Non-Starter

“It’s easier to breathe in the woods,” Iris said. Fireflies ambled lazily as the breeze wove between the trees, whisking tall grass against her Converse high-tops.

Harry trailed after her. He wiped his forehead, skewing his hair skyward. “When you suggested going for a walk, a hike was not what I had in mind.”

“C’mon Harrison, I doubt you’d rather be crushing Capri Suns and eating superstore pizza at the party,” Iris called to her longtime partner-in-crime. She swung her ponytail over her shoulder. “We needed the space.”

His fingers itched to touch that ponytail. He’d done it once, in fifth grade, in a streak of schoolboy malice. Her hair was as soft as dandelion fluff. She didn’t scream or fuss; she offered him a gummy worm. He’d been too shy to try again. She kept sharing her snacks.

Harry increased his pace only to collide with Iris’ backside, stopped dead in the center of the trail.

There was a car in the clearing, abandoned years ago— its roof covered in moss and hood littered with pine needles. Foxtails grew between the spokes of its rally wheels. The friends approached like they’d encountered a wild animal.

“Picture me pulling up to school in this.” Harry leaned against the driver’s door. The suspension groaned under his weight and the well-rusted chrome bumper scraped the forest floor.

“Shame I’ll miss that. I want to see it right now.” Iris tugged the door handle and it swung open. “Go on.”

Harry lowered himself on the cracked driver’s seat. There was a small mountain of rubble and detritus on the floor, but the Pontiac logo gleamed bright red in the center of the steering wheel. He wrapped his hands around it. Iris slammed the door and stepped back.

“Not bad. Cece’d never have turned you down for Prom if you’d asked her like this,” she teased.

Harry pressed a hand to his heart. “A low blow.” He tapped the passenger seat. “Get in here, you.”

The passenger door did not give with ease. A few hard jerks of the handle dislodged debris from a peeling ceiling panel, but eventually, Iris sat shotgun.

“I want it. It’s mine.” He turned to her; eyes lit from within.

“Okay, it’s yours if you can get it out of here.” She kicked the glovebox open, gagged at the smell, and shoved it shut again. “No keys that I can see.”

“I could care less. I’ll tow it out, fix this thing, and be the talk of the town for years.”

“Boys and their toys. Do you know anything about fixing cars?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

Iris patted his shoulder. “You’re a fast learner. I can see you now, king of Valley College. The first freshman to earn a scholarship on coolness alone.”

Harry grinned. “Maybe I’ll drive it across the state to the University and crank the radio outside your dorm. Real John Cusack stuff.”

“You’ll have to find me first.” She brushed some invisible dirt from her shoulder. “Starting tomorrow, I’ll be invited to all the best college parties. You might have to camp out for a week to catch me.”

“Unlikely. You just left a farewell party to go on a hike—excuse me, walk— in the woods because ‘we needed the space’ from people we’ve known since Kindergarten.” Harry quirked a brow. “I’ll try the library.”

Iris scowled. “You’re probably right. If I’m going to be someone, I need to hit the books.”

“You are someone,” Harry insisted.

“Not yet I’m not,” Iris said. “I want to mean something. To give something to the world. The trouble is, I don’t know what.”

“Sounds like world domination to me.”

Iris considered this. “That would be acceptable.”

They laughed. Iris slouched into the cradle of the leather seat, pitching her knees closer to Harry’s. Her skin felt electric, magnetized toward his.

“What about you? World domination isn’t on your agenda?” she asked.

Harry shook his head. “Not for me, nope. I’m putting down roots right here.”

“That doesn’t bother you? Getting stuck in the town you grew up in?”

He checked his reflection and adjusted the rearview mirror. “It’s not being stuck. There’s a lot to love here, plus room to grow. Just because I don’t want to run away doesn’t mean I’ll be less successful.”

“Just because I’m leaving doesn’t mean I’m running away,” Iris said, fiddling with the Pontiac’s radio. The red arrow oscillated across the frequencies. “I’m stretching my wings, testing my limits. Realizing my potential.”

“Agree to disagree, then. I can realize my potential without turning my back on everything in my past.”

“I do not agree to disagree.” She reached for the steering wheel and traced the seam around its circumference. “What if this is the last conversation we’re going to have? Is this the last time I see you?”

They stared at each other over the gear shift. Iris counted the freckles on Harry’s cheekbones. She hadn’t noticed them before.

