The sound of the motorcycle wakes me up. I feel the breeze against my head and face and know I’m riding back home.
The problem is that the world keeps spinning sideways and doing a tilt-a-whirl around my head.
“Don’t let go of me, or you’ll seriously die!”
I tuck my arms and hands back into something both soft and hard. I’m dizzy and wondering if I’m standing with my arms wrapped around someone. But then I realize that no—I’m on my bike—I assume it’s my bike—it better be my bike—with my arms around someone.
“I swear if you’re faking this just to be able to grab me all over, you’re seriously going to get your butt kicked on Monday.”
“Joss—” I say, but the wind swallows the word before it makes a sound.
Strands of thick curly hair whip against my face and forehead.
It’s not Joss. It’s Lily.
But of course, it’s another dream. Like those I used to have of Jocelyn.
“We’re almost home, kid,” she tells me like a parent. “Come on—hang on tight.”
Even though this is a dream, she feels real. She even smells real. She smells like—flowers.
Of course she does. And when you get to her house she’ll have a bed of roses waiting for you.
I see streetlamps and lights and realize that we’re downtown in Solitary.
“Why are we here?”
“You told me to get you downtown. That you forgot how to get home.”
“I don’t want to go home.”
The voice in front of me laughs. “Yeah, well, you’re not coming home with me. That’s for sure.”
“I know of a barn somewhere.”
Another thought suddenly pops into my delirious head.
How’d I get this way?
I didn’t have that much to drink. I know it. I know it for a fact.
“What happened?” I say with a major slur.
A silver sports car comes out of nowhere. It looks expensive and snazzy, and I see Harris behind the wheel. He asks Lily something, and she answers, but my head can’t keep up.
“Okay, think you can tell me how to get home from here?”
She says this with her head half turned. I see the profile of her face, the full pouty lips and the narrow cheekbones.
“You’re beautiful,” I say.
She laugh. “You sure don’t get out much, do you, Chris Buckley?”
My head hurts. “I would if I could.”
“That so?”
“Yes. Drive anywhere you want.”
She nods. “That’s nice, but you, my boy, need to get some rest. Maybe another time. So tell me. Where do I go from here?”
I look around and then mumble directions to my house. I hear the sports car following us.
This was definitely not how this night was supposed to go.