Punch Buggy

I blink my eyes open, revealing my seven-year-old self. The radiant sun casts its warm rays upon my exposed back, gently heating my delicate skin. I am known as Rubie Mitchell, and I find myself positioned beside my dearest companion, Aaron Kautzer.

We are observing the passing vehicles, specifically searching for a Volkswagen Beetle. I manage to spot one before he does and exclaim, "Punch buggy, no punchbacks!" Consequently, I deliver a firm punch to his shoulder, precisely where he had received his flu vaccination.

He vocalizes his distress and prepares to retaliate with a punch, yet he appears to recollect the established guidelines.

"I'll get you back one day!"

He never did. I always got to it first.

We ran to my backyard, barely hearing my mother yell, "Come back inside in 30 minutes,"

We promptly proceed towards the trampoline equipped with safety nets to ensure our protection in the event of a fall. We refrained from returning indoors even after the passage of 30 minutes.

At present, I am eleven years old, positioned alongside an ice cream truck in the company of Aaron and my mother. I proceed to indicate the specific one I desire, namely the popsicle infused with the delightful flavor of coconut, as I possess a profound fondness for this particular taste. Conversely, Aaron opts for a strawberry ice cream cone. Subsequently, we proceed to consume our chosen treats on the patio of my residence, intermittently attended to by my mother who periodically ensures our well-being.

Aaron, instead of licking it, proceeds to take a substantial bite out of his frigid ice cream. In response, he emits a cry of agony as the intense cold rapidly ascends toward his cerebral region, inducing a state of panic within him. He instinctively grasps his head with the hand that holds the ice cream cone, seeking solace from the discomfort. After a brief period of time, he releases his head and exhales audibly, experiencing a sense of relief. However, as he endeavors to resume enjoying his ice cream by licking it, it unexpectedly slips off the cone and descends onto the patio bricks. He gazes at this unfortunate occurrence for a moment, subsequently displaying a disheartened expression.

"Aw, my ice cream," He looks extremely disappointed.

I gaze upon my personal popsicle and succumb to temptation, extending it towards him.

He looks at me, then my popsicle. A smile tugs at his lips. "Thanks, Rubie," He takes it from me and starts to devour it.

My insides churn with happiness.

I'm fifteen now. I'm rummaging through my backpack, searching for my phone.

"Aaron, have you seen my phone? I can't find it," I yell.

"Haven't seen it," He replies from the other room.

"Damn it," I survey the surroundings of the room, only to discover its placement atop the table. I proceed to strike my forehead with the palm of my hand and retrieve it, stumbling upon a communication from my significant other. A faint chuckle escapes my lips as I proceed to unveil the contents of the message. However, my amusement swiftly transforms into a mournful cry.

Aaron enters the room hastily, inquiring about the events that transpired. I am visibly distraught, as tears stream down my face, causing my makeup to smudge, and my eyes appear watery and unfocused. This level of emotional distress has not been experienced by me since the unfortunate demise of my beloved feline companion during my childhood at the age of nine.

"He broke up with me," I weep, as I rest my head on his chest. He gently strokes my hair and comforts me, guiding me towards the couch where he allows me to recline upon him and release my sorrow through tears.

I am currently seventeen years of age and have not been involved in a romantic relationship since I was fifteen. Since that time, I have deliberately refrained from engaging in dating activities, even declining offers from highly desirable suitors.

"Hey, Rubie," Aaron pokes me to gain my attention.

"What's up, Aaron," I don't look up from my phone.

"Have you ever thought of what might happen if one of us died and the other still lived?"

I look at him with concerned eyes. "What a ridiculous question, Aaron. We'll be together forever. Ain't nothing stopping us,"

He nods and returns to his phone.