“I don’t want to turn my back on you,” she said.

Harry dropped his gaze. “There’s always the internet. And my John Cusack plan, I guess.”

“Not good enough.” She pressed her thumb to the freckles, trying to bring them into relief with her touch.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Harry said under an unsteady breath.

“Wha—” Iris began. She didn’t get the word out before Harry pressed his lips to hers.

He paused for a moment. Iris relished his slight tremble as he threaded his fingers at the nape of her neck. She pressed harder, urging him to demolish whatever boundary they’d built. His muscles softened under her hands and he sighed. She slid the tip of her tongue across his lower lip, gleeful to find this boy tasted sweeter than any candy they’d shared.

“Damn it, Iris.” Harry pulled away, both hands gripping the steering wheel. Ten and two.

“You can’t be mad about kissing me. That was a perfectly adequate kiss.” Her cheeks were flushed.

“No, not about that.” He kneaded his forehead with his knuckles. “I’m mad that I’m kissing you now, when I should have been kissing you well before this. Why are we doing this?”

“Because—” The words crested in her head like water over a dam; surging after years of restraint. “Because there might not be another chance.”

“You could have given me some kind of sign before now.”

“We’re friends! It felt like destroying the natural order of things.”

“Because you’re leaving, and I’m staying? Iris, there are ways—” Harry kicked his foot against the brake, which collapsed to the floor in a whoosh of air. “You’re not going to the moon, and you know where I’m going to be.”

A crosswind whistled through the car’s suspension. Iris shivered, pulling her knees into her chest.

“You’ll be here, where you want to be,” Iris said. “But I don’t want to be here. And I won’t ask you to leave.”

“So that’s it, then,” Harry said.

Iris turned to the window. “I think I’ve made myself clear. It’s better to have had it for an instant than not. Now I can leave without any unfinished business.”

“Finished before it started.” Harry opened the door. “I’ll take you home.”

Iris picked at the leather seat while Harry waited at the passenger door with a crooked smile.

They walked through the woods, fingers intertwined until they had to let go.

***

“It’s easier to breathe in the woods,” Iris promised herself, though the passing of twenty-five years made it harder than she remembered. Sweat poured between her shoulder blades and pooled around her waist. The exertion felt good. She was purging her many, many failures with the salt of her body.

The familiar trail brought order to her thoughts’ unfamiliar tumult. She was home, but not for long. Just until she could work things out with her husband. Until she could find a job after years out of the workforce, even if that meant returning at entry level among the recent college graduates. It was good for her daughter to see the place that built her mother, when all she’d seen lately were the things that brought her down. Maybe her daughter would realize her mother was someone, once.

The Pontiac remained in the field; evidence that Iris meant something to someone, if only for an instant.

The car had changed. The body was smooth, like it’d been waxed sometime in the last year. There was plenty of overgrowth around the wheels, but no debris on the driver’s side floor and no rust in sight. Iris wondered if it would start.

“Get back!” a gruff voice sounded through the trees. Iris jumped, head on a swivel.

A man emerged from the trail in the opposite direction, hat pulled low over his features. As he drew closer, Iris clocked the freckles now entrenched in deep smile lines.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Harry said.

A familiar breeze shifted the dry grass and ignited a flare of hope in her heart.

“I thought you were one of the teenagers.” Harry removed his hat, furtively studying his old friend. “They keep trying to make the car a hangout spot.”

“You might be more understanding, having some experience in that area.” Iris peered around a crack in the windshield she didn’t remember. “How many local girls have you had back here?”

“Damn it, Iris, that’s a hell of a greeting.” He smiled.

“So, the roots served you well?” She leveled her gaze, fishing the remnants of her friend from the man in the woods. New sunspots, new facial hair. Same atrocious posture.

“They sure have: a family, my own business,” Harry said. “But you’re home. What brings you back?”

Iris shrugged. “Nothing to show but broken wings.”

“Ah, I feel like a fool, standing here gloating. But if there’s one thing I know about you: those wings aren’t broken. Bruised, maybe, but never broken.” He tapped the hood of the car. “I’m not eager to turn my back on history.”

He opened the passenger door for her. She checked the upholstery. It was just as she left it: their names intersecting like Scrabble tiles. Harrison. Iris.

“I applied for the title as soon as I found that,” he said. “Been fixing it up ever since, even though it’s still a non-starter.”

Iris smiled. “Some things never change.”