RJ's Arc

Chapter 5 of 7

RJ had barely slept. He sat outside on a low stool, a porcelain cup tipped on its side at his feet, dark coffee spreading across the dirt in a slow stain. The sky was just turning gray when he heard footsteps pounding up the path. Christopher came running, breath sharp, eyes wide. "Did you ever own a 1932 Model A Ford?" Christopher asked. He didn't slow down. "Answer me." RJ stood up slowly. "Mine was a '31. Red. I had it for six years." He stared at Christopher. "Why." "Come outside. Quick." Christopher turned and walked back the way he came. RJ followed him past the fence line. He stopped cold. Above the field, a cloud hung low in the pale sky, shaped exactly like a car. Hood, fenders, the curve of a running board. It drifted, holding its shape against the wind. RJ stared up. His throat tightened. Something he had loved, plain and stupid and his, was being shown back to him. He didn't know who was doing the showing. "It heard something," Christopher said quietly beside him. "Maybe not the song. But something of you got out." RJ kept looking up. He let himself, this once, believe it.