Page 119 of Heartstrings & Horseshoes

“Thanks, man. I always told myself it’d be the first thing I did when I turned eighteen. Thanks for coming with me,” I say sincerely. CJ’s one of a kind. Love him to death.

“Do you think she’ll like it?” CJ asks, driving us back into Swiftwater Valley.

“I mean, probably? She’s never had a strong opinion about tattoos, but I’ve never hidden the fact that I want them. Besides, me, you, and the tattoo artist are the only people on the planet who’ll ever know the meaning behind the tattoo.”

“You’re not going to tell her?” CJ asks, theatrics in full force, flailing his arm in my face.

“Eyes on the road! Fuck no. I’m not telling her. She doesn’t need to know.”

So what if I’m hopelessly in love with Delilah Tate.

So what if my best friend’s the love of my life, but she doesn’t know, and will never find out, because she doesn’t feel the same way. I refuse to jeopardize our friendship over my feelings.

“Alright, alright, loverboy. Cool your jets,” CJ admonishes.

I turn up the stereo and let Randy Travis do the talking the rest of the drive home.

I carefully peel the bandage off my pec, doing my best to follow the tattoo artist’s instructions. It stings when I wash it and pat it dry, but the ointment soothes the burn.

The full color sun bursts to life off my winter-paled skin. Rays pour from the sun on all sides towards my shoulder, sternum, and ribcage. The center of the sun is graced with the delicate face of a beautiful woman. The tattoo artist did a phenomenal job bringing Delilah’s perfection into ink-form in a subtle, minimalist way that doesn’t make it look like I have a photo realistic picture of my unrequited love tattooed over my heart.

The tattoo artist asked me why a sun? And since I don’t know the guy and may never see him again, I told him everything. Hours passed as needles punctured ink permanently beneath my skin. I told countless stories about Delilah. From the day I found her crying in the dirt, to the other day when she kissed my cheek and I nearly fainted.

Delilah, my Delilah doll, my fallen angel—is my sunshine. She’s the brightest part of every day, fills me with energy and purpose, and always lights my way through the darkest times.

I re-bandage my chest as a precaution. I can’t risk anyone bumping me or hugging me too hard and my shirt rubbing against the raw skin at the party tonight.

In a twist of cosmic fate, my dollface and I share a birthday, one year apart. Today as I turn eighteen, she turns seventeen. It breaks my heart I’ll be graduating in the spring, and she’ll be stuck for one more year. At least Izzy’s graduating too. maybe after she’s gone, the relentless bullying will stop, since it’s not Delilah they’re witch-hunting.

My parents agreed to host our annual joint birthday party in our rec room so long as there’s “no banging, boozing, or blazing.”

I love my dad so much. He’s everything a man and a father should be, and I hope to be just like him someday.

If I’m lucky to love someone as much as he loves my mom, I’ll have won in life. My heart jerks at the reminder that love will never be with Delilah.

The party’s in full swing, and as promised, there’s been no shenanigans. We didn’t invite a big group, just our best friends and they all respect my folks.

Quincy couldn’t come home from college, since she was just here for Christmas, but she called me earlier and wished me and Delilah a happy birthday.

“So what happens now, big guy?” a friend from wrestling asks.

“Got a job with the department of transportation. They’ll have me working as a traffic flagger on weekends until graduation. Hopefully I get promoted to highway maintenance,” I say, draining a glass of Mom’s famous lemonade.

“Dude, you’re the only person I know who’s excited to work for the DOT. Power to you, man. Should make decent money, though,” he says.

And he’s right. One of the main reasons I applied for the DOT was the pay structure. I’ve been saving money from odd jobs over the years, but if I want to get serious about ever buying the white house with the blue door by the library, I need to save some serious cash.

A tender hand touches the center of my back, and I melt, knowing it’s her.

“Here’s another lemonade, you drank that one so fast I turned right around and got us new ones.” Delilah giggles.

She’s so fucking pretty. Her white hair’s pulled into a half ponytail, with two pieces left out to frame her doll-like face. She’s wearing a cute dress she found at the consignment store over Christmas. It’s black and covered in tiny white and yellow flowers. It suits her perfectly.

I hope she didn’t notice I slipped cash in her wallet when we got home from shopping that day. She works so hard for her money, what little her mom doesn’t take, but she wouldn’t let me buy the dress for her. So, I “paid her back” on the down low.

“Thanks, dollface.” I give her an awkward side-hug and kiss the crown of her head.

“You’re welcome.” Her crystalline eyes twinkle up at me, and I look away quickly because I don’t want to get caught staring like I so often do.