An hour passes in silence, and Jack brushes Lia's hair off the side of her head. "I'm off to bed, join me soon?" he whispers in her ear.
She can feel anger, confusion, and love in his voice, echoing the sentiment of "How can a girl love a father like that?" To be honest, she is just as confused as he. She wants to tell Jack never again, but she can never lie. Just like how she can never hate her father.
Jack swings her legs off him, stands, and heads into the dense tomato field in the direction of the truck, and Lia, who is trying to hold her shit together, looks back at the city where she was at one point welcome. When she turns back to face the faint figure that was her boyfriend, she screams out, "I love you!"
The words travel farther than she can ever imagine. Some of those little sheeple that walk under the man-made sun stop and look at the dark fields above Vancouver. Later, some will say they felt their heart skip a beat, and some even found those words had weight, sending the potential cheaters home in a flurry of tears before the final act was sealed. It's amazing what words can do to a soul.
Lia sees Jack's shadow stop in the field, listening to her words of love. But without replying, he retreats into the darkness like a fallen knight in battle. Poof, gone, the prince leaves his red rose to be loved by the night sky full of yellow men. Beneath the stars, Lia can see her grayish black tears that have stained her covered breasts. She can feel the utter want and need to make it up to him, and as she falls back to earth, looking up at the night sky, searching for me, she smiles. Resting her hands on her stomach, she feels her vagina throb in a redemption of warmth.
I can feel her eyes on me, and once again I find myself staring at my piece of paper, fearful of catching the glance of her eyes, afraid of telling her any more than I already have. She is my puppet, after all. But she is a little bit more than a soul stuffed into a flesh box. Yet, I raise my eyes above the paper to find her looking right where she wants me to be.
My hands of God scream.
STUPID, STUPID GOD YOU ARE. STUPID, STUPID! I am unable to move. I try to look away, but I can't. In truth, deep in the depths of my subconscious I can hear her thoughts bubbling beneath the surface. I can hear her whispering miles and miles away on that little rock we call Earth. I can see her lips moving, yet the voice is masculine and haunting. It is the voice of the dead man.
Pulling away from her, I take my pen and pad and write frantically the message, repeating it over and over inside her brain. When I finish, I drop my pen and lean back to read what I wrote: Why don't you kill yourself, you stupid bitch? How could you mention me? You know Jack hates me, and he's got every fucking right to hate me. But you did too, didn't you? Because you're Daddy's little girl. OR SHOULD I SAY DADDY'S LITTLE FUCKING GIRL?
Lia shuts her eyes, pondering if her brain is right because surely daddy is always right. At that moment I look, and when she opens her eyes, I see a smile. I see a girl standing in blood-soaked pants, with blood-stained hands and her black, mascara-dripped tears.
She remembers Daddy is lying against her naughty-girl chair with eight, six-inch nails in the right side of his head.
Lia stands up and runs after her boyfriend into the tomato fields. When she enters the fields, her feet and calves graze the vines as she tramples through the pathways and steps on rocks and dead brush. In a matter of minutes, she spots the truck headlights that illuminate the farmland in the distance. She heads towards it, cutting through rows and rows of vines, emerging from the fields onto the dirt path.
Lia raises her hand as if to salute, trying to focus behind the bright light beams that split the farmland into two rows. She can see the truck about thirty or so feet away, spotting the gray smoke that billows out of the exhaust like a chimney connected to a fire of a warm home, their home. The truck shakes as the clockwork sound of the engine idles. She looks like a mess. Little dead, brown stems and leaves stick to the bottom of her dress. On her calves, many small cuts have drawn blood. Her feet are covered in mud with half-dried mud spots climbing the back of her heels.
But none of that matters right now. What matters to her is what's in the back of the pickup truck. In the back, she can see a blanket hanging over the left side, covering half the wheel. She assumes a bed for two, and the idea of that sends a flurry of fantasies through her head. She imagines the fairy-tale night of sex and stars with the cool summer breeze just like all those summer country songs taught her growing up.
She imagines her and Jack sleeping beneath the sparkling night sky after making love for the first time. How happy they'll be, how beautiful it will be, how romantic her first time will be. Tonight is the sort of fantasy Dalilah and Sally used to tell her about.
Hurry up and get it in already, Lia. Sex feels so good. I lost it to Mike underneath the bleachers on a Saturday midnight. It was so hot, warm, and mind blowing!
For a while, Lia thought that losing your virginity was a lot more than it's cracked up to be. But now, now she finds herself walking at a slow pace towards the truck with a smile of gold. As she approaches, she can see Jack's cute bum facing the dash and his upper torso hidden behind the passenger's seat as he yanks away two marshmallow-shaped pillows, the way pillows always seem to get stuck on everything and anything when camping. When they are finally free, he hops out and heads behind the truck into darkness.
