I walked out of the screen door expecting him to arrive at any second. The unusually warm air for a Florida winter immediately made me regret wearing a jacket. I rushed to find my muddy flip flops abandoned from a few nights ago somewhere on the walkway.

I slipped them on just in time for a black Ford F-150 4x4 with a tool box in the bed accompanied by a CV whip, just passed by the house, stopping just out of view from where I was standing.

As I walked towards the truck that I knew too well, my heart sank and I started to wonder if this was all a huge mistake. I opened the door without looking at him, and climbed into the passenger seat. At once the smell of so many memories hit me and made me want to cry right there.

No words were exchanged, not even a glance of acknowledgement. I looked around and noticed the middle compartment was down next to me, a sort of make-shift barrier between our bodies. It was filled with only a lighter which obviously could have been put elsewhere. But, he wanted something blocking us, I was sure of it.

As he pulled around the cul-de-sac and back to the main road, I tried to take in as much as I could. Everything was the way I remembered it; the sand on the floor, the various clothes thrown back behind the seats in the small space under the back window, the windows were down and the radio was on.

I finally got enough courage to look at him, bracing myself before I did so.

He was completely the same yet completely different from the last time I saw him six months previous. His hair was blonde, much longer than I remembered, it fell almost at his shoulders. He pulled it off well despite what everyone else said. A pukka shell necklace replaced the necklace I had given him before I had left. He wore a new red t-shirt accompanied by a new pair of dark denim jeans that certainly looked expensive. His focus on the road was intent, and he had only one hand on the wheel while the other was busy holding his cigarette out the window. Marlboro Lights, that was new.

I knew he felt my stare on him, but did not look at me in return. For some reason I felt the need to have a cigarette myself, and dug through my purse to find one. I found one Newport and a pack of Black and Milds; his favorite.

I pulled one out of the package and put it in the cup holder between us as some sort of offering. He had been watching me from the corner of his eye apparently, and he looked down at the cigar.

"I don't smoke those anymore," was all that he said. "Thank you, though."

"Well, take it anyway, I don't need it," I replied, sort of confused.

We went back to the continuous silence between us. The radio played happy country music as we turned onto the exit for the interstate. I tried to light my Newport but the wind was making it hopeless. I dropped my lighter and picked up his from the cup holder.

Lighting it finally, he honked the horn and waved at a friend I did not know of. For some reason I felt increasingly special that it was me the guy saw in the passenger seat, like I was part of his life again. The wind was blowing my hair as we flew down the interstate, saying nothing and watching each other from a peripheral point of view. There was so much to say, but I knew none of it would ever be said, at least not now.

Earlier that morning, I had begged for him to take me with him wherever he had needed to go. I just wanted to spend some time with him after I saw him three days earlier. I had two days left in Daytona, and I would hate myself for a long time if I didn't make some effort to see him.

Reluctantly, he finally agreed after a bit of arguing to take me to U-Pull It, a junkyard where you can get car parts for almost nothing. The only terms were that I could not complain and there would be no fighting. I did not care where we were going, and said okay.

After four or five songs had played, and he had angrily fumbled between a mix CD and the radio, we arrived at our destination. Not what I expected, the lot had been kind of organized and went on out of view behind a chain-linked fence.

He parked the truck and looked for his wallet in his pockets and then the side of the door. He rolled his window up and then I copied him.

"You coming?" He said while looking at me in the eyes.

"No, Ross, I came to just sit in here and wait for you while baking in the heat. Yes, I'm coming," I said and hopped down out of the truck. Instinctively, I pushed the lock down from the inside and shut the door with a bit of force. He reached in the toolbox to pull out a screw driver, grabbed a car part and started towards the yard.

We walked to the entrance side-by-side, occasionally bumping into each other and apologizing quickly. He told me to stand back as he talked to the guy behind a window and signed something before handing over some money. I caught sight of a sign on the wall that said 'You must be at least 16 years old to enter the yard'. I panicked for a moment before realizing that I was, in fact, 16.

He looked at me and began to walk into the yard, expecting me to follow behind him. The lack of words was starting to bother me. I walked behind him, keeping my distance and staring at his body from the back. He jingled a lot, which was also new. A key chain dangled from one of the loops on the right side of his jeans, there must have been a dozen or so keys attached.

His skinny frame was slightly sexy, standing at 6'0" with no butt but strong shoulders. He carried himself confidently, determined and with a purpose. His tanned and slightly red skin showed brightly in the hot sun and greatly contrasted my pale skin. In his right hand carried a headlight, even I could tell it was broken.
He was looking for something down each row of wrecked vehicles and walking briskly. There were a few others out in the junkyard and they stared at us, I knew they thought we were a couple. Amazing how wrong someone could be. Some stares from a pair of Mexicans were making me uncomfortable, but I just continued to study his movements.

I felt beautiful that day even though I was definitely not at my best. My blonde hair fell to the middle of my back, and was pretty much straight despite the strength of the wind. I wore my favorite jeans and a white tank top, studded with fake rhinestones along the neckline. My make-up was at a minimum but I felt natural.

