Memory Lane

Chapter Twelve

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"Our very life depends on everything recurring til' we answer from within." - Robert Frost

Memory Lane: Chapter Twelve

Later in the night, while the Stallard's are downstairs enjoying a family dinner, I cuddle onto the windowsill with my own poetry book sprawled out in my lap rather than my moms. They asked me to join them, but from the already defeated look in Aunt June's eye, she knew what my answer would be.

I haven't been able to pay much attention to my journal. I'm too fixated on the world outside. The temperature in Vermont has slowly been cooling down, dancing somewhere between the last remnants of summer and fall, and tonight is absolutely gorgeous. The chilly autumn breeze has blown over the mountains and brought with it the crisp, musky-sweet smell of all the fallen leaves. As soon as I came upstairs, I opened my window a few inches to let some of the fall breeze float into my room, acting as a natural candle.

The clock ticks past 7pm and I hear the Stallard's cleaning up from dinner. I debate going downstairs and indulging in dessert with them, but then the sun begins to set over the trees and casts an orange shadow across the sky, matching the colors of the leaves. I smile. It's a sunset I don't want to miss. Maybe it will help me finally write something down on the blank page staring back at me.

I watch as the sun disappears almost entirely over the horizon and casts dusk across the quiet neighborhood street. The glow of the Stallard's porchlight is seeping into my view of their driveway. Meanwhile, Jesse's driveway is fading away in the darkness. He doesn't have a bright porchlight or a floodlight on the corner of his garage. His house, despite the white exterior, turns dark when the sun goes down. His little red pickup truck, parked off to the side of his driveway, is the only thing still vibrant enough to keep its color in the sudden dusk.

However, moments later his dark driveway is illuminated by bright headlights as a car screeches onto it. The three-pointed star sitting in the middle of the car's grill shines brighter than the Stallard's porchlight, staying illuminated even as the slick black Mercedes shuts off. I sit up when the driver gets out; her long, curvy legs stepping onto the cracking pavement of Jesse's driveway. Frizzy, brown hair blows with the sudden breeze and reveals ruby red lipstick with narrowed, piercing green eyes.

Ah, Sucks-At-Pool-Shay.

She stands there, sandwiched between the opened car door and the interior of the car, with her arms resting impatiently on the top as she stares at Jesse's house. Her Mercedes looks out of place on his faded, crackling driveway. His old pickup truck fits the scene much better.

A minute later, the front of her Mercedes is lit up by the light pooling out of Jesse's garage as it slowly opens. Jesse steps out in the same dark gray jogger sweatpants from the other night and a white t-shirt that hugs his shoulders in all the right ways. My eyes linger on his arms as he leans against the wall at the entrance of the garage and places his hands in his pockets. I can only see a portion of him, so my view shields his face. But, since my window is partially open, I hear the frustration in his voice when he greets her.

"What are you doing here, Shay?"

"You didn't answer a single one of my texts," she pouts.

I furrow my brow. He never texted her back and she still drove over? Bold.

Shay steps around the car door, revealing her new outfit as compared to earlier today. Tight jeans that hug her legs nicely and a low-cut top that compliments her curves.