BALLAD OF A RUNAWAY TRAIN

OUT OF CHARACTER !

taryn !

twenty-one +

she/her pronouns.

fun (?) fact: was awake for a solid 72 hours straight this week bc of insomnia. love that for me

    SOLOMON  WAS  USED  TO  DOING  everything  wrong  .  so  used  to  destroying  everything  supple  in  his  palm  ,  turning  it  asunder  because  that’s  all  he  knew  .  breaking  what  they  had  better  because  solomon  knew  what  she  deserved  and  it  wasn’t  him  .  not  when  she  was  so  tangible  in  a  way  something  could  be  had  and  lost  .  in  a  way  he  could  damage  .  did  it  ever  truly  matter  ?  ask  him  any  other  time  and  he  might  attest  otherwise  .  sol  couldn’t  tell  if  it  was  the  cheap  beer  coursing  through  his  system  or  the  manic  high  of  whizzing  through  backroads  with  nothing  but  the  wind  in  his  ears  and  that  thumping  in  his  chest  to  guide  him  but  it  mattered  .  this  all  mattered  and  it  was  devastating  .  “  clear  as  day  ,  ”  recollections  of  past  races  were  the  few  memories  that  went  untouched  by  time  ,  still  hard - lined  in  his  mind  .  boot  is  laid  heavier  on  the  gas  pedal  ,  hand  moving  for  the  shift  stick  .  “  d’you  remember  how  i  won  ?  ”

.

i remember everything, she could say, and it would have been the truth. if there had ever been a chance for babe to forget her first real love, it had passed with the way he’d left her. she’d spent those ensuing weeks pouring over everything, trying to find the loophole, the stray thread, the knot that had undone it all. instead she laughs. “sure. i remember how we celebrated t—” all it takes is jostling memory. all it takes is the wrong shift of her hip. babe adjusts her place in the seat and forgets the beer held upright only by the tension of her thighs held around it, and in a second it turns itself over, spilling out all over the seat. “shit —” she squeals with a noise of surprise and laughter, quick hands reaching for the bottle neck before placing it in the cupholder, the other unbuckling her seatbelt, giving her the space to rise above the seat.

it’s the unbuckling that gives her the idea. give a wild thing an inch and she takes the whole goddamn mile.

her eyes hook into sol’s the same way her thumbs do the edges of her underwear, not letting go of either as she slides them down her thighs and over her calves. they’re wet, it doesn’t need to be said. she leaves them on the floor as she threads a hand through the grab handle above her, body pulling up - up — and out the window. the small of her back lays down against the edge of the window, hands curved into the headrest and dash as she leans her upper body into the wind. the speed whips through her ears and over her, surrounding babe in a speechless kind of commotion she hasn’t known in years. her eyes close.

    HE’S  A  YOUNG  MAN  CAPABLE  OF  SOMETHING  terrible  all  over  again  .  a  lapse  in  judgement  that  depraved  him  of  what  were  meant  to  be  his  wonder  years  .  sol’s  wind  licked  hair  with  an  old  song  playing  on  the  radio  that  reminds  him  of  nights  of  stolen  keys  and  dirt  kicked  from  beneath  the  wheels  of  his  dad’s  old  bronco  .  just  hardly  able  to  see  over  the  dash  ,  and  yet  he  always  somehow  knew  where  to  go  .  

    this  time  ,  there’s  no  sirens  ,  there’s  no  gaggle  of  officers  awaiting  him  at  the  station  .  it’s  just  him  and  babe  on  the  open  road  .  just  a  man  with  cheap  booze  on  his  backseat  and  enough  gas  in  his  tank  to  carry  him  over  to  day  break  .  everything  else  was  riddled  a  nonfactor  .  not  the  country  tree  line  ,  and  most  certainly  not  the  faint  pang  of  repentance  that  clung  to  him  like  a  bottled  musk  .  

    why  uncover  all  the  sore  details  now  ?  unfinished  or  not  ,  everything  and  everyone  that  occurred  between  or  after  them  was  laid  to  rest  .  “  if  it  was  ,  you’d  know  .  ”  gift - wrapped  truths  weren’t  a  thing  between  them  ,  even  if  the  words  were  harsh  and  bitter  on  his  tongue  they  were  preferred  plainspoken  .  he  knocks  back  another  swig  ,  grasp  slackened  on  the  wheel  .  “  none  of  that  matters  ,  does  it  ?  ”

.

does it? 

