Z PYRO

. I coast down the street because most of the people who live on it are old people, and they don’t take kindly to people hot-rodding it through their neighborhood. We pull up in front of Natalie’s house, and I give the engine a few shots of gas to get her attention. I shut the car off and we get out to walk to her front door. The front yard has a few garden areas, and her mom has stuffed them with various flowers and other plants. Her house looks a lot better than mine, which has more weeds than actual plants in the garden.
Natalie opens the door and comes out to greet us. She’s in her typical around-the-house look; gym shorts and a tank top, hair in a ponytail. While not as attractive as she is when she’s dressed up, I’m still awed by her beauty. This is one thing that makes it so hard to move on and let go of our failed relationship.
“Well it still looks like crap, but at least it runs,” she says.
“Thanks,” I say and roll my eyes at her typical comment. She comes to me and hugs me, and it feels good. The embrace reminds me of good times, of times past, and makes me forget her remark about my car. Her dog comes bounding out of the door, a little Dachshund wiener-dog named Mickey. He runs to Ernie, his tail wagging so fervently that he wags his entire rear end. He’s carrying one of his chew toys, a plastic neon green squeaky-ball. The squeaker had long been rendered squeakless by Mickey’s constant chewing. Ernie grabs the slobbery toy and throws it across the yard, and chases Mickey as the dog runs after it. Natalie and I are left standing in her driveway, and we look into each other’s eyes. Hers are a mixture of green and brown, mine are just plain ****-brown. When I look into her eyes I feel an overwhelming sense of security and love.
“So what have you been up to?” she asks.
“Same ****, different day. School, work, that’s about it.”
“Yeah, same here, except my job is the stables and my horsies. I can’t believe you got your lip pierced!” I had forgotten about the piece of steel going through my lower lip, I had already gotten used to it being there after only a week. She grabs my jaw and moves my head to the side to examine me. She’ll probably be some kind of veterinarian some day.
“Yeah, I always wanted one, and I when I got my tattoo filled at the place I had originally gotten it, the guy said he’d pierce my tongue for fifteen bucks. But everyone has their tongue pierced, so I got this instead. It’s called a labret.”
“Oh,” she replies. I know she doesn’t like it at all. I hadn’t gotten it while we were together because she had an ex-boyfriend who had facial piercings and he physically abused her. She said getting my tongue pierced would remind her of him, so I didn’t get any piercings.
“I miss you.” This makes her smile and blush.
“I miss you too, hun. But you know we were having troubles, and we don’t have any time for each other.”
“Yeah, I know.” I don’t say it, but in the back of my mind I doubt her sincerity. “K, well I should get goin’, I have a ten-page paper that’s due Wednesday, and I haven’t written a thing yet.”
“Ok. Call me later?”
“Sure, if I ever finish my paper.” We hug again, and I watch her turn and walk back into the house. Ernie throws Mickey’s ball through the front door, and the dog comes running from the front yard, his short little legs nothing but blurs. I wave goodbye to her, and Ernie and I walk back to my car. We get in, and I start the car up. Dust and fallen leaves are scattered by the gust of exhaust that shoots from the tailpipes, and I drive away.
We drive to the local Sonic Drive-Thru, a retro-style burger joint. I park in a stall and roll down the window to order. While waiting, I turn on the CD player in the car. I hadn’t tried to listen to it while driving, because the car was just too damn loud and I didn’t feel like buying new speakers anytime soon. The CD in the player is that of the band Taproot, a very kick-ass band.
“Heh, I listened to Taproot the last time Nat and I broke up,” I say to Ernie. “Good times,” I say sarcastically.
“I don’t know why you put up with that ****, Mike. You deserve better.”
“I know. I guess I’m just a glutton for punishment or something. But at least I’m not going all emo and cutting myself and ****.”
“Haha, yeah good point.”
We get our food from the waitress on roller skates, and begin stuffing our faces.
“You got a sourdough burger again? Jeeze, you get the same thing every time.” Ernie says to me while eating his plain-Jane cheeseburger.
“Hey, sourdough burgers kick ass. At least I get something a little more exciting than a cheeseburger.” We eat silently for a few minutes, as the music changes from Taproot to an Italian opera song, La Donna e Mobile, sung by the famous Pavarotti.
“What the hell is this?” Ernie says with a bewildered look on his face.
“It’s good music, shut up and eat.”
“Heh, you’re weird Mike.”
“Yeah, I know I am. Who else do you know gets a Punisher tattoo and a lip piercing, just for the hell of it?”
“Yeah, good point,” he laughs. We finish our burgers and leave the trash on the tray for the waitress to pick up when she rolls by again. I drive out of the lot, making sure to rev my engine up enough to make everyone’s heads turn. We drive back to my house, and I park the car in the driveway. Ernie stretches when he gets out, as if we were driving for hours.
“You need to get more sleep, you’re always tired.” I tell him.
“Well look who’s talking, Mr. I-can’t-stay-up-in-my-morning-class.”
“Yeah, and I’ll be up ‘til 3 in the morning writing this dumb paper.”
“Well I’ll let you get started on your homework. Call me later.” He went to his truck, a pewter S-10 pickup. It was a lot smaller than his big blue truck, but he still drove off in it like it had the same amount of power. I laugh at his trying to show off, and walk into the house and into my room.
My room is a mess, as usual. Dirty clothes are thrown on the floor, various papers litter my desk. I grab the armful of clean clothes off of the office chair in front of my desk, throw them on the bed, turn on my computer and sit down. As soon as I begin to type my essay, my phone rings in my pocket again. It’s Natalie again, and I wonder why she’s calling me again.
“Hello?”
“Hi,” she replies. “We need to talk.”
If there are four words that strike fear into the heart of a man in love, it’s those words. They never mean anything good, and conversations started with them almost always end in a broken heart. I immediately start to worry, and all of the worst-case scenarios run through my head.
“Um…ok,” I say with reluctance. I want to hang up the phone, to prevent myself from hearing what comes next.
“I don’t think we should see each other anymore. Like, at all. I can’t hug you and kiss you without feeling like I’m getting myself into the same destructive situations all over again, and I don’t like it. I’m sorry babe.”
“Oh,” I reply, not knowing what to say. There are a million things running through my head, but I can’t seem to figure out what I want to say to her. Then it comes to me, the only thing left for me to say to her. “I love you.” I close the phone and hang up before she has a chance to answer. I put the phone on my desk, grab my keys, and walk out to my car.
My drive gives new meaning to the word “freeway.” I feel free from the problems of teenage and young adult life, and it gives me a feeling of total control. I forget about girlfriends, essays, jobs, and all of my stress goes away, if just for a short while. Sometimes I wish navigating life were as easy as driving a car down a straight, open highway; just set the cruise control, and make tiny corrections every so often. But it isn’t, and it won’t ever be. So when I need to get away, I’ll just drive.

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