Laura Miller - By Way of Accident

Her pretty voice is hitchin’ in laughter by the time I hit the water. And I don’t know why, but I start laughin’ too.

“Brooke.”

She stops and just looks at me with the biggest smile on her face.

“I ain’t never met a girl like you.” I don’t know why, but I just feel as if I need to say it.

She drops her eyes before she returns them to me. And I swear in that moment, I’m hers. For the rest of this beautiful life, I’m hers.

“Well, I’ve never met a boy like you before either.”

I shake my head. “I’m just ordinary.” I feel the need to tell her that too — before she finds it out herself.

“No,” she says. “Nobody’s ordinary, River.”

I’m not sure what she means by that, but I do notice she’s still smilin’. And I don’t know what gets into me. I don’t know what courage I muster up or where from all of a sudden, but when I look into her eyes again, I just know that I’m starin’ into the eyes of a girl I don’t think I’ll ever forget. And with that thought, I lean in, and I plant a kiss on her lips. And that’s it — I don’t rest my hand on her cheek or stare into her eyes, like they do in the movies. It’s not planned or thought out. It’s just a short kiss onto her soft lips — and then I pull away. But still, somethin’ like fire shoots through me. And that becomes the single-most greatest moment of my entire short life. I don’t even care if she slaps me next or knees me in the balls. Okay, maybe I do care a little about the balls part. But the bottom line is that if I did die tonight in my sleep — like in my grandma’s old, scary prayer — I know now what I would miss about life. I would miss Brooke Sommerfield, and I would miss this moment.

I stand there in the water just as happy as can be as I await my fate — and whether it be the hand or the knee. I’m nervous when she opens her eyes. Her dark hair is wet and slicked back, and there are tiny drops of water hangin’ on her long eyelashes. And she’s lookin’ at me like she’s studying me. I hope she likes what she sees because my luck’s gotta be runnin’ short soon.

“What was that for?” she asks.

I just shake my head. I can’t find one explanation that sounds good enough in my mind.

“For balin’ hay,” I say. “For wanting to bale hay. For showin’ up. For your green and gray eyes. For your pretty smile. For the way you look at me like you know what I’m thinkin’…And because it’s Wednesday.”

Her green eyes burn into mine. They almost look unnatural for a person, I think. It’s as if she’s of the wild or somethin’. And my mind’s goin’ all sorts of crazy just thinkin’ about her. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I want more of her. I want more of her lips. I want more of her soft skin. But I also want to run because I know you can’t trust anything from the wild — even if it is pretty. And somethin’ about thinkin’ those two things — that I want more and that I want to run — at the same time makes me want to lay her down on that bank and kiss every part of her body — even if I lose my life to a beautiful wild creature in the process.

“Because it’s Wednesday?” she asks, snappin’ me out of my crazy thoughts.

I just smile at her and let my shoulders rise and then fall.

“What happens Thursdays around here?” she asks.

Hell if I know. I’ve never kissed anyone just because it was Wednesday before.

“I guess you’ll have to find out.”

Did I just say that?

She lowers her eyes and laughs softly to herself. “Okay,” she says, slowly nodding and eventually meeting my stare again. “Tomorrow,” she says, unbuttoning the shirt I lent her. I try to tell her it’s okay — that she can keep it — but nothin’ comes out. Instead, I just watch her fingers dance around each button. And then she carefully slides the wet shirt off and holds it out to me. I instinctively take it.

“Thanks,” she says, before she turns and starts to make her way slowly out of the creek. “You were right. I did need it.”

I’m tryin’ to think of somethin’ clever to say. Hell, anything at all would be nice, but my mind can’t get past her lips and that smile and the way her wet clothes cling to every part of her body.

Then, all of a sudden, she stops and turns back toward me. “Tomorrow evening?”

I nod my head and miraculously find the willpower to at least repeat her words.

“Tomorrow evening,” I confirm with a nod.

Tomorrow and the tomorrow after that and then the tomorrow after that too — I’d come back for her. In fact, I’m pretty sure I don’t have enough tomorrows to give to this pretty girl because there’s this sinkin’ feelin’ in the back of my mind. It keeps tellin’ me there’s gonna come a time when there will be no tomorrows left. And it will come fast, and it will come hard, and I will hate every painful second of it.

I’m not sure what time the evening starts exactly, and I’m pretty sure it’s not three o’clock, but just in case it is, I’m here — waitin’ for her. I brought my fishin’ pole, so I can pass the time fishin’ and thinkin’—two things my grandpa says will calm even the most anxious of men . And right now, I’m pretty anxious. I know she’ll show. But I think that’s what makes me even more nervous. I know that at any minute she’s gonna come walkin’ out of that brush and over to me. Every time the thought comes to my mind, my heart races and my palms get sweaty. I have to rub them against my jeans every once in a while just so the fishin’ pole doesn’t slip right out of my dang hands. But I can’t stop thinkin’ about her. All day, I think about her. I’m beginning to think there’s somethin’ wrong with me. I’ve never thought about a person so much.

After about an hour of pretendin’ to fish, I hear some rustlin’ off to my left. I look up and catch her pawin’ through the dirt and sticks. There go my palms gettin’ sweaty again. I swallow the lump in my throat and try to slow my heart down. And before I know it, she’s sittin’ down next to me.

“Hi.” Her smile spreads wide across her pretty face.

“Hi,” I say back, reeling in the fishin’ line. I can feel her watching me. I hope she can’t see how nervous I am.

“You always wear that baseball cap?”

I get the line reeled in, and I set the pole onto the ground next to me before I touch the bill of my cap. “Pretty much, I guess. I kinda feel naked without it.”

She laughs. I’m happy I made her laugh.

“My momma says marrying-men wear hats,” she says. “My dad wears a cowboy hat most days.”

“Oh, I ain’t never gettin’ married.” I don’t know why I blurt it out. It’s just one of those things I’ve decided, and when you’re thirteen, you don’t have much decided yet, so I’m pretty proud of it.

Her eyes dart to mine. They don’t look angry or upset necessarily — just curious, I guess. I glance at her but then look away.

“I’m pretty sure you’re never supposed to say never ,” she says.

She’s smilin’ when I look back up at her, and for some reason, I can’t help but cast my eyes down again. I think there’s somethin’ about her smile. I can only take it in little spurts. I feel as if I’ll explode otherwise.

“Never?” she asks, regaining my attention. The happy in her face has all but disappeared, and her eyes look kind of sad all of a sudden. Her new expression distracts me so much that I forget what we’re even talkin’ about.

“What? Gettin’ married?” I ask.

She nods.

“My uncle says love and gettin’ married only tie ya down — take away your freedom,” I say. “That doesn’t sound like somethin’ I want taken away.”