“did it ever, sol?”

it’s the kind of thing you say when you’re a decade removed from heartbreak and an hour remote from his hands on the midpoint of your thighs and a single long pull away from finishing a drink  you haven’t been keeping track of. babe means it, as much as she can in the moment, when she can’t even be sure what it is the man at her side is trying to say; details weigh less than core truths, and so high speed has a way of whipping nuance out the window. she either wants it to be apathetic or carefree, cutting or assuaging. 

     “  SOMETHIN’  OLD  ,  OR  NEW  ?  ”  a  somber  tone  spoke  out  with  fragmented  resonance  ,  after  brief  moment  of  silence  ;  one  which  felt  the  longest  of  all  ,  akin  to  the  final  the  seconds  ticking  before  the  hellfire  of  battle  .  the  moment  was  long  enough  for  his  mind  to  trail  away  ;  like  he  oft  does  nowadays  ,  in  solace  -  if  the  rumbling  engine  and  the  hues  of  trees  aren't  in  account  .  a  whirlwind  of  emotions  stormed  him  ,  and  a  drift  of  the  old  impala  came  with  it  ,  almost  hurtling  off  the  road  into  the  endless  waves  of  pine  .   old  or  new  ?  nearly  as  if  to  inquire  if  she’d  prefer  the  claim  of  land  they’d  made  all  years  ago  beneath  the  starlight  or  perhaps  one  he’d  made  with  another  in  the  time  apart  .  as  if  to  hand  her  a  shard  of  a  memory  she  could  never  recollect  .  just  shut  up  and  drive  .  solomon  floors  it  ,  and  the  pulse  of  being  enmeshed  with  the  leather  cushioning  of  his  seat  springs  forth  a  new  high  .  those  lingering  feelings  and  faint  scent  of  tobacco  go  flying  out  the  window  .  for  now  ,  it’s  just  them  flying  down  the  open  road  .  and  at  last  ,  gaze  lurches  from  the  lay  of  asphalt  before  them  and  settles  on  her  form  .  “  you  feelin’  nostalgic  ?  ”    

.

simple as his foot on the pedal, and the world blurs. there was a time babe had thought of sol as something like a god for his ability to do so much with so small little, and for a moment — for a passing glance, a look out the window — the feeling returns again. for just a few seconds, he’s the greatest man she’s ever known.

then he speaks.

“you’re such an asshole.” it comes out with a laugh, all the more genuine meaning to it. he is an asshole, a bastard, no good and a whole lot of fun for it. babe drops her head back against the seat, mouth still molded crescent-moon-wide in a smile. hair whips around her face from wind they make, and her brows quirk in a moment of thought. “so yeah, i guess i am.”

“unless that’s your way of askin’ if i’ve reupholstered too.”

    RUGGED  FRAME  LEANS  INTO  FAMILIAR  contours  of  the  driver’s  seat  .  the  words  come  before  he  realizes  ,  allowing  solomon  to  lurch  forward  at  the  memory  .  arm  thrown  over  the  shoulder  of  the  passenger  headrest  as  he  threw  the  car  in  reverse  ,  gaze  hardly  lingering  on  bare  shoulder  in  exchange  .  “  lucky  for  you  ,  i  reupholstered  the  seats  a  few  years  back  .  ”  that’s  the  gimmick  with  time  ,  things  had  a  habit  of  changing  during  the  in - between  .    the  frigid  aura  which  stained  the  car  radiated  amongst  the  two  ,  solomon  extends  an  aloof  glance  .  a  thunderous  strike  of  heartbreaking  drums  squashing  his  inner  silence  when  the  engine  hums  alive  before  his  arm  can  retract  with  a  beer  in  tow  .  nostalgia  was  a  dirty  liar  that  made  things  sound  better  than  they  once  were  .  it  was  like  paving  over  a  grave  sight  .  no  matter  how  much  concrete  laid  over  it  ,  the  ghosts  of  the  past  still  haunted  .  there’s  a  grin  when  his  head  finally  reels  forward  ,  “  why  ,  you  want  me  to  pull  back  over  before  we’ve  even  made  it  out  the  parking  lot  ?  ”  

.

