, I would do it.
   "I didn't mean to upset"—
   "I'm not upset," I lie, swiftly and precisely, placing a familiar fake smile on my face, as I slide back into the seat, further towards the air of the window, nausea battering me in waves. "I'm a little carsick, that's all."
    His eyes linger on me for a moment too long, scanning me to assure himself of the situation, before he pulls into a parking lot I recognise, realising we have arrived at our destination.
     "It's probably the heat," he sighs. "I'm sorry, I thought it wouldn't be this damn hot."
   "You don't control the weather, it's okay," I assure him, but his brows have furrowed in a very definite knot, all ease and carefree airs now stolen as he grips the wheel before swinging the truck into a parking space, coming to a very clear stop.
     I waste no time before ripping myself out of the truck's sticky leather seats, my skin peeling away from the heat-laced fabric. By the time my feet have landed on the tarmac, Beau has rounded the back of the truck to meet me, a hand in front of me as a steadying force. I curse the part of me that feels my heart lurch at the strength of his hands as they wrap around mine.
     "Let's go get your dress," he beams, and I half expect him to drop my hand.
     He doesn't.
——————

The small pedestal of John-Joe's makeshift studio is as rickety as I remember, as I try to steady myself, eyes closed in anticipation as a dress was placed on me, John-Joe insisting on waiting for the surprise in front of the three-angled mirror. Beau is waiting outside of the curtain, huffing and fanning himself with a fashion magazine while the half-broken rotary fan within the changing room whirrs breathlessly, doing a less-than-stellar job.
     I had felt John-Joe's excitement the moment I caught sight of him, buzzing electricity in his movements.
     "Give me two more seconds," he pleads as I beg for the moment to open my eyes.
   "John-Joe I am dying here, the suspense is killing me," I whine, playfully.
   "No peeking, miss Ruby, girl," he instructs, before shouting out to Beau. "Isn't that right?"
   "It's tradition," Beau agrees. "Apparently."
   "Fine," I call out to Beau's voice. "But if I look stupid you both need to tell me."
     John-Joe 's final zip holds me in place and I feel them step back. Nerves knot within me, unsure of what he's been cooking up. All I know is it is tight, and I feel held together with a very unforgiving fabric. Every essence within me feels alien within this outfit, even without having seen it on me, unfamiliar sensations wash over me. How do I hold myself? Do I stand taller? How am I ever going to walk in this thing?
     "And voilà!" He exclaims, and my eyes flash open to a sight that stops me dead in my tracks.
I am wrapped in a gorgeous emerald green gown, strapless but wrapped to hug my waist. My figure looks more feminine than I think it ever has, and somehow I'm... I am looking at myself and thinking I look beautiful. It feels wrong, and yet the more I look, the more I fall madly in love with the sight of this dress.
"How the shit did you manage to make something this beautiful?" I exclaim, my hands along the silk and gentle shimmer of the fabric. It holds no stretch, but the way it hugs me doesn't suffocate me or look unnatural in any way.
"Well, that's trade secrets," John Joe winks at me through the reflection of the mirror, a proud smile on their face.
And in the corner of the mirror, I catch him. Beau. His eyes linger, raking up and down the length of me, something clouding over his face for a second before it disappears. All confidence begins to recede, my arms feeling bare, the colour too bright or bodacious.
"It's beautiful, John-Joe, you've outdone yourself," is all he manages to say. I silently beg for him to catch me looking at him through the mirror, something within me dying for his eyes to linger while he knows I'm watching his response.
"All I know is all eyes are going to be on you, Ruby, and I couldn't have you in anything less than my finest work," John-Joe squeezes my hand as I step down, trying to take a walk in my heels. God, it is beautiful.
"It is going to be a first," Beau nods, his jaw setting for a moment.
"Uncle Deacon thinks it's a mistake that we're doing this," I admit, hoping that speaking it aloud will lessen this weight.
John-Joe twirls me, and sighs.
"He's got a legacy bigger than most people in this town, and I know a lot is riding on this race for y'all," he posits. "But, Ruby, this is history for this town, and everyone is going to be sizing you up, to see if you're the real deal."
"He's right," Beau nods, gravely. "You need to keep their attention, play their game, and hope that their eyes aren't bigger than their wallets."
"And you'll be there, right?" I ask Beau, turning to see him lingering in the door. Finally, his eyes meet mine.
"Of course," he assures me. "I mean when Scarlett doesn't inevitably pull me away for a dance."
"I was wondering if she was going to pluck up the courage to ask you," John-Joe cackles, as I will every muscle in my face not to betray the deep jealousy that bites at me.
"I didn't know you two were going together," I smiled, weakly.
"Well, I... She, we got to talking the other day when I saw her at the store during her shift and she just asked if I'd like to go with her," he answers, nonchalantly.
The bitterness rises like heartburn in my core, but I swallow it deep back down into my deepest darkest parts, unsure of exactly what or why I feel this way, unable to sit too long with my self-questioning. It's for the best, I resign. I will be there to make impressions. I'm not going for anything other than a promotional opportunity. Still, I can't help but feel deflated the more I look at Beau, who is distractedly chatting to John-Joe about his tux. I lead myself back to the mirror, lingering by the emerald sheen that stares back at me. The dress makes my eyes pop and the red tones of my auburn hair stand out.
After a few moments, the phantom shiver from the car traces a line down my back, willing me to disappear again. I ball my fists up, digging my fingernails into my palms. It's just the heat, I soothe myself. It's just the heat.
And while I delude myself with the 'truth' of what that fading feeling is, and where it will take me, I find it easier to focus on the green dress and the job at hand.
And not the hand that lingered in mine earlier today, my skin still tingling from his gentle, cradling touch— A yearning beginning to form.

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