He scratches a spot on his neck, then twists his lips into a cute and challenging smirk. “Who says I haven’t already?”
“That funny look you’re making.”
Now he’s gone from squirming to total poker face. “I guess I can see what you’re saying, about love and traps and all. Loyalty isn’t a bad thing, but …” He peers at me. “You ever wonder if you love somethin’ so dang much, you can’t tell if it’s love anymore, or if you’re just … too afraid to find out what you are without it?”
My walking slows.
Life without Spruce.
Without my parents’ doting smiles. Or that cute new office. Or a future of spreadsheets, contact numbers, and tractor manuals.
Life without automatically returning to T&S’s every break.
No catching up with friends at the Strong Fitness Zone. Or my old friends from high school I grew up with.
What am I without all of this? Do I even still exist?
“Timothy?”
I blink. We’ve both come to a stop, apparently, right outside Biggie’s Bites, which looks especially quiet right now. Might even be an ideal place to sneak in and have some lunch, if either one of us works up an appetite.
But not now. I’m so far away from wanting to eat a thing.
I drop the tension from my face. “Without this place, I’d still be the same me … right? My road trip was supposed to prove that. Youcantake the boy out of Spruce. And perhaps even the Spruce out of the boy, too.” I keep on walking, feeling like that settles it.
Austin is by my side again. “You sure ‘bout that?”
“Of course I am. Don’t I sound it?”
“Well …”
“And how about you?” I ask, throwing it right back at him. “Is there an ocean of quicksandyou’retrying to sidestep around?”
His hands find his pockets again. “I dunno. Maybe.” He nudges me with his elbow. “Wanna be the stick I grab to pull myself out?”
“Sure, if you’ll be mine.”
“Deal.”
I wonder if either of us intended for that to sound as intense as it did. But he just chuckles and faces forward as we continue on down the road, and I try to brush it off as easily.
Despite feeling like we just struck a truce.
Though, if we’re keeping with this metaphor of ours, I’m not sure how the hell we’re supposed to help each other from sinking if we’re both stuck. I can’t be someone’s stick if they need one, too.
We arrive at Spruce Park. Nothing’s decided, but we cross the street and transition to the park without talking. Now we wander the lazy path circling the pond, the benches, and slouched trees that lend the park some much-needed shade. I’ve strolled this old pathway so much, I know every crack and bend in it.
But it feels totally new with Austin next to me.
I keep wondering what we should talk about, but everything I think of is so trivial. And I’m hungry for the real stuff. But I also don’t want to sound too miserable or serious all the time. Haven’t I already dumped on him enough?
Why am I so scared of … scaring him off?
Well, he did indicate he feels stuck in life, too. Maybe his non-answerisan answer. For whatever reason, I don’t want to pry too deeply. Maybe it’s because I don’t want him to pry, either.
I’m afraid of how I’ll answer.
Not to mention how closely Austin is walking next to me. This path isn’t exactly narrow. It’s wide enough to drive a car. To walk a family of four side-by-side. Two full lanes’ worth so that when you’re passing by your old English teacher, he can wave hello, and you can wave hello back. He can ask you how you’re doing, and you can say everything’s peachy, no one says anything real, and life just goes on.