The Definition of Time

Chapter 8

If I never see you again
Will you still remember me?

I'll never stop looking for you
In every pair of blue eyes

You're my best memory
and my biggest regret

You are my forget-me-not
The pressed flower I hold in my fingertips

Whatever you were,
I wanted you.

January 28, 2014

"I call shotgun," I shriek and sprint towards the rusty red truck awaiting us.

Jordan grumbles behind me, "We're all riding shotgun because there's no backseat."

Josh just laughs. I've really missed his laughter.

We're going sledding for the day; Nate, Tyler, Meredith and a few others are taking Nate's car, and Jordan and I are riding with Josh in his Chevy truck, the bed filled with cafeteria trays we're going to use as sleds. He's been so consumed with Haley since we came back to school that this is the first time I've seen him for more than a passing moment since I nearly ran over him when we left for Christmas. It may still be Josh and Haley, but I'm just grateful to hear his laugh again. That's enough. It has to be.

We clamber into his truck, and as the smallest of the three of us, I'm crammed in the middle between Jordan and Josh. He turns the key in the ignition, and the car starts; twangy country fills the car at a deafening volume. 

"Rain makes corn, corn makes whiskey..." the country singer warbles.

Josh and I sing along, our voices so out of tune that I think the glass in his windows cracks a little, "And whiskey makes my baby...get a little frisky!"

"Oh my gosh, turn it off," Jordan squeals, slamming the stereo until it finally turns off. "Josh, I would not have figured you for a country boy."

Josh grins at her, "I work at a ranch every summer, actually."

Jordan glances at me pointedly and raises her eyebrows, "Guess you're full of surprises."

"Speaking of surprises," I jump in with a snort of laughter, "What's with the earrings?"

Over Christmas break, Josh brilliantly decided to get his ears pierced with diamond studs. They look absolutely ridiculous.

Josh squirms, "Haley thought they'd look good."

"You look like a tool," I retort, trying to ignore the reference to his girlfriend.

"And a douchebag," Jordan adds.

Josh rolls his eyes and accepts the criticism, "Oh, lay off. Want to see something cool though?"

I eye him carefully, our shoulders wedged together so our faces are only inches apart, "Do I?"

He laughs at me, "Probably not. I got a tattoo."

A tattoo? "Of what?"

"And where?" Jordan adds with a wink.

He shifts in his seat to face us and his hands go to the waist of his jeans.  What the heck is he doing? 

I throw my hands up to block my gaze as my face reddens. "I don't think I need to see it."

When he laughs, I glance back at him; he's proceeded to pull the hip of his jeans down just a little and lifts his gray flannel to reveal the outline of a wolf's head. The wolf descends down his hip and its jaws are open in a snarl. I take it in for a second and resist the urge to trace it with my fingertips. Its ferocity is strangely beautiful.