When We Collide by A. L. Jackson

couldn’t remember a time I’d left the house that
she hadn’t issued the same warning.
    I climbed into Blake’s truck, my feet dragging. The
cab smacked with the odor of dirt and sweat and hard work. The old,
beat-up truck roared when he turned the engine over.
    Grace’s house was only about five minutes away in a
neighborhood almost identical to ours. She waited on her parents’
porch with an excited smile on her face. Blake let the truck idle
as he hopped out and ran up to her, swung her around and hugged her
close, kissed her hard. I had to turn away from how intimate their
interaction seemed and stare down at my fingers, but I couldn’t
stop the smile from taking hold, glad my brother seemed so
happy.
    Climbing in on Blake’s side, Grace settled in the
small space between us. I moved as far away as I could and pressed
myself up against the door to give her room.
    She grinned at me as she put on her seatbelt.
    “Hey, Will. It’s great to see you.” She spoke in a
casual way, as if we’d been close friends all our lives, even
though we hadn’t talked since graduation. I liked that about her,
remembered how genuinely kind she’d always seemed.
    I smiled. “Good to see you, too. How’ve you
been?”
    For two beats, she turned her attention to where her
hand was clasped with Blake’s on her lap, then looked up at me with
a shy, satisfied smile. “Really good.”
    Blake drove to the outskirts of town and down a
stretch of what felt like an abandoned two-lane road lined with
towering evergreens. Streaks of bright orange light fanned in rays
to the heavens as the sun began its descent westward, giving way to
pinks and blues. The horizon blazed for one last moment before the
sun completely sank out of view. An easy silence fell over us as we
traveled, Grace’s head resting on Blake’s shoulder, my mind carried
away by thoughts of just how easy this was. How simple this life
could be. How right being here felt.
    Blake slowed and took a sharp right onto a barely
visible dirt road. The truck bounced along the path that had been
carved out by the slow turn of tires, the headlights illuminating
the grasses that grew tall straight down the middle and slapped
against the truck’s front fender. Spindly trees grew along both
sides of the road, full and green with the approaching summer.
Ahead the trees broke and opened up to a field. Flames from a
bonfire rose high at the center.
    We’d come here for years, no question the
generations before us had too, our own secluded spot hidden away
from parents and authority. It wasn’t lost on me that all of us in
the truck had outgrown the need to hide, but this was what we’d
always done, and I doubted any of us found the need to change that
now.
    Blake pulled his truck up close to the line of trees
on the left and threw it in park.
    A small group had gathered around the rising fire,
sitting on old fallen tree trunks that had been dragged in from the
forest bed years before.
    Tugging the door open, I jumped from the truck,
surprised by the rush of anticipation I felt with seeing my old
friends, with the thought of spending the night hanging out with my
brother.
    I was suddenly glad Blake had talked me into
this.
    I helped Blake haul the cooler of ice and beer from
the back of his truck. We laughed as Blake reminisced about one of
the many times we’d been here and the trouble we’d caused. We set
the cooler beside one of the old oak trunks that lay decaying
around the fire. Names and dates had been carved into the wood,
covering almost all of its exposed body. Grabbing a beer, I leaned
against the taller end of the log and traced a finger over the spot
where I’d whittled my initials when I was a freshman in high
school. I shook my head, chuckling at the ridiculous things we had
done when we were kids.
    Tonight’s crowd was small, just a few of my old
friends and some of the guys Blake hung out with now. Most of them
sat with a girl resting between their knees, smiles on