Good For Gone

Home Sweet Home

I marched through the tall grass back to my car and drove home.

It was kind of sad how beat I was. I guess after hours of lugging things around and having to divert him from anything damaging I had the right to be. But even with all my efforts he had two full arms of sharpie marks.

People stared him down, many of which I knew, so I had an aching feeling I would be hearing about it later.

And the next morning that suspicion was realized.

"So who was the young man you were with at the mall yesterday?" Dad asked from the kitchen table while I made myself some coffee.

"A friend of Callie's from college." I was already prepared for the question.

"From what I heard he was a freaking weirdo." He said through a mouth full of bacon.

"Well you're the one who always says college makes people weird."

"And now I have my proof," he said, but added "and you're still going."

I chuckled, "Works for me."

"I also heard he's kind of a looker."

"Oh god, no, we have avoided talking like this for eighteen years and were not starting now."

He put his hands up in defense, a fork poking out between two fingers, "Works for me. Maybe you should talk to your mother about him. You need to see her at some point you know."

It my fault for thinking my eighteenth birthday would free me from having to visit that woman outside of major holidays, "Yeah, yeah I'll get around to it."

We ate breakfast together, discussing anything but the previous two topics. He asked about my plans for the day and I told him I was going to hang out with Callie so he wouldn't ask any questions.

"Staying the night?"

"Probably not." I shrugged.

"Well just let me know. Think you'll go running today?"

"Nah," I waved off the idea, "it's too damn hot."

"You got that right." He sighed.

We finished and he headed off to work.

I gathered some of my old twin sheets and the guitar I got back when I thought I was going to be a professional singer. If he could really play he would get more use out of it than I would.

I hiked to his house, the bundled up sheets tucked up under an arm and the guitar slung across my back.

He opened the door and peeked out, smiling when he spotted me, "Good morning!"

"Morning. Did you sleep okay?" I can't imagine how he sleeps out here.

"Not bad, got up early and started messing with some of the stuff."

When I stepped through the doorway I could see the extent of his "Messing with". Boxes and bubble wrap were laying in massive heaps.

"Well at least it looks like you had fun." I kicked an opened box.

"Whoops."

"So where would you like to start?"

"I had some trouble with the air mattress."

I went and sat down in the middle of the rubble, "At least you put the rug down," I said looking for the inflatable mattress, "By the way, is your hair damp?"

"Yeah I actually washed it in a creek just over there." He ran his hand through it, sounding very proud as he nodded his head towards the tree line.