Boys with Cars

Boys with Cars

by Pamela Swyers

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Boys with Cars

Copyright 2009 by Pamela Swyers

www.pamelaswyers.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Published by Swyers Publishing at Smashwords

December 2009

Smashwords Edition

This book is available in print.

ISBN (for paperback edition only): 978-0-9843113-0-9

This book is dedicated to an old friend Vicky Sherer Price; May you have peace and freedom from pain.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not bere-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

What others are saying about Boys with Cars

It was great. And yes, I did cry. – Jennie Cook

I started on it yesterday and am half way through!! I am Lovin it!!!!! – Tina Althoff

ok so I just finished reading this book called Boys with Cars by this woman named Pamela Swyers. All I have to say is if you have not read it you should it is really good. Yes it made me cry at the end, but it was a very good book! Love you Pam! – Peggy Karnowski

Loved the book! It was great seeing your personality and words coming from the pages. – Renee Searcy

Prologue

I banged my knee pretty hard when I fell. The pain was nothing compared to what I felt inside. I sat in the puddle of water; water that came from the glass I dropped moments before. I made fists and shoved them into my thighs harder and harder; anything to ease the pain in my chest. A guttural cry came through clenched teeth. It was the cry of a wounded animal. It was the sound of heartache, loss; of ripping metal. Tears flowed freely now. I tried to get my breath but couldn’t. I tried to stand, but fell back onto the floor and collapsed again.

How could this have happened? She’d been like a sister to me for over fifteen years. This just wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be true. She was gone.

CHAPTER ONE

It was 1987 and Ronnie and I were thirteen and ditching school. It was rainy out, miserable. Our hair was soaked, our clothes soaked, and I had my arm around my best friend in the world, Veronica Stanford, or Ronnie. Earlier that morning, her mother had left in a beaten up old Volkswagen bug, screaming out the window at Ronnie and her dad, Sam, I’ll never come back, so don’t wait up. I have better things to do with my life. Ronnie’s mom was addicted to pain killers, every kind of alcohol and sex with other men.

When I saw Ronnie’s face that morning in the cafeteria, I knew there was something horribly wrong. We had a sub in our first-hour class, so we slipped out the back door and started walking. At first, she said nothing. Then I heard the little sounds of breath catching and looked over to find her crying. We sat down on a sidewalk in the rain and she told me the story.

Ronnie had told me a little about her parents’ backgrounds. I’d heard how they’d met. I had known Mrs. Claire Stanford, Ronnie’s mom, for a few years and knew her well enough to know the woman had serious life issues. Sam, her dad, was affable and kind if a little aloof, and completely unprepared for the direction his life took.

I held onto Ronnie as she cried and cried, rubbing her shoulder, promising everything was going to be alright. I really didn’t know that to be true, but tried to bring comfort to my friend. Rain continued to fall.

Sam Stanford had become a wealthy but increasingly absent father: wealthy by Norman, Oklahoma standards. He’d been left a load of family oil money, and after several of his young adult years wasted partying and chasing women, he decided eventually to go to college, where he met the free-spirited Claire Simons. They played their games and chased each other a while, then decided to move in together. Sam had the coolest apartment of all his buddies, well stocked with guitars, love beads, lava lamps and eight-track tapes. Good-looking and with a James Dean attitude, he attracted women pretty easily.

With Claire it had been different. He had settled down and focused on her and his studies. She became his world. Her drug use began not long after they moved in together. Sam had dabbled in smoking pot at parties, but never got into hard-core drug use, afraid of what it might lead to, even when many of his friends were hitting the scene hard.

By 1973, Claire was pregnant. Veronica (or Ronnie as she was soon after dubbed) came along in January of 1974. Claire was completely unprepared for motherhood. Even though she had stopped doing drugs during her pregnancy, the demands of a baby were soon too much for her and she began to hire babysitters and go out at night, falling quickly back into the drug scene.

From what I had heard of Ronnie’s childhood, Claire never bonded with her daughter. Ronnie had worshipped her dad and longed for her mom.

Over the years, the household had become more and more dysfunctional as Claire continued to party, drink, do drugs and disappear for days at a time. Eventually, Sam found himself working longer and longer hours, probably feeling overwhelmed and under-prepared for the demands of single fatherhood. He was highly competent at the office, so it made sense he’d want to stay there. By the time Ronnie was thirteen years old, she prepared her own meals, washed her own laundry and had said goodbye to the latest in a string of nannies.