All of a sudden he quickly turned left down a row and touched my arm to bring me in the same direction for I had not really been paying attention. His touch had surprised me and sent chills through my arm. I followed after him, still trying to absorb every little detail into my mind so I could remember it when the day was long gone.

"What are you looking for?" I eventually asked, feeling stupid for just trotting along behind him.

"This." he said while holding up the headlight. "A Ford Ranger, I'm going to take it off one that isn't broken."

"Oh," was all I could manage. Deciding I could not help him at the very least with this dilemma, I fidgeted with my cell phone and wondered why I had brought it.

"Can you hold this, please? I have nowhere to put it…" I asked, honestly wondering if he would actually take it from me.

"Yeah," he said and put it in his pocket. He found the truck he was looking for right afterwards, got out a screwdriver from the same pocket, and attempted to free the light. I stood there dumbly, watching him at work and in my head was trying to pinpoint what was so different about him. It wasn't the way he looked, it had something to do with his aura.

Realizing the headlight wasn't coming out, he went in search for another truck. A man had passed us by, and Ross had surprisingly greeted him, but the man said nothing.

"Fucking niggers, don't respect anything. Here I am trying to be nice." He muttered under his breath, but loud enough for me to hear.

Just then, my cell phone started ringing and I waited for him to hand it to me. Instead, he just stood back a bit, holding his hands out at his side meaning for me to get it myself. Hesitantly, I stuck my hand down his pocket and dug for my phone. After I retrieved it, he continued to look for another truck and I glanced at the caller ID; Katie.

"Hey," I answered. "What's up?"

"Nothing, the tanning place was closed. I guess I just have to go before we leave on Tuesday, otherwise I'll go whenever I come back in the spring or something. It just sucks though, I feel like I'm wasting my money. Oh well, what are you doing?"

I lowered my voice, "At a junkyard. This is weird, Katie. I wanted to see him but he's not saying anything at all. I mean, I kind of thought it was going to be that way, but still. It better not all be like this."

"Well, like I said, if you want to leave at any time just call me and we'll come get you." she responded.

"Thanks, we will see. I'll call you later."

"Okay, bye."

"Bye." I said, and closed the phone.

I caught up to Ross and slid my phone back in his pocket. He barely noticed and was deep in concentration.

After a few more trucks he had finally got what he was looking for. As we walked back to the entrance the pair of Mexicans whistled and said something loudly in Spanish. They laughed and started to walk several feet behind us. Ross noticed this and guided me to walk in front of him.

"Walk in front of me, and don't stop." He commanded, and moved his body to block me from view from the Mexicans.

I was touched by this completely. I could not believe he was doing something to protect me. Whether or not he still had feelings for me was unknown, but the fact that he was doing this had gotten me thinking.

We arrived at the place where he had signed in.

"Go to my truck," he said as he handed me the heavy mess of keys, "and lock the door. I'll be there in a few minutes." Then he left me standing there and walked onto a long line of people, all with their parts in-hand.

Without looking back, I started towards the parking lot. Looking down at the keys I noticed one keychain in particular. It was a silver square with a red stone on it next to the words Italia. He definitely was not Italian, I knew this for a fact. I could not help but wonder if M.E. had given it to him. Just the thought of this made me upset and I tried not to think about it as I opened my side of the truck.

The inside air was hot and stuffy, so I rolled my window down just a bit. Still afraid of the Mexicans coming to get me, I re-locked the door and waited. Partially bored and mostly curious, I found myself looking through his truck.

The cup holder on the floor had a prescription bottle in it upside-down. I read the side to find out that it was Hydro condone. Surprised to find him riding around with this in his truck, I realized it was actually prescribed for him. There was only one pill left, and the date read about two weeks earlier, but what would he need this for?

I set the bottle back where it was and continued on my search. The middle compartment was almost empty. In it was a red bandana, a neon green wristband that read Under, a McDonalds receipt, and a few useless papers.

Disappointed, I shut it and then went towards the glove compartment. The last time I had looked in here it was filled with red Durex condoms and KY Jelly. Sort of afraid of what I might have found, I carefully opened it. To my surprise, all that was stored in there was the owner's manual.

I closed the glove compartment and looked up to make sure he wasn't coming. If he had found me snooping through his stuff, I knew he would be furious. Next, I grabbed around behind the seats and through the pile of clothes. Oddly, my hand closed around something cold and hard. I yanked it into view and my eyes widened.

A clear bottle of Hynotiq mostly filled was hidden under some clothes but not well enough. I was furious at the fact that not only was he an extreme hypocrite, but that he put me at risk for being in huge trouble once again. If we got pulled over and the car was searched, I would have been completely screwed.

Just then, Ross had come into sight and I quickly stored the bottle back to where it came from. He put the headlight in the bed of his truck, returned the screwdriver to the toolbox, and went to open the door. I leaned across the seat to open the lock and he jumped in the driver's seat. I decided not to say anything about the alcohol, because then he would know I went through his stuff. I kept quiet and handed over the keys.

Without a word he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Country music began to play again, and for once in my life I deeply enjoyed the sound of it.