I need to see her again. I come back the next day and then the next. I drive past that spot several times a day, always hoping to see my flower child again. I start to wonder if I imagined the entire thing. I used to hallucinate when I was high. Can the mind dream up shit without drugs?
But then, one day, I find Pixie sitting in the grass, and I enjoy another fix. She asks about the scary face on my vest while sitting behind where I’ve plopped my ass. Pixie braids my shoulder-length hair while telling me how her mama is the most beautiful woman in the world, and her little brother is the most beautiful boy, and her sister is the most beautiful girl, and her papa was the most beautiful man.
“But he died,” she says, sitting next to me and taking my hand. “You are such a big man. How come you got so large? Did you eat magic beans?”
“My dad was big.”
“My papa was a normal-sized man,” she says and touches her chest. “The bullet killed his heart.”
That’s when I let myself touch her. Pixie stares up at the sunny sky as tears fill her big brown eyes. I take her thin hand in mine and try to comfort her.
“I’m sorry about your papa,” I say, feeling dumb. I’ve never been any good at getting close to anyone. The people who should have loved me didn’t. That’s why being here with Pixie is a mistake. Well, that, and if Bronco or the club guys find out, they’ll kick my ass. Despite knowing better, I can’t leave her.
“I’m sorry you have sad eyes,” she says and rests my hand on her chest. “You’re special, Anders. You are a ray of sunshine in a world of darkness. You are sad because the story this time is filled with pain. Not every version includes so much sadness. I’m sorry this one does.”
Pixie explains how she wasn’t always a member of the Volkshalberd. Before her papa died, she lived in something called the Dandelion Collective.
“We are all weeds,” she says while digging her toes into the dirt. “Alone, we are a nuisance. Together, we are a garden.”
I don’t really understand that part, but she goes on to say how her other cult believed in alternative universes.
“In every version of this world, our stories are written a little different. Each choice changes our path. In this world, you are filled with sadness. In another world, your heart is filled with joy.”
“But how does knowing that help me in this world?”
“You get to live all the lives, Anders,” she says and rests on her back. “You live forever. My papa lives in another world now.”
“How did your papa die?”
“A government man in black with a mask and the letters ‘ATF’ on his jacket shot Papa for holding an artichoke.”
“Why?”
Pixie stretches her long, lean legs and stares up at me. I’ve quickly learned how she doesn’t answer questions that bother her.
“I’m sorry he died,” I say, terrible at picking the right words.
Pixie takes my hand and studies my fingers. I’m entranced by her calm demeanor, yet freaked out by how she doesn’t fear me. We’re alone in an isolated area. I’m a huge guy, and she’s scrawny as fuck. I could rape and murder her without a single concern about getting caught. Pixie ought to be wary of me, but she relaxes in the warm afternoon and touches me without fear.
Though we don’t talk much more that day, I still hate leaving her. We only separate when she hears a horn in the distance. Again, she looks back and waves before disappearing into the woods. I wish I asked Pixie when she would be back.
But I didn’t, so I drive by that road three times a day for a week before we’re together again. This time, I bring her a treat. She braids my hair and tells me that I’m beautiful and special. She hugs me from behind and insists I’m a ray of sunshine. Then she eats the orange and asks me what I did at sunset the night before. Once I start telling her about the movie I watched, she’s riveted.
That becomes our new routine. I ask her to try to meet me every day. Sometimes, she shows. Other times, she can’t.
“I missed you,” Pixie announces when she sees me. “You’re so beautiful.”
I’m not a fool. There are times when I wonder if she only says those things to con me into bringing her stuff. So, I test her. After arriving, I don’t show her the treat, but she still says I’m a ray of sunshine and braids my hair.
Yet, I’m afraid she’s messing with me. Or, despite her hugs and praise, she’ll never feel what I do. After only a few visits, I’m obsessed with Pixie. I can’t think of much else.
My feelings aren’t sexual, really. Pixie is beautiful. Her dark brown eyes shine when she’s happy. And her lips are made for smiling. Pixie is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
But that’s not why I’m obsessed. Pretty women are a dime a dozen at the clubhouse. I never trust them. Even though the club bunnies in Elko are nice to me, I suspect they’re faking it. I’ve never been smart about women. I’m probably stupid by trusting Pixie too.
I need to stop visiting her. The Volkshalberd are weird and possibly dangerous. Plus, they’re giving my club trouble.
Bronco welcomed me into his community. He gave me a chance at a new life. He would be pissed to know about Pixie. I should stop coming here.
But once she’s out of my sight, I need to see her again. No other woman interests me. I can’t be with the bunnies. Only Pixie matters.
When