“no. i want you to drive.”

that’s the honest truth, the full round whole of it, even if it’s a lot more like asking to be fucked than the outsider would have assumed. it’s almost certainly more intimate than what would happen if sol hit the breaks and babe climbed into the rear seats; back there they’d be responsible for each other. here, in the passenger seat, she’d put more than her body in sol’s hands. she’d put destination.

the impala purrs beneath them, and babe can feel the space his wrist might graze her ear if only she’d turn the right away. her head turns the other way, inhaling the scent of sulfur and sugar that calls back from the fairgrounds. her gaze is fixed on a place in the distance the way they teach you to as a child when you spin round and round: pick a spot so you won’t get dizzy. watch so you can see it disappear.

she doesn’t want to see what he’d showed them on the track. she wants to see what he wasn’t allowed to do on it. one palm flattens on the roof.

“show me something.”

    PUNCTUALITY  WAS  HARDLY  A  CONCERN  when  solomon  had  always  managed  to  arrive  a  few  seconds  early  .  everything  he  did  was  just  a  moment  before  he  was  due  .  he’d  switched  seats  seconds  before  the  officer  pulled  him  out  of  the  car  .  always  minutes  early  to  pick  del  up  from  afterschool  .  sol  didn’t  need  to  depend  on  anything  but  himself  to  keep  his  timing  right  .  “  doesn’t  seem  like  you  mind  all  that  much  .  ”       cigarette  is  plucked  from  between  his  lips  after  meeting  her  own  ,  tucked  behind  his  ear  for  safe  keeping  .  there’s  a  stint  of  something  dangerous  in  the  way  he  looks  at  her  ,  that  ardor  still  clinging  to  them  .  “  could'a  had  a  better  view  riding  shot - gun  .  ”  with  that  ,  sol’s  ducked  into  the  driver’s  side  ,  a  six  pack  awaiting  in  the  backseat  and  seatbelt  hardly  clicked  into  place  by  the  time  the  impala  is  shifted  out  of  park  .   

.

“yeah,” she agrees without really agreeing at all. “you could’ve.”

it’s been so long since she’s been in this fucking car that babe has an inebriated urge to close her eyes, to lay her head back against the headrest and press her palms flat into the door and ceiling so that when sol hits the gas pedal, all she’ll have for a moment is wind and velocity and freedom. no man, no memories, no desire for a hand on her thigh. but the rattle of glass, like a warning, draws babe’s head back until curls of hair lick a bare, rounded shoulder. don’t look away.

“that’s a nice place to keep ‘em safe—” she drawls, one hand reaching forward after she’s looked back, a natural one-two step, to pop open the glove compartment. the bottle opener is exactly where her memory left it. “—right about where you fucked me the last time we were in this parking lot.”

she cracks the beer and raises it to her bottom lip without taking a sip, grinning with her teeth bitten around glass. her joys have always come at the edge of something sharp.

"feelin’ nostalgic?”

    PORCELAIN  WAS  BETTER  LOVED  when  allowed  out  of  the  cabinet  ,  otherwise  those  golden  intricacies  were  to  have  gone  to  waste  behind  that  glass  barrier  .  to  see  but  not  to  touch  .  to  love  —  to  want  —  without  possession  was  to  give  yourself  unto  another  without  belonging  .      similarly  to  babe  ,  who  was  but  a  cat  that  couldn't  be  kept  past  midnight  —  never  mind  how  many  times  she  accepted  your  saucer  of  milk  .  she  was  a  woman  whom  only  belonged  to  herself  .  and  so  ,  the  angry  red  numeric  ticking  down  on  the  game  that  would  soon  ensue  starts  ticking  down  the  moment  she’s  shone  before  those  headlights  .  the  face  of  an  angel  with  teeth  sharp  enough  to  be  one  . 

