Mistakes I’ve Made by Jordan Marie
4Reed
I ride my bike over to Callie’s house, feeling like a chump. I hate that she has to drive us. That’s just a reminder to her that I’m younger and I can tell that she doesn’t like that. Maybe I’m reading into it. It’s a first date, though, and I’d like her to see me as someone she could depend on to be the man she wants.
God, that sounds lame as hell, but it doesn’t change things. I may only be seventeen, but one look at Callie Street and I knew she was special. I round the curve and see her house ahead, red brick with a brown station wagon in the drive, just like she said. Excitement churns through me and I can feel anticipation rising. This is going to be the start of something special, I know it. I’ve never reacted to another girl the way I do with Callie.
That must mean something.
“Hey,” Callie says as I ride up. She looks hot as hell in faded jeans and a thin, soft pink sweater. She’s got a rocking body, but it’s the way her eyes sparkle that really draws me in.
“Hey,” I return, suddenly feeling tongue-tied.
“You ready to go?”
“Yeah, I’m looking forward to it. Sorry I couldn’t drive. Mom and Dad haven’t been able to take off work for me to take my driver’s test.”
“It’s not a big thing,” she says.
Maybe it’s my imagination, but I can tell she’s avoiding looking in my eyes. Is she nervous? Or doesn’t like the fact that I can’t drive? Hell, maybe I’m projecting my own feelings on her.
“Still, I’m sorry. I guess no girl wants to be seen with a guy who can’t even drive to take her out.”
We’re standing on opposite sides of the station wagon, looking at each other over the top of it. I see surprise on her face, and she smiles at me. Again, I’m struck by how beautiful her eyes are.
“I think any girl would love to be seen with you, Reed.”
“Including yourself?” I can’t help but ask.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Yeah,” I tell her, grinning.
“The only question I have is if you’re going to hate being seen in Mildred.”
“Mildred?” I question, my brow furrowing in confusion.
“Dad’s old station wagon,” she laughs. “I guess most guys don’t want to be seen in a beat-up station wagon that can be as cantankerous as a wet cat.”
I laugh, giving her a grin. “Well, I’m not most guys and as long as you’re with me, I don’t care what we’re riding in.”
“I’ll remind you that you said that, Reed Lane,” she jokes, hopping in the car. I do, too, suddenly feeling better about everything.
And then I get a look at the inside of Mildred. The dashboard is dark brown to match the car, but the vinyl has long since given way. Someone has used gray duct tape to try and hide the cracks, or maybe hold the dash together—it’s hard to tell. The seats seem to be having the same issue, but I can’t be sure because it has a seat cover on it. Of course, the seat cover looks like a rainbow puked on it.
“Wow,” I laugh.
“Mildred is special,” Callie says, looking at me cautiously.
“Just like her driver,” I murmur, and shock moves over her face, and slowly she relaxes.
“I hope not. I’d like to think I don’t need duct tape to hold me together.”
“Trust me on this, Callie. You don’t need anything to improve. You are already rocking perfection.”
“You’re smooth with a line, Reed Lane.”
“What makes you think it’s a line?”
She doesn’t respond but gives me a smile that I swear I can feel all the way to my toes. She turns the key in the ignition and surprisingly, Mildred starts right up. Loudly.
“She purrs like a kitten,” I holler over the loud noise of the motor.
“If you mean an angry tiger, sure,” she responds. “The muffler and exhaust system are shot. I need to get it fixed, but whatever I do to Mildred, I’m on my own.”
“That can be expensive,” I agree.
“Yeah. I figure once I get settled, I’ll find a part time job. I just wanted to get enrolled in school and see how hard my schedule was first.”
“What made you move out this way?”
“Mom has some health issues. The doctor said a warmer climate might help.”
“That’s rough.”
“Yeah,” she says so quietly that I can’t hear the words. I can only guess by the movement of her mouth. Yet, even though she’s staring at the road, I can see the sadness that washes over her face.
“Hey, smile, Bluebird. You’re going to have fun tonight. I’m going to see to it.”
“Bluebird?” she laughs.
“Your eyes, they’re beautiful, Callie. They remind me of the color of a male bluebird.”
“Are you a poet, Reed Lane?” she jokes, turning back to watch the road.
“Maybe I am,” I shrug. I have the strangest urge to tell her about the songs I write. I haven’t told anyone, really. The only people that know I can even play the guitar are family and my best friend Jake.
Dad couldn’t care less about me or anything I do. Mom’s cool, but she’s quiet and mostly lets Dad and Mitch talk over her. Mitch and Dad are just alike. Most of the time, I think they both hate me. Then again, I think Dad hates everyone. It’s not like he’s any nicer to Mitch. Mom swears he loves us all. The problem with that is my dad seems to dole out his love with fists.
I see the same anger in Mitch. I remember when I was little, I used to idolize my brother. That seems like ages ago and now all we seem to do is yell, fight and…compete.
“You’re going to have to give me directions,” Callie says and pulls me out of my thoughts.
“You got it,” I tell her and then decide to keep my thoughts on Callie and the night before me.