Page 22 of Saddle Studs
Shit, was he angry? Had I miscalculated his nostalgia for places we used to hang out at? Did I make a mistake?
“Uh… yeah. Sorry?”.
9
SAM
Benny’s truckrolled to a stop in a very familiar spot. I hadn’t even been paying attention to where Benny had been taking us. I’d been so wrapped up in telling him what happened that I completely missed the dirt roads leading us directly to one of our old haunts.
“No way, you brought us here?” I asked with surprise, looking out the window at the shaded trail cutting through a copse of cottonwood trees. A streak of red paint on one of the trees marked the entrance to Bennam Creek—the only combination of our names that sounded good. It was the most creative energy two fourteen-year-old boys could muster when they stumbled upon their own private little oasis.
“Uh… yeah. Sorry?”
I chuckled, unbuckled my seatbelt, and threw open the door. “Sorry about what? This is perfect.”
“Oh good,” he said, sounding relieved.
I stepped out into the warm air and sucked in a deep breath, filling my lungs. It smelled like wet grass and cedar and bushels of wildflowers. It smelled like the past.
“I haven’t been back here since you left,” Benny confessed. He stood at my side. The path trailed forward, curving into the trees and disappearing from sight.
Damn. He hadn’t been back since then? Benny used to love spending time here. I enjoyed it, and maybe even enjoyed it more because of how much Benny loved it, but I wasn’t as much of an outdoorsman as Benny was. After a while, the buzzing bugs and lack of a proper bathroom usually got to me.
“What if the creek’s dried up or something?” Benny asked.
“It’d better not be. I was hoping I could take a dip. Clean up after the sweaty morning.”
Benny shot me a look before he started walking forward. “Did you bring a bathing suit?”
“No, but I brought my birthday suit.”
Benny nearly tripped on… well, nothing. I glanced down to see that there wasn’t a single rock, twig, or hole near his foot. I grinned and sped up so I could match Benny’s pace. I was exhausted from the week but was finding a second wind hanging out with Benny. The trail snaked toward the left and opened up, sunlight transforming the dirt trail into a gold-speckled road.
“So, you were going to ask me something,” I said. “Before I stole the show with my career failures.”
“Not failures, Sam, just road bumps.”
“More like road closures, but sure.” I chuckled and winked to reassure him that this was all in self-deprecating fun. Talking to Benny on the drive here helped alleviate a lot of the bullshit that had been weighing me down, not just from the email, but from the entire situation. I needed to vocalize how wild it all was, and how I could still turn things around after a few months to reset. I didn’t kill anyone, I didn’t steal anything, I didn’t punch someone’s fragile old grandma. I did deserve a second chance. I’d probably have to eat shit on the way back up to the top, butthat was fine, so long as there was a chance for me to get over this mess.
“I don’t even remember my question,” Benny said. He sported a dark shadow of scruff around his jaw, a golden chain shining around his tan neck.
“You were going to ask me if I was… something?”
Benny chewed his bottom lip. “Oh yeah, now I remember.”
“And?” I asked as we continued down the trail. We were getting close to the creek. I could already hear the lazy babbling of the tranquil water.
“It was nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“Really? Because with how red you’re getting, I don’t think it was nothing.”
“I’m not getting red.”He wasn’t.“Ugh, fine.” Before he could ask his question, we turned another corner and found ourselves at the famous and hidden Bennam Creek. It was narrow, barely ten feet across, but it curved in a soft horseshoe bend where the water pooled even deeper—about waist high around that part, from what I remembered. The current was lazy and silver in the late afternoon light, sprinkled with the fluttering wings of dozens of dragonflies.
Just before the creek was a fallen tree that leaned partway into the water. It was covered in thick green moss and had a spot that appeared to be carved out to make the perfect bench. It’s where Benny and I sat for hours on end, talking shit and fishing. One weekend, later in high school, I’d gotten us a little baggy of weed that we took out here and smoked together.
“Just like old times,” Benny said, moving toward the fallen tree. I followed him. He sat on the cut-out groove, his feet still touching the ground. I remember when we’d first found this spot, when our feet dangled above the dirt.
“Your question?” I asked, now way more intrigued with whatever was on Benny’s mind. He wasn’t getting off my hook that easily.
