Chris came lumbering across the parking lot wearing the same perplexed frown he always seemed to wear around me, his hair obviously washed and dried — it hadn’t looked so soft since I’d met him, I adolescently thought. I tried to keep myself from puffing too heavily on my cigarette as I rose from my seat on the curb.
“Hi,” he said in his deep voice as he neared.
“Hi,” I said, and froze as he leaned down to stiffly hug me. I hugged back. For some reason I patted his shoulder blade as we embraced, the true sign of an awkward, platonic hug — the way one hugs an estranged family member. It sucked. But he was so tall, and he smelled clean, and that soft hair brushed my cheek.
“So,” he said, clearing his throat. “There’s, er, a carnival thing going on up the road a little ways. Did you want to go check it out?”
“Sure,” I replied, and we fell into stride beside each other. Well, that’s putting it gracefully. Since his legs seemed about twice as long as mine, I broke into a coltish trot beside him to keep up. He slowed his pace. Eventually we found a common ground. God, it really was uncomfortable. I wanted him to think I was cool, and it just wasn’t going to happen. Images of slinky, sexy Sophie Cleaver kept appearing in my mind. She wouldn’t have galloped along beside him.
“I have to ask you about your girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Yes. Ah — do you have one?”
He was quiet for a moment. “No. Not anymore. I was with the same girl for a few years and we broke up a few months ago.”
“Oh.”
“I was really sad about it,” he said. “Guess I still am, in some ways. I really loved her, you know?”
I was touched by the level of emotion in his voice. He lapsed into thoughtful silence again. I didn’t want to press the issue. We walked quietly along the road, which was lined with fast-food joints and gas stations and strip malls.
“What about you?” he finally said. “You have a boyfriend?”
I don’t know why I was so startled by his question. I hesitated for a moment. “No. I don’t really have boyfriends. I’m not — I don’t know.”
He nodded. “It’s hard to keep things going when you’re always on the road.”
“Yes,” I said. I was glad he’d given me a reason.
“Me and my ex — it was hard, and she had her own things going on. It still hurts.”
“I understand.”
We changed the subject, talking casually about the tour and our bands. I explained how we’d gotten our band started, and he told me some stuff about his. Cars whizzed past us. He was quiet and attentive. I remembered how Toad had laughed about how much action Chris would be getting on the road. It didn’t seem to make sense. He was such a quiet, thoughtful guy — not the outgoing party moron type. I reminded myself that I barely knew him, but still. He just seemed too nice.
xXx
We arrived at the fairground, which was a short walk from the ocean. The warm breeze blew across us as we walked, smelling like popcorn and cotton candy and fried food, and the atmosphere was fun and festive with the spinning rides and music and people. The sun was just starting to lower in the sky, bathing everything in a pink glow. I felt great, walking beside Chris. People kept looking at us, probably marvelling at how tall he was, how menacing he looked. I felt a sort of stupid, puffed-up pride. I wanted to take his hand, but I didn’t.
“Do you want to go on the ferris wheel?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said, picturing us gazing across the ocean, the sparkling sunset in its reflection, totally cute and sweet. It would be a beautiful moment, something we would remember forever. I really did get ahead of myself in this stupid dreamy way. It was all too great. In Florida, in the sun, at the fair, with this giant famous metal guy beside me, wanting to take a ride on the ferris wheel. You know the type of dumb-ass giddy thing I mean. It really did feel nice.