There was a comfort in the backseat of his Daddy’s 81 Chevy Lumina, “the classic”- as we so lovingly dubbed it, where I remember many first times. I remember the first ride, six of us piled into the car, thighs glued to each other and the buttery leather seats as we watched our lives fly all around us- becoming a blur as we sped past Sherriff Connell – who napped just under the Greenfield’s tree that marked the separation between Highway 51 and Shelby Forest. I remember whipping my head back, sucking my tongue, waiting for the red and blue lights that never followed us. I guess that’s how I missed the chicken crossing the road, and the silent warning that never made it passed anyone’s lip. I just remember the way the world looked, spinning through the dashboard, distorted by my tangled mass of brown curls that covered my face…and the scream I nearly choked on as the car swerved to a stop. It was the hottest day of that summer, in 1996, and I remember the sweat dripping down my face- all of our faces- and I couldn’t tell if we were crying… but I could hear the breathing, I could feel the growing stir..and suddenly we were all laughing, tires were screeching..and we were flying down Highway 51 again..this time, faster.
“Why do you always sit back here?” I chose to ignore the question, if for no other reason than to thoroughly annoy Anderson Scott who sat leaning against the car door glaring at me. His sandy blonde hair flirted across his creased forehead, dancing in the front of his eyes, as they bore into the side of me. I had seen the look before, knew it by heart, and decided that the view in my window was much more appealing than the bumbling idiot next to me. Anderson was not really an idiot, he was actually smart- exceptionally so – but the word ‘idiot” greatly offended him… so I used it often in his presence and in reference to him. He was so easily annoyed, it was almost like breathing to get a rile from him..a necessary and certain thing in my life. If I hadn’t known him for all my life, or if I could somehow confiscate the evidence (picture) of sharing a mud pie with him in my playhouse at four, I would probably hate him…but for those reasons I loved him…and he tolerated me as an aggravation.
“ Yeah Chans…you’re so fucking weird.” My name is Chandler Fox, as I should have mentioned before, and I am currently under attack for choosing to ride backseat, to the store. I have yet to understand why it is such a “need to know’ issue with everyone, and how wanting to ride backseat could even be considered an “issue” for anyone, but my guys- never cease to amaze me! Even in small doses. I can’t help but glare at the mountain of curls in front of me, and consider- if only for a moment- how satisfying it would be to smack the inside of my ankle against it. With great effort, I curl my foot away from the target of my desire and concentrate on stretching my leg. I shouldn’t strike the driver- America would never forgive me for harming their sweetheart. Justin Timberlake is one of my boys. I smile sweetly to myself, knowing that if I were to ever say this outloud..Justin, Anderson, Pete, Trace and Finney would shit themselves. They think it is ludicrous for me to refer to them as boys, and even more outrageous to insinuate that they are mine since I’m a girl and incapable of physical domination. This is why I love my boys because they know I have them by the balls..they would just never admit it. In fact, it’s the look on their face-that I love the most- when reality hits them..and they fully comprehend the freckled faced hellion they used to rag on, holds their everything in the balance. Before there was fame, girls and adolescence…there was me. And that is why they will ALWAYS be my boys.
“ Yeah..yeah…where is this store anyway? We’ve been driving forever.” The trees were thinning out, and the highway had suddenly doubled in lanes. I rarely ever saw two cars on the road at the same time, absolutely never in Shelby Forest, and could see a red Honda and a wood paneled Chevy Wagon passing on either side. The red Honda, I ignored. Only one family in a 50- mile radius had a bright red Honda- and that belonged to the Bailey’s- Cherrington Bailey to be exact. Cherrington was the daughter of Shelby Forest’s only oil investor Newton Bailey- who pretty much governed the small providence. She was also a snobby bitch that fancied every specimen with an eleventh finger. I ignored her at all costs, and tried to avoid the annoying banter that passed between the guys. It wasn’t her car that caught my attention, it was my next door neighbor’s…Desi Ayala’s ’89 Chevy Caprice speeding full force ahead. “ What- the..is that Trace?” The question was rhetorical, hence no pending answer from Anderson or Justin. Pulling my foot from Justin’s head rest, I sat up to attention and peered out the windshield to focus on the road signs. Memphis 43 miles.
“ Your covered.” Anxiety raced through my body as I felt the heat rush to my face and sweat bead on my forehead. I looked to Anderson, who had since taken to staring out the window failing to hide the grin pulling at the sides of his mouth. My fist balled at my side as I directed my eyes to Justin, waiting for his eyes to meet my glare, growing anxious as he avoided them. My heart began thumping against my chest as I thought about my mother going to my room- where I was supposed to be- and finding an empty bed. I was currently grounded, from the last time Justin assured me I was “covered” and his Dad found me passed out on the pool chair in his backyard from finishing his bottle of Jack while the boys played house in the woods with Cherrington and her friends. I got the beating of my life, while Justin popped his “Cheri”. I thought it was going to be the usual hang out, until I was stuck with “look out duties” and drank away my boredom. It didn’t help that I was only fourteen and shouldn’t have been drinking anyway, but because the guys also got caught…I was no longer allowed to spend the night. This all of course happened only a week ago, not even two days after Justin came back from his “ gig” in Florida, and just before my 15th birthday. So now, I’m 15…grounded indefinitely, and being punished to the fullest for being a girl. I had always been a girl, although according to Trace- that is still up for debate- but it wasn’t until Lynn- Justin’s mom- told my mom about finding him pants down in the woods between Cherrington Bailey that it all of a sudden became a bad idea for me to spend soo much time with any of the boys. Where I used to be able to spend full weekends at any one of their houses…I now had to be home by eleven. It didn’t matter that I was just one of them, I didn’t have a “pee-pee”- as my mother refers to it- and THAT made me different. I was thrilled to find Anderson throwing rocks at my bedroom window- which was open, and instead hitting the in the chest when they landed, and swiftly hopped onto the branch and shimmied down the tree to join him on his side of the fence that separated our backyard. I wasn’t allowed out of my room, had been in my room for the past six days- including my birthday- and just wanted out. Anderson asked if I wanted to go for a ride…Justin said we were headed for the store when I jumped in the car…now I’m driving towards Memphis, each moment taking me closer to the life sentence I know I will soon face. What. The.Fuck…I’m dead!