    “  there’s  nothin’  to  it  .  ”  sol  waved  her  off  from  his  recline  upon  the  cold  metal  of  the  car  door  ,  arms  unfolding  from  around  his  torso  to  open  the  door  for  her  .  what’s  a little  common  decency  to  an  asshole  ?  unlit  cigarette  bobs  in  to  corner  of  his  lips  as  if  it  never  left  ,  “  i’ll  be  sure  not  to  keep  you  too  long  . ”

.

“you’ve never kept time on a thing that wasn’t a stopwatch in your life.”

babe’s thumb indents into the cleft of sol’s chin while her thumb curls under it, holding him in place while the fullness of her mouth presses into the corner of his. there’s no mercy to the way she keeps him there, lips slow and voice sticky with honey whiskey, the heat of an hour ago an adhesive between them. “y’looked good, kid.”

Bash shakes his head, letting the unspoken speak for itself. But at the mention of her coworkers– or employees, whatever you wanted to call them, Bash perks an eyebrow. “Oh you think they’ll come up to you? Think that’s a little bold but I’ll enjoy the free drink, don’t worry about it.” Bash didn’t know a whole lot about what went on over that the Ward’s ranch nor was he looking to find out. He had plenty of issues on his own ranch besides unprofessionalism. 

When the Centurion ranch sold, there had been a general consensus among the old timers that they would be loyal to the Decker family. They’d always treated their employees well, his mother insisting on gifting everyone for Christmas and Bash leading them as though they were a part of his family– because they were. Hazel eyes peer at Babe, eyes lit by the flashing lights and winding beams of light. “It was always mine. I’m not a big sharer. Older brother syndrome,” he replies, thinking about how he had to share everything with his siblings, that is until he was an adult. “Maybe I’ve got a secret life I’m not telling you about. I can’t spill all my secrets. But spoiler alert– I’m mainly working. I’ve got a ranch to own one of these days,” he explains. “Always looking for distractions – like the fair and the dancing.”

.

"honey, if there’s anything i learned growin’ up the way i did — anything’s yours if you run fast enough.” it’s a joke, really, but maybe not quite — there are days babe swears she’d achieved the things not by fleeing with something stolen but because she had run straight at it, head down and eyes set, until the thing in front of her was forced to swerve or envelop her into its fold. it seemed like that at the ranch, with this job — that sheer force of will had wrestled it into her grasp. 

and she’d spend the rest of her life in the mud to keep it, if necessary.

“oh yeah?” her eyes dance, sunlight over lake water. babe takes a draw from her glass, “good luck gettin’ that tech bastard to sell back to you. when you’re out of a job ‘cause he turns it into some windmill farm or some other weird city shit, i’ll be sure to bring you on over on my side  — as low man, of course.”

    THEY  HAPPEN  UPON  one  another  in  media  res  .  somewhere  akin  to  the  turning  of  a  page  ,  but  not  yet  the  end  of  the  chapter  .  leave  this  moment  as  a  dog  ear  ,  a  halt  on  the  history  between  them  .  a  pique  before  resuming  .  solomon  bids  at  her  allowance  ,  he’d  mark  her  like  a  passage  of  his  favorite  book  ,  blooms  of  violet  pressed  between  pages  he’d  peel  open  again  and  again  .       hands  are  set  into  motion  ,  digits  trailing  the  knobs  of  her  spine  on  the  venture  down  like  unmarked  territory  he  needed  to  lay  claim  to  .  there  isn’t  a  closeness  enough  to  satiate  him  .  this  hunger  to  know  and  see  .  to  explore  her  form  .  for  the  pads  of  his  fingers  to  dimple  into  the  supple  of  exposed  thighs  while  the  distressed  denim  of  her  shorts  grazes  his  wrists  .  she  is  all  the  places  he’s  ever  wanted  to  go  and  he’ll  mark  off  each  locale  with  his  teeth  .  all  until  that  faint  buzzing  in  his  back  pocket  registers  for  a  second  time  .  that’s  his  cue  .  a  beat  ,  “  will  i  see  you  later  ?  ”

.

it’s not enough, but it was never going to be. what babe gets she always wants more; it wouldn’t have matter where sol’s hands are by the time the phone in his pocket is audible, she’s run through with the burning sensation of something left unfinished.

