Picture Imperfect

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~*~ Prologue: Flat Tire ~*~

My parents never said they loved me.

To some people, this may seem to be something completely and utterly elementary, of little or no importance. You may think that perhaps they do tell me they love me all the time; I’m just an ungrateful teenager who doesn’t listen, or appreciate it. You may feel sorry for me. You may not care at all that someone in this world feels unloved. But that’s your call, not mine. I can’t dictate what you say or feel, truly and deeply. But I can tell you my story. Maybe then you’ll understand why I’m eighteen years old and sitting in an old maroon Chevrolet somewhere far from my home, with several thousand dollars stashed haphazardly in the glove compartment.

The two things seem so far off and unrelated; parental love and sitting like a zombie in a Chevy with money that doesn’t belong to me. But they are the two stories that bring my life together, the things that tie the string tight in the knot that is my complex life. It’s like trying to take newborn calves, calves with so little to look forward to, and associating them with the hamburger and side of fries you had for dinner. The things just seem so unrelated, yet the hamburger is what became of the baby cow. There was the beginning, and there was the end.

And thus you get me. So young, so much potential in life; nevertheless, there I was, sitting in a car with a large sum of cash, heading toward a dead end. Sometimes you wonder how such a sweet, young thing could end up butchered, on your plate for you to enjoy. And you can’t help wonder about the path that brought it there. It’s the kind of thing that makes your appetite disappear.

I often felt like I was that cow, with only one purpose in life: to be there for the enjoyment of others. I was there for people to gaze upon as a thing of wonder, something seen as just another perk of our materialistic society. And my parents were like the ranchers that produced the cows. All they cared about was producing a child that the world would look upon as perfect, so they could claim that I owed them everything I had, and everything I had become. Like getting the finest grade from the FDA. I was a piece of beef.

Down the long winding road of life, my vehicle had a flat tire. I couldn’t go anywhere until the broken wheel was fixed, and at the moment, the only one who could do the fixing was Donovan.

“We hit a nail.” A smooth baritone voice punctured the unhappy bubble of my thoughts. Now occupying the driver’s seat of the Chevrolet was a young man, whose blonde hair fell just above his cobalt eyes, in a casually elegant, sexy sort of way. Instinctively, he ran a dirty hand through it, and turned to face me. “Tire’s been punctured.”

On any other day, I would have laughed at my own metaphor, and how ironically it had become true. But now everything had become a horrible reality. We were alone in the world, and suddenly, the planet didn’t seem so small. The barren lands around me suddenly seemed so foreboding that it sent a chill down my spine, even though the sweltering ninety-degree weather and the sun showed us no mercy.

“Alice, you need to help me with the donut, so we can get moving again,” Donovan added, biting his lip, reaching over to touch me.

“Yeah, of course,” I said. The words rolled off my tongue without my consent. My own voice sounded slightly strangled; it tried to break free, to speak on its own. I felt Donovan’s sweaty hand give mine a quick squeeze before he opened his door and stepped out, offering a small, unconvincing smile.

It was about time I helped fix something in my life. I guess a tire was a good start. We could get the car going along down the road.

*

The sun’s hot golden rays beat down on my skin, and beads of sweat rolled down my forehead. It wasn’t as if the work that changing a flat tire involved was strenuous or backbreaking, but there was just something different about being hunched over next to Donovan. His face contorted in concentration as he picked various bolts out of my hand. He stuck the bolts between his lips before hastily using the wrench he grasped to tighten them onto the wheel.

His arm slid past mine, and I felt another pleasant chill run through my bloodstream as he set the wrench on the ground, finally seeming satisfied with the way the spare tire looked. Despite the layer of sweat that glazed his skin, and the slapdash style of his pale hair, I thought that he, at that moment, could not have been more perfect. Just as he had tightened the bolts onto the wheel, he had tightened his grip on me, and he was all that was keeping me from falling apart, forever stuck on the shoulder of the road, without a clue how about I would ever fix my problems. He was the mechanic in my life.

“Alice,” he whispered. His soft voice brought me slowly back into reality as I felt one of his hands slide around my waist. His other hand took mine, pulling me off the ground.

“I love you,” he said, pulling me close to him.

The words etched themselves in my brain, for the millionth time. So many times he had said those three simple words to me, and every time I heard them echo throughout my mind. I felt all my troubles fly away, like they were migrating south for the winter.

“I love you,” I responded, nearly choking on the words; my eyes were starting to tear up, and my head automatically fell to Donovan’s shoulder. The dam broke loose, letting the tears fall, only to be soaked up with the sweat that drenched his body. As I sobbed like a little girl, his hands caressed my cheek and brushed my grimy ebony hair from my face.

“Don, why are we here?”

Upon saying those words, I realized again that everything led back to my problems with my family and myself, above all. Slowly and agonizingly, a slideshow began in my head, playing back the events of the past year in my brain, ever so painfully. I saw everyone and everything that had been a part of my life so clearly; it was as if they were standing in front of me, with a scowl plastered on their careless faces. The precious few good memories left a bitter reminder of what I had caused. Cold thoughts were burning holes into my brain, and I had to force myself to believe that it was all a figment of my past, haunting my imagination. Everything was going to be all right, now.

However, clarity wasn’t something that always hit my tired brain. Amidst all the memories, I realized that I was still stuck in the here and the now; in the current moment, wrapped in Donovan’s arms, crying about the mess I had created and unfairly pulled him into. I felt like I was drowning in my own sorrow, and I was pulling my rescuer down with me, to the bottom of the cold, deep, dark ocean of secrets.

One thought was pronounced clearer in my mind, sticking out like a rose in a patch of weeds. I could recall the sweet aroma of honeydew in the air whenever I took a breath, and it captivated all five of my senses. The way the words sent chills up my spine; I felt weak, but in a good way.

“I love you, Alice,” his words echoed, over and over.

It was the first time anyone had ever told me that they loved me. In the eighteen years of my miserable life, I had only heard those words from one person. The impact they had on me was incredible; I realized how empty my life was before, and what necessities my life had been lacking.

It all started the summer I was seventeen; before those precious words had made an impact on me. When everything in my life seemed picture perfect, from a distance. Ratchet, Minnesota wasn’t such a bad place to be for Alice Detlef. At least to the rest of the world, my life was great. But they didn’t know the truth.

Did I even know the truth? Maybe it was time I confessed to myself what really happened. Maybe I should tell myself why I was really wrapped in the arms of Donovan Jakob, with so much money stashed in the glove box in his old Chevy. Yes, the truth was where I needed to start. It was the first step on my journey.