Several months following his inquiry, I began to sense a noticeable shift in the dynamics between Aaron and myself. Our conversations became less frequent, and our social interactions diminished in frequency. Intrigued by this change, I embarked on a quest for answers, only to discover that he had been involved in a romantic relationship throughout our acquaintance. It became apparent that his partner exerted a significant influence over his thoughts, actions, and plans. Upon confronting him about this revelation, he succumbed to a flood of tears, expressing his conflicting emotions of love for her and his discontentment with her presence. In an attempt to convey empathy, I offered a sympathetic smile and inquired as to why he had chosen to withhold this information from me for such an extended period.

"I didn't want to bother you with my problems," he says.

"Aaron," I pull him into a hug. "You could never bother me. Promise me, next time something like this happens, you'll tell me."

He nods.

I'm nineteen years old now and have successfully completed my high school education. Consequently, I am now embarking on the search for a professional occupation. Currently, I have submitted an application for a waitress position at a nearby restaurant. Coincidentally, Aaron has also applied for the same job, albeit as a chef. Aaron loved to cook.

Following the unfortunate incident with his girlfriend, Aaron has refrained from pursuing any romantic involvements. As we stroll along the street, an exceptionally attractive young lady approaches him and requests his contact information. Aaron glances at me, and in response, I casually signal my approval with a thumbs-up before departing from the scene.

He takes her phone and types.

A yellow Volkswagen Beetle approaches, traversing the road. I am taken aback and swiftly commence sprinting in his direction. Simultaneously, Aaron returns the phone to the young lady and raises his gaze. Observing my approach, he displays a perplexed expression by tilting his head. As I draw closer to him, I clench my hand into a fist and retract it in preparation.

"Punch buggy no punchbacks!" I yell, throwing all of my weight into his shoulder.

Aaron yells out in pain, instantly rubbing his arm. "Rubie! That hurt!" He growls, chasing after me.

"Hey, no punchbacks!" I yell at him.

I'm almost 23. Aaron and I are strolling through a picturesque woodland, teeming with rabbits, insects, squirrels, avian creatures, and feral felines.

He extends his hand to assist me in ascending a hill adorned with vibrant, verdant grass. Together, we ascend to the summit and gaze down upon the bustling interstate below, situated at a considerable elevation of several hundred feet. Subsequently, we settle ourselves and allow our feet to dangle over the precipice. We remain in this position until the sun retreats and the moon emerges, marking the transition from day to night.

Periodically, we journey towards that hill and spend several hours conversing about our daily experiences, emotions, and strategies for improving the following day. We discuss a wide range of topics in that location, which holds a special significance for us. During our most recent visit, Aaron tenderly took hold of my hand and bestowed a kiss upon it.

I stare at him with curious eyes.

"I love you, Rubie Mitchell," he says.

I find my eyes widening and a surge of butterflies emerging in my stomach. An overwhelming sense of happiness engulfs me. My voice quivers as I reply, "I love you too, Aaron Kautzer."

He briefly leans forward but appears to contemplate his actions excessively and subsequently retreats. I chuckle and place my hand on his cheek, drawing him closer to me as I engage in a fervent kiss. I have been anticipating this moment for years.

I'm 24 now.

Aaron and I have been together for almost a year. Almost four times a week, Aaron and I trudge up to the hill and sit there for hours and hours as we talk about our future together. We fell asleep there once in the Spring.

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I rouse myself from my reverie and refocus my attention on the road. Upon arrival, I alight from my vehicle and securely shut the door, entering into the balmy August evening. It is to be noted that Aaron is unaware of my presence, as he currently rests in the Clementine cemetery, six feet beneath the ground.

I inhale profoundly and ascend the hill, reaching its summit where I fix my gaze upon the celestial bodies. Subsequently, I cast my glance downwards towards the interstate. Suddenly, I perceive a presence beside me and instinctively turn my head to investigate. At that moment, my eyes widen in astonishment, and a surge of emotions overwhelms me, causing tears to well up in my eyes.

Aaron is positioned beside me, wearing a gentle smile that remains fixed on his face. He gazes downwards towards the interstate, while simultaneously clenching his hand into a fist. He proceeds to lightly tap my shoulder with his closed hand.

"Punch buggy, no punchbacks."