( * )

babe drops her head back against the wooden board and thinks about going silent and leaving everything behind right here, a postcard tacked up in the place he’d pressed her into the wall rather than a thing to be continued. a hand flattens against his chest, fingers splayed where his heart might be, as if to pull sol closer or push him away. 

“go win.”

it would be so much easier to give him nothing. 

    THIS  THING  WAS  a  masterpiece  before  solomon  tore  it  all  up  .  a  reel  of  photobooth  pictures  pinned  to  the  fridge  thrown  in  the  trash  .  it’s  for  the  better  that  that  babe  is  boots  to  solid  ground  ,  pulling  the  weed  at  the  root  before  it  can  invade  the  rest  of  this  garden  of  eden  perfumed  by  lust  and  jack  daniels  .      “  alright  .  ”  and  how  befit  was  it  that  the  man  who  broke  her  heart  is  the  only  one  who  can  make  it  whole  again  .  something  once  petal - soft  in  his  palm  hardened  and  honed  with  time  .  sol  can  feel  that  pang  of  guilt  calling  back  to  him  as  gunpowder  illuminations  dot  the  sky  .  this  was  a  monster  of  his  own  making  .  a  declaration  that  it  was  one  he  would  conquer  when  not  another  word  is  uttered  .  just  messy  kisses  and  averted  unease  .

.

then, finally, now that babe has what she wants — everything in the sense of all the things they’re promising not to say, nothing in the sense of the negative space left between them — she’ll give sol whatever his hands can take. babe doesn’t want anything from solomon tonight, not the assurances she knows he thinks he has to offer, not his whiskey-soaked repentance nor  promises timed to expire tomorrow — she only wants to give, and to feel him take.

so she makes a present of her body while the fireworks pop overhead, hands falling to the backside of his hips, drawing them into hers, a soft, taut sound exhaled into his mouth at the contact. handing him the keys. it’s yours, if you want it. move like you stole it. 

Part of her hates the fact that she’s been caught red handed in this less than fortunate situation by Babe, the last person she ever wants to see her in any sort of vulnerable state — even if that state is just her tipsy in a parking lot without shoes on. She’s got an air of dignity to try and preserve, though, and the longer she stays in this godforsaken town, she harder it is to keep it up. But part of her is grateful for the presence that relieves her of her shoes and lights her cigarette all in one breath — so she only rolls her eyes a little bit at the whole ordeal of it all, allowing Babe to invade her personal space for a moment without the usual biting remark she’d serve to probably anyone else that dared to invade it. They’ve long had this silent understanding between them, even if Liza often loathes it.

Her gaze drifts to the grille guard where Babe’s referencing, sure enough displaying a long, gunky line of white something that’s dried to it. She knows logically it has to be bird shit, there’s no realistic way it’s the latter option, but the image is now ingrained in her mind and she makes a face. “Fuck you. God,“ she spits, eyes narrowing as she shakes her head. It only takes about two seconds for Liza to go from pissed off to decently docile to raging once again. “You don’t always have to be so goddamn crude, B. There are things you can keep to your fucking self.” A rich statement coming from a woman who can’t go fifteen seconds without saying the word fuck and quite literally always speaks exactly whatever crude thought flows through her mind, but Liza likes to go by the policy of do as I say, not as I do.

.

“mm.” one corner of her lip tucks up, babe’s head canting as if she’s rolling the notion to one side of her brain to be chewed on. “sorry, thought i was just speakin’ your language... cunt.”

it’s a certain affection that has her so openly obnoxious, and a different kind of devotion that keeps babe quiet about the rest. both are complicated.

“never understood why that word was supposed to be offensive than the others they like to throw at women. i kinda like the sound of it, cunt. serves more purpose than bitch.” it’s purposeful, the way the idea doesn’t fit in the moment. square peg, round hole. if babe pushes it hard enough the wooden block around the open space will break.