Polaroids and Postcards | ✔️

Chapter 12: Answers & Alabama Dreaming

"The first condition of understanding a foreign country is to smell it." – Rudyard Kipling

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"SWEET HOME ALABAMAAAAA..." sang the wild creature in the seat next to me. "LORD, I'M COMING HOME TO YOU!!!"

The windows were down, air swishing our hair in all directions while the radio blasted with the familiar song, totally overpowering everything else. The fresh, clean air swam into my lungs, filling me with a sense of ease that was very unfamiliar to me. I'd always liked being in control of a situation, not swept away by it. But everything about this trip—everything about Della—was a total contrast to that. I found myself torn between hating it and enjoying it. There was something addictive in Della's outlook on things. Bad situations never were a dead-end to her. They were merely detours for an extended adventure. And just when I felt myself falling down into the pit of frustration, that seemed to be the same moment when she would rise to the occasion and find a grain of goodness somewhere in the mix. With a song on her lips, a smile on her face, and a bounce in her step, Della would rush out to meet the world head-on—arms flung wide to embrace life as it came like a tidal wave.

"Sing it, Jason! You know the words!" Della screamed above the noise. "SWEET HOME ALABAMA!!"

If she could do life that way, why couldn't I? It was hard. I needed time to think things through. I needed a heads up on things. I hated jumping into life without a lifeline. Spontaneity didn't work for me. But then again... it worked when she was around.

Maybe I really was, as she put it, a sourpatch-picklepuss-Grinch who needed to learn how to chill. But she kept talking about how she could "see another side" of me. Was it the potential to be like that perhaps? It seemed unlikely.

"Jason? Are you okay?"

I quickly looked up, only to see Della's hand turning the volume down on the radio and then rolling up the windows. Her voice was gentler now and more subdued.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Where did you go?" she giggled. "You disappeared on me there for a bit."

"I'm good," I repeated, "just thinking."

"What kind of thinking?" she questioned. A single curl fell into her eyes and she blew it away.

"You ask a lot of questions, don't you?" I return, a slight chuckle slipping out.

"Avoiding a question with another question... excellent distraction technique!" Della sighed, shaking her head and rolling her eyes.

"No, I'm serious," I scoffed, rolling my eyes back at her. "It's pretty uncommon to find someone as curious as you are about others. Like, you ask questions nonstop. Or you just make freakishly good assumptions and talk like you've known people for years."

"Huh. Quite accurate, Jason Wyatt," she nodded, grabbing at her iced coffee that was resting in the cup-holder. She took a quick sip at put it back. "But what exactly is your point?"

I don't know how she drank her coffee like that. It is a beverage meant to be consumed hot and black. No exceptions.

"My point is, I need answers."

Della blinked, her full lips leveling into a thin line.

For once she was actually speechless.

I couldn't believe I actually said it. I finally pushed Della Rae to tell me. At that point, I didn't even really care what she told me. I just wanted something to go on. Anything really. She was a total mystery to me, full of unknowns. And unsolved mysteries were the worst kind. I needed clues; pieces to the puzzle so I could get a better view of the bigger picture.