It took Taylor 30 minutes to calm herself down enough to make her tea. Right now, she needed answers, and the only answers she had were in that book. Taking a big swig of her tea, Taylor settled into the sheets of her mother's daybed and opened her Grandmother's diary.
I met him in the summer of '72. His coal black hair shone in the sun like an obsidian catching the light. His eyes were an enthralling shade of honey brown, and… well the motorcycle didn't hurt either. I understand that it's terribly cliche, but the revving of his engine was just the right pitch to rev up something inside of me. I have never been one to swoon over boys, even your grandfather, but something intangible, made him seem so alluring.
It was a warm day in Late May when he pulled into the Dustbowl. There was never much to do in Hilltop, Arizona. We certainly didn't have Netflix or any of the new-fangled technology you kids have these days. So, we had to find other ways to keep each other occupied. Us kids created our own spaces. If you rode from Hilltop down the Chiricahua mountains, past Mackey Canyon, there was a relatively flat expanse of land in the valley where Whitetail Creek had once created an Ox-bow when the waters were far better in this area. This circular slice of land highlighted by the now dry creek bed was the place to be. Some days it was a drive in, a make-shift roller rink, a drinking spot, a fight club, or a camping area. It was the place we needed it to be to get away from the adults.
On this night in particular, it was a dance floor. David Ward had a hot 1970 AMC hornet in Army Green, and my friend Betty, who was going steady with him at the time, had offered me a ride. We had been at the Dustbowl for a few hours and the sun was just starting to set when Mark rolled in. It didn't take long for him to be the center of attention. His bright blue Triumph motorcycle turned heads as he pulled up, the stranger from out of town.
From my spot by the bonfire, I could watch all the other girls start drooling and the boys tense up. Frankly, I couldn't blame them. Sweat trickled down his forearm accentuating his muscles and the veins in his hands. His button-down was buttoned dangerously low and his glistening pecs drew everyone's eyes to his deliciously amber skin. His eyes seemed to stare right through the fire into mine. The crowd paused waiting for his next move, "White Rabbit" still blaring on the record player. In one motion, the stranger put down his kickstand and swung off his bike.
"I was told this was a party" he said, a devilish smile forming across his lips.
Before anyone could respond, he reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a 6 pack of Pabst.
"I brought beer"
The tension immediately diffused as the boys started cheering and ran to grab a beer. A few of the girls started giggling and walked over to join the crowd. I'm not sure how much later, but after we were well into the night and a few too many glasses of Boone's Farm, Betty and I got to dancing around the fire. Simon & Garfunkel, the Bee Gees, the Kinks. We didn't care what was playing as long as we got our groove on. Blunts and cigs were passed around the fire filling the air with an intoxicating smoke. Even us ladies were allowed to draw a little smoke back then.
Perhaps I was high, perhaps I was wasted. I wish I had a reasonable excuse for the actions that would follow, but I don't. So, when a spin went wrong and I ended up in the arms of the new stranger, I wasn't quick to pull away. His caramel eyes reflected the fire and his toned chest pressed against me was a welcome relief from the cold of the desert night. Thinking of the cold sent a shiver down my back.
"Cold?" the stranger said, his hands grasping my shoulders.
Before I could push away, before I could fight my instincts to surrender, my back was pressed into that delicious chest of his. His breath tickled the nape of my neck as we swayed to the music. I was freefalling into him. I became numb to the world around me as an unfamiliar warmth pooled in my core. A quick turn of my head and those caramel eyes sucked me in. In a matter of minutes, I was inches away from this stranger, closer to any boy than I had ever been.
"Margie"
"Margie!"
The call came again more urgently this time. Betty stood a few feet away, gesturing at her watch. In a few more hours the sun would climb over the dusty mountains and peak into the bedroom windows of our small town. Bacon would be sizzling in the pan. Papa would be listening to the radio, his olive hands flipping through the latest mine surveys. Momma would be busy flitting around the house, busying herself with all manner of household tasks. And before I knew it I was being swept away by that army green hornet to the small streets of our misfortunate small mining town. Part of me should have known the trap I had walked into. Yet, when you feel like you're flying, you have no idea how hard you'll hit the ground.
Any old timer that tells you "it was love at first sight" is full of crap. I wasn't in love. I was entrapped, and at that moment I had no idea just how far I would go for those amber eyes.
"Excuse me!" her mother exclaimed.
Taylor slammed the diary closed as her mother entered the room.
"It is almost 1 in the morning. You have school. You have classwork. I should not have to come and tell you to turn off the lights."
"Mom, can I ask you a question?" Taylor said, tucking the diary under her pillow. Taylor readjusted herself, putting her body between the diary and her mom.
"No, and I don't even care what you're hiding. Just go to sleep. If I or your father catch you reading this late again, we'll take whatever it is. You're almost a young woman. You should know how to go to bed on time."
Before Taylor could respond, Mrs. Miller flicked off the lights and exited just as quickly as she had entered. Whatever secrets her Grandma had to tell, would need to wait until morning.