The sun turned the sky honey-gold as I cycled across the streets . I had left work early ,left the rest to Samantha. It was near sunset and the houses, drenched in golden sunlight, looked politically dreamy. Zelda script burning a hole through my bag ,I picked pace as I biked the rest of the journey.
But I wasn't headed home...
Cameron's house: peeling blue farmhouse which was visible from the window of my room. I entered the premises of the outside porch and hastily settled my bike at the edge of the white fence. Then, trudging on freshly-watered green grass ,I stepped on the porch and leaned against the beige warm arm chairs while ringing the old fashioned bell.
I looked around .The furniture was different and there was an open comic book on the clean coffee table in the porch. And cushions were scrambled on the hanging swing chair. Someone had just recently got up from it, wondering if this property and its people would ever become owners of stoned hearts as mine became. I hoped they wouldn't.
I sprang back to reality as I heard footsteps behind the closed door and my heart did a little leap in my chest; felt different but familiar.
The door swung open.
Cameron Hart and all his sleep rumpled glory, blue eyes too bright in the dying sun, leaned against the frame. His curls were a mess ,cheeks flushed as if he slept too long and grin 50% menace, 50% mischief.
"Dale , to what do I owe the ---"
"My guitar," I interrupted, arms folded ,face unapologetically relaxed.
"What?" Cameron questioned. "You owe me my guitar ,also you're an asshole, I know Martin snuck out last night with my guitar,"
"I'm your backup asshole" Cam corrected ,"also I didn't know Martin took it,"
"Stop pretending .You know as well as I do that he can climb trees" I said with a smile
"I seriously didn't know he took it last night. I was too busy sleeping to notice,"he said stepping aside so I could step inside.
"Amazing excuse," I said.
"I'll go get it ,the guitar" Cam said softly as he ran upstairs to get the holy grail. I stood there observing my surroundings. The table had the same blue tablecloth with the fruit basket, with a portrait of cam and his mom hung over it.
Melanie walked out from the kitchen apron on, a mixture of brunette and blonde hair tousled in the loose bun.
"Hey how you doin'? Want one?" Melanie said as she came over and handed me a warm muffin.
"Thanks, life's great, I think so"
"Well, I'll pray it gets better,"
Another warm feeling of the swept over me as she smiled her great ,dimply smiles that could get you warm and fuzzy.
"I'll remember to thank you," I said.
She smiled again. Cameron ran down the stairs ,almost crashing into Melanie.
"Geez mom ,save some for me. She knows these are too good," Cameron retorted.
"The last time I remember is you having a stone stuck up your throat because you ate it," I remarked smiling my own soft smile.
"I was eight and it came perfectly out," he retorted.
"Then you never tried to complete a dare again," I said, teasingly.
"Haha ,very funny" Cam said "Also Mom ,stop giving us grandma stares,"
"So I can't even love my two favorite children?" She demanded, dramatic.
Jeez, I don't know how to take compliments. So I smiled my widest smile. Cam looked at me with an amused, warm expression. Then smiled, dimples washed by gold hues of sunlight --- the only thing he inherited from his mom --- and took my arm and led me outside.
I led the way through the vineyard, the dying sun painting my shoulders in liquid gold. Behind me, Cameron cradled the guitar like a newborn, his gaze tracing my spine—making my head spin slightly, it was intimidating.
"Y'know, I'm still waiting." he said
"For what?" I asked
"Your existential crisis." Cam replied.
"So I'm guessing Zelda told you too..." I said, expectantly.
"She thought I might be good in persuading you .I come in pretty handy when it's stuff like that, as you'd know in your 18 yr experience with this hot, sassy guy,"
I laughed but didn't turn. "One thing you haven't learned in 18 years with me is that I don't advertise my life problems. And as you'd hopefully know, the problematic couple I live with is too busy ruining my life to listen to my crises. So I've gotten real good at not being vulnerable when I don't wanna be."
"There it is. Just needed a spark." Cameron replied softly as he looked at me with a different gaze
"What is?"I asked , befuddled .
"The crisis. Also—don't let the spark be a weakness." He lobbed a grape at my head."And chill. Seriously, the mentally unstable couple you live with can't be that loud, can they…?"
I finally glanced back, squinting my eyes and exploring eyes that gazed steadily into mine "Would you adopt me if I said they were?"
"Nah. You're too much drama."
"Easy for you to say."
Another grape. This one I caught, crushing it between my fingers. The juice ran down my wrist.
We collapsed under the gnarled oak at the vineyard's edge—the one we'd claimed at twelve, its bark carved with our initials inside a lopsided heart. Cam fumbled with the guitar, plucking strings at random. The noise was deliberately awful.
"Y'know, you're worse than Martin playing. And I though he was the hopeless case."
"I'm an artist, Dale. This is art" He strummed a chord that sounded like a dying tractor. "Also, you're avoiding the spark."
"I'm avoiding you." I replied.
LIar. I was trying to avoid the script in my bag, the one that felt like both a life boat and a bomb.
Cam's fingers stilled. "Zelda thinks you'll run."
A beat. The vineyard held its breath.
"Zelda talks too much." I replied reluctantly.
"Nah. Just cares too much."He leaned in, his knee pressing against the guitar. "Like me."
The air thickened
Cam's hand brushed mine as he passed the guitar. "Play something."
"It's out of tune." I said.
"So are you."
I exhaled sharply through my nose—half-laugh, half-surrender—and let my fingers find the frets. The melody was halting, bruised , but unmistakably hated by my mom: Landslide.
Cam watched me like he was memorizing me, the way my throat moved when I swallowed a sob before it could escape.
"You're gonna go."
Not a question. A fact.
My voice was rough as the bark at my back: "What if I'm not good enough?"
Cam plucked the guitar from my hands and set it aside. His palm cradled my hand, calloused and sure. "Then you'll be bad loudly. And I'll be here. Laughing at you."
I laughed and shoved him. He caught my wrist, pulling me close,
My heart skipped a beat.
"But you won't be bad," he said .
"You don't know that."I replied hastily.
"I know you ,"
And there it was--the spark, the crisis, the terrible, wonderful truth of it all— closure balanced between us like a secret, too fragile to speak aloud .
Bennett, the horse chose that moment to tromp through the bushes, his mouth dripping grape juice onto Cam's shoe.
"Christ, Worst wingman ever."
I let myself laugh, different and startled, and for the first time in months, the future didn't feel like a freefall—just a song waiting to be learned.