It was one of those old, tacky vans with the wood paneling
on the sides. The light turquoise paint was mostly chipped off and it only had
one wheel. Vines crept up the sides, mixing metal with vibrant green nature.
Putting it plainly, the car was a wreck.
So of course it was exactly where Jamie would be.
The front door on the right side of the van was missing.
Cautiously, I peered inside. She had really out done herself with this one. All
of the seats had been removed and red gauzy clothe hung from the ceiling, beads
and beanbags scattered all over the stained floor. It felt warm.
Jamie herself was curled in a ball on one of the beanbags,
which was piled high with blankets and pillows of all shapes and sizes.
“Jamie?” I said softly, stepping into the van. I had to stoop not to hit my
head on the low ceiling.
“Go away, Ian,” she sniffed, burrowing deeper into her
fortress of blankets.
I walked closer and sat down next to her on the floor. “You
have to go back and talk to your mom, Jamie.”
“No.”
“Hey, no pouting,” I said, poking her arm.
“I’m not pouting,” she said, turning her head to face me.
Her eyes looked red and watery, and dried tear tracks made two vertical lines
down her face.
“Look, just go back and talk to her, she only wants to-“
“Why can’t she just talk to me herself? Why do you always
have to come here for her?” Jamie blurted out.
“Because she doesn’t know how to find you,” I said, giving
her my best cheeky grin.
Her eyes softened just a little. “I’ll go back and talk to
her in a little bit,” she said, “I just need some time.”
“Okay,” I said, resting my head against the side of the
beanbag. We sat there like that for a long time, just her and me and our own
thoughts, until the sky turned orange and then purple and then black, and then
it was just us and the stars.
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