Lia decides she will give him a little more time, and when he finishes, she will magically appear like the hero who arrives just at the right moment! She approaches the side of the vehicle as quiet as a mouse. But what she sees stuns her. Her lover, (Jack), is sitting on the edge of the truck with one leg dangling at the wheel well and the other planted firmly in the truck bed. One hand is fiddling at a packet of smokes. The other has a lighter in hand. She can smell the poison in the air, and she can see the poison between his lips.
"You don't smoke, Jackie," she says, feeling disappointment bubble beneath her.
His eyes widen in shock. He turns to his right, catches a glimpse of Lia, and spits the cigarette out into his hand. He stares down at the smoke and nods in agreement. But his eyes look weary and watery, unfocused. When he looks back up, he sounds like a teenage boy who got busted watching porn for the first time.
"I didn't hear you coming."
"That doesn't change the fact that you're smoking."
"You're right," he says and to that Lia felt a little relief from the accountability. She approaches the side of the bed and flings her arms over.
"But I'm stressed as all hell, and if I can't drink, I gotta do something."
"Well then, do me." Awkwardly, her face turns red, as if her brain just flushed the naughty toilet, spilling those words out of her mouth like poop. She never expected it to come out so smoothly or like that at all. Regrettably, she can see the fairy-tale night dissipating in the stars before it has even started. Then, she finds herself giggling, laughing even. She is embarrassed. I find people who are embarrassed always laugh.
"I mean... er... well... I mean what I meant. I just... I thought this would be a good time."
Jack laughs at her before attempting to take a drag from his cigarette once more. He fails, coughing so hard he almost vomits. Recovering, he looks her up and down, his face now red, from lust or lack of oxygen, she wasn't sure. His left hand hits the side of the truck making a loud, hollow, metal tap.
He smiles at her. "Come on in." He taps again.
It's going to happen. It's going to happen! she thinks. Giddy with joy and affection, like a sick puppy she climbs into the bed of the truck, leaving a trail of muddy footprints behind. She sits down on the blanket cross-legged. Without a second thought, Jack pitches the packet of cigarettes into the field, slides off the side of the truck and into the homemade bed of many blankets to get closer. With one look at Lia, he shakes his head but can't shake his utter smile.
"I... I don't think you're... Your feet are filthy!" He playfully pokes them.
"I know. When I ran after you... It's no big deal, though. They're just feet. After all..." She pauses. "...this is an adventure." And she grins.
Sitting down on his knees, he reaches out, takes her right hand and his touch is electric. Her heart stops. It's going to happen!
He places his right hand on her cheek, rubbing his thumb delicately beneath her ear. She takes his hand gladly, snuggling her face tight to his worn hands. She can feel the warmth from his flesh; she can feel the love from his eyes.
But what if she was just another one of his prizes. His long list of girls?
After all, she reminds herself of the stories she's heard of this man. Mean, violent, a cheater, nice, charming, a gentleman, one who has slept with as many girls as the hairs on his head. All-star quarterback for the Gold Rushers. Two-time North-South Conference Provincial Champion shown to the world by a ring on both index fingers. And that was all. Beneath his big, baggy clothes was nothing more than a man of confidence and hard physical work with a trick for women. And ye...
"You know Lia, you're right. Smoking ain't mah thing." He leans in and kisses her, breaking her train of thought. It is a peck of a kiss, but a peck is all Lia needs for weak knees. You can call it his spell of charming without a prince. She falls back in the truck bed, kicking her feet outward like V, and the back of her head finds a soft, feathered pillow. He pulls himself on top of her, now between her legs. "You know what is mah thing, though?" "What's your thing?" she whispers.
"You," he mouths, he does not say, and he leans in and kisses her—their lips lock methodically—with a passionate twist known to make a colony of women stumble in their hearts in arousal to the lips of a spectator, an innocent girl whose best trait was going unnoticed.
I watch as Lia and Jack stand up in the bed of the truck. I watch as they undress to their undergarments with the help of each lover's hands. I can see her hands graze his physique of a hard-working, middle-class man with a talent for throwing balls. I see his eyes as they fall in love with what is before him. I almost fall in love as well. In front of him is Lia, with her beautiful blushing smile, her young, unfinished hips, and her near-puberty breasts divided by a space of innocence. I can see the nervousness glowing off her core like blood under a black light, and I can sense Jack's love of it. It thrills him; it scares her. Lia knows this gaze. She has seen it from her father numerous times. The power of lust, love, and anger. Yet, she senses no anger in Jack, just a restless temptation that she will never understand. She steps forward, ready to offer him the greatest thing she ever can: her purity.