As if on cue my phone chimes from my pocket. It's a text from Impatient. Are you on the road yet?
I hold up the phone so Pax can read the text. He squints a little too, and I make a mental note to ask Impatient if he wears contacts or glasses. He's clearly struggling to read the text. He looks up at me with confused eyes. "Who's Impatient?"
I laugh because I forgot that's how I set her up in my phone months ago. "Sorry, that's Scout."
He thinks for a minute, and then he smiles. "She is a little impatient sometimes."
"Sometimes?" I question. "Damn, you're generous."
He knows I'm kidding. Sort of. He laughs, too. His laugh is restrained, more like a chuckle. Like there's light bound up inside this kid that desperately wants to get out, but doesn't know how. It makes me feel a little bummed thinking about it. I used to take laughter for granted. I was surrounded by it for years. Then the laughter died with Bright Side. I feel like I've had to learn how to laugh all over again. I can relate. We both need to find our light.
As we approach the school, I give him a sidelong look. "Dude, you want me to drop you off in front of the school or down the street? I don't want to tarnish your rep with my shit wagon the first day of school." I love my truck but I know that doesn't hold true for everyone else. And I have a feeling that he's a kid with bigger issues going on. I don't want him to get picked on because some fuck nut sees him get out of my truck and decides to give him shit about it. I'm trying to play preemptive damage control.
He smiles. "Drop me off in front. I don't mind the shit wagon."
"Righteous." I hold out my hand in between us and he gives me a high five.
When I stop the truck, he looks over at me with wide eyes and a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. The expression screams panic. So, I give the Gus version of a pep talk. "Pax, you're cooler than the back side of a pillowcase, remember that. Now go give 'em hell, dude."
He smiles. "Thanks, Gus."
"Sure thing. See you at three-thirty. I'll try to park here. If I'm running late I'll text you. Fair warning, there's a ninety-nine percent chance I'll be running late, because I'm always late. It's who I am."
Guess who's fifteen minutes early to pick up Pax? This guy. I'm kinda proud of myself. I don't want to let this kid down, because if letting him down wasn't bad enough, it's also like letting Impatient down. And I don't want to do that either.
Pax walks out with his head down. I wonder if he walked around all day like that. Trying not to be noticed. Trying to blend in. When he looks up, he smiles. That small smile makes me grin.
"How was day one of the rest of your life?"
"Pretty good." That response was neutral and could go either way. I don't know him well enough yet to read him.
"You meet any chicks?"
He looks at me like I'm teasing him.
I raise my eyebrows. "What? That's a legit question. We're guys, girls rule us. It's a fact of life."
His mouth curves slightly as his cheeks redden.
"Aha. Already got your eye on a little filly. What's her name, dude?"
"Mason." His cheeks have amped the red level to a nine out of ten.
Laughing, I punch him on the shoulder. "I'm taking you to The Ice Shack for ice cream so you can tell me all about the lovely Mason."
I do.
And he does.
It's the happiest I've seen the kid yet.
Saturday, September 2
(Gus)
"Pax, I'm giving you fair warning," I say as I flip on the lights in the stairwell leading down to the basement. "If you sleep in the buff, cover up your snake because I'm coming down."
It's early. And it's Saturday. We should both be sleeping. I feel bad about waking him up, but it's the only appointment I could get on such short notice.
Pax shifts on the hide-a-bed sofa and throws his forearm over his eyes to guard against the assault of overhead light.
"Sorry, dude. Get your ass up. We've got places to go and people to see."
He doesn't move his arm, but speaks sleepily from beneath it. "What time is it, Gus?"
"It's six-fifteen. Like I already said, my deepest apologies, but we have to leave soon. Go scrub the stink off and meet me upstairs in twenty."
He peels back his arm, his eyes only slits. "Where are we going?"
"Top secret." It's not. We're going to the optometrist, but I'll let him in on that when he's fully awake.
We make the appointment with a few minutes to spare.
Pax is confused when we pull up and I get out. "Why are we here?"
"You ever had your eyes checked?"
He shakes his head.
"Well, there's a first time for everything. Vamanos, muchacho."
Pax fills out the forms and in minutes he's back with the doctor. I chat up the elderly woman sitting next to me while I wait. She's waiting on her husband who's in to have his cataracts checked out. She's probably in her eighties, super cool lady with stark white hair. By the time Pax comes out, I know how many kids, grandkids, and great grandkids she has—and I've seen photos of most of them. I also know she was born in Maine, but moved to San Diego forty years ago when her husband's job relocated them. She has a Pomeranian named Bitsy. And she smells like baby powder. I like her. Pax is hanging his head as he trudges over to me.
"What's the verdict?"
"He said I need glasses."
Hell yes you do, I think. I've watched him squint for days now. "Sweet. Let's do this."
We sit down at a table with an adorable, peppy optician named Brandy. When she asks Pax if he wants glasses or contacts, he looks at me.
I shrug. "What do you want, Pax? This is all you."
He shrugs. "I don't like touching around my eyes. I don't think I could put contacts in, but I don't want to look like a dork in glasses, either."
I laugh. "Dork? You're a good-looking dude. You could totally pull off glasses." Glancing at Brandy, I add, "See, she's wearing glasses and rockin' the hell out of them." I add a wink for good measure. Brandy smiles and blushes at the compliment.