He drives a blue pick up truck. It's not a Ford or a Chevy; it's a Nissan, and its bright blue, like the color of a gem you'd wear on a necklace. It's a truck your brother would call gay, and your niece would call it a baby. He doesn't remember the time you drove it though, so when he starts to tell you what it looks like to describe his house, you remind him. And he still doesn't remember.
He doesn't remember calling you frantically that night at 3 in the morning and leaving you a long message about how he was scared and cold, and needed a ride, or the text message he sent you that read "HELP ME!!!." He sent it to you 4 times, before you called him back. By that time he had found a ride and was waiting for some anti-drunk driving service that was willing to drive him and his truck to his house for more than your weekly paycheck. You offered to go pick him up, so he'd stop complaining about the cold and so maybe you could get some sleep even if it wasn't in your own bed. You called him back on the way, so he could give you directions. He wasn't very helpful, but you mostly knew where you were going. He told you about his conversation with his other ride, the one he had to cancel. They had already started in his direction when he called, now they'd have to turn around, all because of you. He told them that he had a beautiful girl coming to pick him up instead, and they said "Lucky you," but weren't actually happy for him. He probably doesn't remember calling you beautiful. He probably didn't mean to do it, but it was pretty flattering at the time.
When you got there he was waiting in his truck, playing music you had never heard before, some jam band, so loud that the bass made you think your phone might be vibrating, but no one else would call you at this hour. He was parked in a shopping center, a dry cleaners and a sandwich shop that wouldn't open again for the next 5 hours. There was no one else around, and all the store fronts were dark without their neon lights. You understood why he was scared. He didn't want to leave his truck there overnight, his beloved truck, with more than your cars blue book value in stereo equipment. So you left your car there instead. Your little Volvo 240 would be safe, where he was not.
You drove him and his truck to his house, where you had been just once before, but you found your way with little help from him. The first time he called you and asked you to come over and snuggle was about a month after you met him. A month after you lied to him at a bar and told him your name was Eden, because you were 19, and that is what your fake ID said. You let him call you Eden for over a week before you told him you had lied. It seemed so sketchy; you're still surprised he talked to you after that. You're still saved in his phone as Ed, but he knows that's not your name.
He was the first boy you ever kissed who owned a house. It was small and quaint, blue with darker blue shutters. His living room then had just a couch and a TV, now it has another love seat and a chair, a fish tank in the corner. He has two goldfish, but they don't have names.
When you got to his house this second time he wanted to listen to more Wide Spread Panic. You went with him to his bedroom and got in bed. You took off your jeans but kept on everything else. You got under his clean white sheets, under his thick fleece blanket. It was five in the morning. He told you what it was like to trip on acid, something you had never wondered about before then. He told you how all his senses were heightened and when you started to run your fingers up and down his chest you thought he might explode with pleasure, but he didn't. He just told you not to stop. So you let your hand wander aimlessly over his body. It was the least sexual touching you've ever done to a naked man. He's still the smoothest boy you've ever known.He was so happy you were there. He told you so many times. Every night you were there, all three of them, it was like he had been alone his whole life, like he hadn't touched a woman in years. He seemed so happy to have you there that second night, it made you wonder why you never went back, not for a whole year. He must have forgotten how good you felt between his sheets, just like he forgot calling you beautiful, and forgot you driving his truck.
You've seen him a few times in between but you never talked when you ran into each other at a bar. He was with a girl sometimes, so you let left him alone. So most of the time he just sent you a message when he was drunk, sometimes you would respond, and sometimes you wouldn't. And you feel like such a booty call, but you never sleep with him, even though you want to, and he wants to. But he never has a condom and you don't tell him that there is one in your purse, because you can't sleep with someone who only talks to you when he's been drinking. Who you only really see twice a year.And the last time you were there it was great. You had a bad night and a bottle of cheap wine and then he sent you a message: "Come over," so you did. And he told you what his truck looks like, and gave you directions to his house. The same house that you know just where is, and think of every time you pass his exit on your way to the airport.
You sat on the same couch and talked until he said he was tired. His house was cold in early fall because his heater was broken. He considered giving you a pair of his pajama pants when he noticed how cold you looked, but decided out loud that the less clothes you had on, the better. So you got in his bed and under the covers with him to get warm, without your jeans and without your sweater. You waited for him to get close, and your lips met his in a way that seemed so familiar, like you could have been lovers for years. He told you he loved it when you bit his lip, and he peeled more and more clothes off until you were both naked with nothing to do.
Because you can't sleep with him until he meets your dog. Not because you believe your dog is this wonderful judge of character, but because you have met his dogs. All three of them and you know all of their names. Charlie, Houser, and Trout. Houser was just a puppy that first time you were there, and now he's big, or at least as big as a Basset Hound gets. But he still thinks you have a Great Dane. If he ever came over to your house, he would meet your dog, he'd know you had some sort of pointer mix, but he won't. Because that would be him showing an interest in something other than your body, your face, your lips, and if he did that he might be worth sleeping with, but he won't. So you don't have to worry.