Taylor“Turn on some music,” Kennedy prompts.I link my iPhone to the Bluetooth speaker in the living room. I scroll through my playlists: Running, Reading, Driving, School, Lite, Heavy, 80s, and Random. I select the Random playlist. “Stitches” by Shawn Mendes fills the room. I adjust the volume, so it won’t interfere with conversations this evening. Back at the kitchen island, I grab a tumbler and pour two fingers of Jim Beam to calm my nerves. As I finish my drink, I hear Jackson greet guests on the deck. “Showtime,” Kennedy sings as she opens the doors for the guests. Jackson enters, followed by a slender red-head and a tall, tan, blonde man. He motions to the couple. “This is Red and Isaac.” Jackson extends his arm toward me. “And this is Taylor.”The redhead extends her right hand. Her grip is firm and succinct. “I'm Madison. Jackson likes to push my buttons by calling me Red.” Her eyes move from Jackson back to mine. “Nice to finally meet you.”“I thought she’d be taller and...
Jackson“Don’t,” I warn James.“You will not believe what I saw in there.” James points toward Taylor’s room. “James,” I plead. “Dude, let’s get you home. You’ve had way too much to drink.” I escort him to his wife, trying to change the subject. “Remember last year when you fell off the porch and broke your leg? We don’t need a repeat of that.”Martha says goodbye to everyone and joins us on our walk to their home as fireworks light the sky in all directions. I help James into bed, strip him to his boxers, and place water nearby. Martha checks on the kids and pays the babysitter. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Martha?” I inquire.“You’ve done enough. More than he deserves,” Martha states. “He will be up vomiting all night and have a killer hangover tomorrow.” She sighs. “I will be up at dawn with the kids while he attempts to sleep it off.”I hug her. “Goodnight then.” I open the back door to leave but turn to her. “Call or bring the kids over in the morning. We could a
TaylorOn the Fourth of July, sunlight warms my face, awakening me from my dreams. I roll to my left, noticing a note on my nightstand. Sitting up, I unfold the note. Had to run to the YMCA until noon. Be ready. We are going out for lunch and shopping all afternoon. Love,KennedyI glance at my phone on the charger. It’s already ten. Slipping from bed, I shuffle to the kitchen. I grab a Diet Coke and a protein bar for breakfast. Mentally calculate the time I need to shower and be ready by noon for Kennedy, and I climb back into bed while I eat my bar. I scroll through social media and a few emails. My phone vibrates as a new text alert sounds.Jorge: r u up?Me: am nowJorge: sorry go back 2 sleep Me: JK Jorge: so u were up. Nice. Can I call?I type Y-e-s, then decide to delete it. I scroll through my contacts and FaceTime his phone.Jorge’s face lights up my screen. He is lying on a pillow, his hair a disheveled disaster. “Good morning,” he greets with a raspy voice.“What’s up?”
Jackson“There are my girls,” Jackson greets, turning from the stovetop, as we enter from the garage weighed down with our purchases. His eyebrows raise at the sight of our large shopping bags. “What is all that?” He motions towards the bags.“Taylor made all the purchases,” Kennedy informs him.We flop the bags on my bed. I pull out the shirt and hat I bought for Jackson, before I hand the bag with the other Royals gear to Kennedy. He’s happy with his loot and assures me it is the correct size.“What do the other bags contain?” he asks.I explain my Cardinals purchases, and he shakes his head. “How can you still be a Cardinals fan?” He teases. “You grew up in Royals land and now live in Cubs territory.” At my shrug, he continues, “Stubbornness, that's how.”I set the table while Kennedy makes a salad, and Jackson opens a bottle of wine, bringing me a glass. As I savor my first sip, I witness Kennedy with wine, too.“The pasta will be ready in ten minutes,” Jackson informs, as he chec
BOOK TWO: THE DEEDTaylorOn Friday, with the closing of the Mustang trunk, my time in Chicago ends. I cram all that I treasure tightly inside. My new life and new opportunities lie at the end of this road trip. My heart beats excitedly as I turn the key; the engine roars to life. I unlatch two locks then press the button allowing the top to open. Sunlight warms my face as the top folds neatly in back. The old-school sounds of Train's, Play That Song escape the speakers. As the song ends, I fasten my seatbelt before connecting my iPhone to the auxiliary cable. I scroll through my playlists, selecting 'Road Trip'. Aerosmith tickles my ears as I pull from my assigned spot in the lot. Excitement courses through my veins as the over eight hours of highway, traffic, and tunes lie in front of me. I plotted my route yesterday, choosing to stop in The Quad Cities and Des Moines along my way. My goal is two stops for restroom, gas, and food, allowing me to reach my destination by dinner. Jack
TaylorI remember that 18-year-old me arrived at the sandbar with Chris, my guy at the time. It was a typically warm late summer evening. As the level of beer in the keg lowered, Chris grew louder and mouthier. By eleven, he could barely walk. Chris yelled my name across the bonfire. While slurring his words, he summoned me to bring him a beer.I hesitantly approached with the beer, and he tightly grabbed my wrist. I struggled to pull away. His strength, though drunk, out powered me. In front of a crowd of over thirty high school and college acquaintances, he loudly demanded I suck his cock right where he sat. When I told him to go fuck himself, he drew back his hand and punched me on the left side of my face. It happened so fast I had no time to protect myself. Drunken mayhem ensued. His buddies escorted him away as he continued yelling profanities at me and struggled to break free. Several girls swarmed my side, prattling about Chris being a lousy drunk. Many stated I should break
TaylorThe memory fading, I laugh out loud at the fact I'm driving and hearing motorcycles, led my mind to the topic of vibrators. It seems my mind always holds a predisposition for sexual thoughts. Jackson and Kennedy tease me about this often. I’m so glad they returned to my life. No one knows me like they do. They know all my secrets, my heartaches, and the hard knocks life bestowed upon me. The three of us witnessed the sucky parts of life over and over before age twenty-two. Together we have cried, we have fought through, and we have emerged on the other side. My relationships with Chris and John are just colossal speed bumps on our road of life.If I had pressed assault charges against Chris, would I have continued to choose the men I did? I vow to avoid men for the next year. No dates, no hook-ups - I need time to regroup. I’ll use my time with Jackson and Kennedy to work through my issues with the wrong type of men. I nod to myself. I mentally place ‘seek a counselor’ on the to
TaylorKennedy leaps from her seat, darts towards me, and hugs me tightly. Her tear-stained cheeks wet my cheek and t-shirt. Jackson drops to his knees on my other side to join the celebration. We hug, then laugh as we all wipe our tears without speaking a word.I break the silence when I can take it no more. “We need to eat before our food gets cold,” I announce.As he returns to his chair, Jackson mumbles, “Too much oohy-gooey for Taylor.”He knows me too well. It’s as if he sees into my inner-most thoughts. I rarely cry. I feel deeply, never wearing my emotions on my sleeves. Displays of affection are not my thing.Kennedy fans her face, trying to calm her tears. Jackson and I tip our wine glasses towards each other's before taking a sip. For a few minutes, we enjoy our luke-warm Mexican rice and scrumptious chicken enchiladas.I see the wheels turning as Jackson attempts to eat. Unable to take it any longer, I prompt Jackson, “Just say it.”“Does this mean you plan to teach and mov