Sock's Short Knitted Tales

His New Old Mustang

From here I could see it. Fleet-footed in my beat up high-tops, I dashed with the largest strides my legs could manage. My textbooks in my bag stressed my shoulders as it swished side to side. Around the flocks of students, slowly dispersing in the cars and neighborhoods surrounding this hell hole of a high school, there it was standing out like a star in the middle of the city night. It stood, a sun beaten royal blue, his newly bought Mustang from nineteen-ninety-something. I think he said it was a GT from '92.

He must've gotten out of class early. The first thing on my mind is that he sweet talked his teacher into letting him out with that big, dorky smile. A smile with a mouthful of braces that made his lips bulge whenever he tried to pout. Anyone else couldn't make a transparent smile like that seem so attractive, but something about him seemed so sweet, so safe. He really seemed like the last guy to own horsepower like this. Unless of course, he's not what I thought. A car like this is more my style than his.

Before I could say a thing he reached into the window and popped the trunk. It's like he read my mind, clearly as I could read his smile. The message decode-able, but unclear. Now I couldn't quite tell if he just wanted a fun night out, maybe do some regrettable things with the girl he only met a semester ago. Yet as I looked closer the glint in his eyes, and something said he just wanted to run. It's almost as if his expression whispered and begged to make him another electric pulse in the beating heart of the country.

Without words we both climbed in. No radio. No awkward silence to be found as we sat in the peace of sweet escape, an engine purring it's low lullaby to the end of our school day. Responsibility, who was she? Homework or the grounding we'd certainly get from our parents for not coming back from school suddenly was irrelevant now. Only him, his dorky smile and his kind eyes mattered to me now.

 "Look under the seat. I got something for you." He pointed downward and returned his hands to the wheel quickly.

I slipped my hand beneath the seat. Paper bags crunched in my hands, something solid and smooth seemed to be inside.

"How the hell did you get a hold of this?" I questioned as I pulled out the liquor hidden inside. "You're literally 17."

"And? You are too."

"I honestly didn't expect this from you. You seem so... pure." 

"We're just going to relax tonight. I can tell you needed an escape."

"Yeah."

I didn't have the proper words in response, because he was so right. I never expressed it to him though. Was it really that obvious that I was getting tired of simply everything? I still wonder to this day if he saw it better than every other nameless face around here, or if he just cared a little more. I think caring was his biggest mistake.

"One for me. One for you."

"Aren't you driving?" I chuckled, a bit nervous in tone.

"We'll stop somewhere. I'm not sure where yet, but we'll figure it out."

And the roads passed on, mile by mile. Another turn, and with each change of highway the roads grew more tired. Beaten by sun and tractors, faded lines became hypnotizing. Worsened by another few sips of the rum in my hand. By the time he pulled off the road half my bottle was gone. The buzzing of cicadas seemed to bounce around my dizzy head more than memories. By now I couldn't recall much.

"Hey, thanks for being such a good friend to me." His voice rang from out of the blue.

"How was I good?"Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but I never understood why he'd invest so much in me.

"You were the first friend I had here. It was just kinda tough moving here and all. I didn't know a soul in this city before you."

"I don't get why you're still here though."

"Because you're good to me, and I think possibly, I'm getting really attached to you."

Those words made my heart drop. My brain became more of a blur. Liquor and emotion started to make everything hazy.

"Don't be so stupid. You realize you deserve better, right?"

"Don't be silly." He looked into my eyes with that kindness that now pained me. "You're the best friend I have here."

"Because you keep wasting your time with an idiot like me!" 

He inched closer, making my nerves grow steadily. He was much too insistent. I couldn't necessarily blame the guy, he doesn't seem to take his booze well.

"Please don't touch me."

"I just wanted to give you a hug."

"I know you've had a bit to drink," I sighed. "Just- I wish you could see you deserve better."

He got quiet and leaned on the driver's side door of his car. I felt even worse now. He just looked... distraught, and maybe a little bit lost. I wasn't sure how to comfort him. I shouldn't have felt so bad. I've never been one to know how to comfort people with words, or comfort in general. I just handed him a cigarette, and grabbed one for myself. He pulled a lighter out of his pocket, setting both our cigarettes gently alight.

He seemed to grow agitated slowly over time. He looked exhausted, mentally speaking, but his body was growing restless. His hands starting to tremble while he mumbled "I'm nauseous" under his breath.

"You're not used to nicotine are you?" I said with futility to the wall he was becoming. 

I chose to remain quiet soon after. My head started buzzing, like the white noise near a hive of calm bees. My focus seemed to glitch, much like a broken record skipping. He paced slowly, but he seemed to jump from place to place every time I tuned in. My reactions were slow. My senses were overloaded when things were slow. I realized now I had too much to drink, but it was too late now. My judgement was already gone, and it took my self control along with it.

Now he's driving away with a face cut by broken glass. I see red mixed with booze and mud through my swollen, watering eyes. I hope for his sake he won't forgive me for this, or else this won't be the last time.