It was in Mrs. Zachary’s third-grade class that she and I first found each other. I was shy and kept to myself, she was in your face with everyone, always saying just what she thought, even when it got her in trouble.

There was a core of kindness in her that I was drawn to. She was forever taking up for those who were picked on and refused to be a part of any school cliques that would exclude or put down anyone else. On the first day of school that year, she alienated almost everyone, it seemed, but me. We sat next to each other in the classroom and soon found that we really liked each other. She pulled me out of my shell, always encouraging me to stand up for myself.

One afternoon on the playground a couple of taller, bigger girls started picking on me, pushing me away from the swings. Ronnie came over and shoved one of them face first into the dirt. She was taller then both of them and quite intimidating. The other one ran screaming to the teacher and Ronnie had to stay after school. She did her penance gladly.

She came to my house often after school, (Sam grew to love the arrangement as he knew my father and knew that Ronnie was probably better off at our house then she was at her own.) My father, Jake, began to treat her as one of his own.

My mother had passed away when I was only five, succumbing to a long battle with ovarian cancer. I understood what it was like to be a motherless child, which was probably another reason Ronnie and I clicked so well.

My name’s Adison Taylor. Where Ronnie is brunette, long and lean and graceful, I am blonde, short, petite and awkward: a true study in contrasts, standing next to each other. We complimented each other pretty well, being so opposite in our personalities as well as our physical selves. We soon became inseparable. So on the day her mom ran away for good, I held my friend. I let her cry. I reassured her that she was likely better off without that kind of mom in her life, but I understood that she was in pain.

After a few minutes we walked over toward the park in our families’ subdivision, and sat on the swings. The rain had eased a little, but we didn’t care about it, we let it come; it fit the mood. My home was on the same block as the school. We went back to my house and I let us in with my key, locked the doors behind us, then called my dad to confess that we had left school and why. He said he’d call the school and explain, and that I should keep the doors locked until he got home.

In the days following, Ronnie was withdrawn, touchier than normal. She got in trouble again at school; this time being sent to the principal’s office. A boy had pulled her hair and she’d punched him in the nose. Eventually the kids did learn not to mess with her. All through elementary school we clung to each other.

In middle school, we began to attract the attention of boys around the same time. At fifteen, we went on a double date together. By this time Ronnie spent more time at my house than her own, on a pretty regular basis.

My first love was a boy named Jeff Treasdale: tall, good-looking with brown, curly hair, Jeff was on the track team. Perhaps a little overly concerned with what his buddies thought of him, I thought, but cute and nice enough. His friend Nick Johnson came along to be Ronnie’s date. (Ronnie had earned herself a reputation for being, shall we say, prickly around guys.) She seemed very self-confident and mature for her age, which intimidated young men to no end. Also mostly she rebuffed any guy who looked at her. When Jeff asked Nick if he wanted to go out with us as Ronnie’s date, he was reluctant at first, but came around since he wanted a free meal and Jeff had agreed to pay. Plus Ronnie is very pretty. Nick was taller and bulkier then Jeff by about ten pounds, dark blonde and muscular.

That night, the guys showed up promptly at seven and loaded us into Jeff’s car, a slightly used beat-up looking Toyota of some sort. I’m not good with cars. I was just thrilled he had one.

We went to the local fried chicken joint (big spenders that they were) and ate greasy chicken, flirted, laughed and had a great time. I noticed that by the end of the night, Ronnie had thawed toward Nick a little, even going so far as to answer his questions. Jake, being the vigilant dad, was spotted following us. We didn’t let on that we saw him.

After the movie, juvenile and low budget as it turned out, we decided to walk to the local coffee shop. After feeling like adults by ordering and sharing an entire pot of coffee, we took Nick and Ronnie back to their places, then Jeff drove me home.

So, Jeff said at the end of the night, walking me to my door. We stood saying nothing for an awkward moment. I had fun tonight. Jeff grinned.

Um, I did too, I said, feeling like I wanted to stare into his hazel eyes, but feeling a little shy at the same time.

Well. Jeff didn’t know what to do or where to turn. Finally he reached down (being substantially taller than me- his near six-foot frame dwarfed me at almost five feet) and slowly nudged my nose with his. We both giggled. Nerves.

Then … he kissed me. It was glorious. My first kiss and the one all other kisses would be compared to, for all time. My knees went weak. My heart beat faster. I could feel my skin breaking out in a sweat even though it couldn’t have been more than fifty degrees outside. His lips were soft; his breath was good and warm. It was over so fast. I forgot everything I felt I had known about boys or relationships up to that moment (okay so that wasn’t a lot.)

So this was what all the fuss was about. Many of the other girls at school, especially the older ones, had been making out with their boyfriends in the hallways if they thought no-one was looking, in the parking lot, or whenever they found the chance. Frankly I never understood the attraction… until that kiss.

As I came inside I realized Jake was waiting up. Adi, he started up from the sofa.

Oh, hey, Dad. I know I must’ve looked different. I sure felt different. I immediately wondered if he could tell how worldly I had just become. I once again pretended I hadn’t seen him skulking in the bushes when we came out of the movies.

You okay, hon? he asked.

Sure, Dad. Just uh… gonna go finish some homework. I shuffled past and shot up the stairs, feeling my face turn bright red. Apparently Jake had beaten me back to the house. He had acted nonchalant.

Okay, g’night, he said.

The phone rang. I got it! I cried as I jumped on the phone, knocking the base off my nightstand. Hello?

Hey, it’s me Ronnie…

Oh.

Don’t sound so excited! I could hear the pout in Ronnie’s voice.

Sorry. I just thought maybe it was Jeff. I breathed out a sigh and plopped down on the bed, noting that I still had the comforter I had when I was eight. Pink and purple bubbles… good grief. Actually it couldn’t be Jeff. Even driving the way he does, he couldn’t be home yet.

You love him, I know you looooove him, Ronnie began singing at me.

I don’t love him! I said, feeling my breath catching, just talking about it. I could feel a huge smile spread across my face. Well, maybe just a tiny bit. I started laughing and rolling around on the bed. We were so fifteen.

Hey! What about Nick? You guys seemed to hit it off okay. I sat up and began to change clothes, fishing my nightshirt off the floor, trying unsuccessfully not to tangle the phone up in my clothing.

He was… okay. A little immature though. Did you hear him talking about his buddies getting toasted the other night?

Ronnie, you think all guys are immature. He’s cute! That wavy, dark blonde hair. He seemed okay… I trailed off.

I can’t believe he doesn’t have a car yet. I’m fifteen and I have a car, she said in a condescending manner.

Yeah, but most people don’t at your age… our age. Jeff just turned sixteen a month ago. He’s only had his car a couple weeks.

This conversation was making me wonder when or if Jake would ever spring for a car for me. What kind would I want? What kind could Dad afford? My thoughts were racing. Too much coffee, I decided.

Yeah. Boys, grumbled Ronnie.

Anyway, I’m gonna go to sleep now. Coming over in the morning? I asked.

Sure, I’ll be there. I’ll come make you and Jake breakfast, Ronnie said, then rang off. Ronnie loved cooking for Jake and me. She never had anyone to cook for at her house.

I lay there thinking about Jeff and that kiss for the longest time. It was 1990 and the song Free Fallin’ by Tom Petty was playing. I had just had my first kiss and I was on top of the world.

~~~~

CHAPTER TWO

Summer finally came that year, and the last day of school was upon us. Jeff Treasdale and I had been dating since that winter, and things were going pretty well. Jeff could seem a little distant at times, but I chalked that up to him being male and me having no experience with the species. Sometimes I did wonder if I felt more for him than he did for me.

My dad had gotten a promotion at work and came home excited. He was an accountant with a big firm in Oklahoma City, and we lived in Del City, about fifteen miles away. In this part of Oklahoma there wasn’t a lot of big industry; we had the Air Force Base nearby and most everyone who wasn’t military did the sorts of jobs you’d find in any small town America: doctors, nurses, accountants, mechanics, food service.

Tinker Air Force Base started out in the early 40’s as Douglas Aircraft Plant. The land had been donated to Douglas by the city (Oklahoma City) where the plant that manufactured aircraft, eventually became Tinker Air Force Base. The surrounding town that sprang up (Midwest City) was built by those returning from the war and soldiers on the base that couldn’t afford large