You’re free to do whatever you want, she said. You can come and go as you please. There’s nothing stopping you. I’m not stopping you. You’re a free agent, she told him. Ties? You don’t have any ties, they both looked out over the river at the bank on the other side. It’s peaceful here, she lit a cigarette, and he leaned against the window. Little drops of rain began to fall. Come on out in the rain with me, she said. He began to laugh. Come on. Let’s make out in the rain one more time, she took her tee-shirt off, exposing her breasts. Come on now, she leaned over and playfully started to unbutton his fly. It’ll be fun, she opened the door and ran down into the red mud. He watched as she shook her her body all about. Tempting him to come join her. Reaching her arms out for him. He turned on the radio and watched her dance. A Warren Zevon song was playing, Werewolves Of London. She slipped and fell to the ground. The rain washed away her sin.

He took off his jacket and wrapped it around her. They walked back to the truck, and like a gentleman, he opened the door for her. She slid over close to the driver’s side. He got in and just looked at her. What am I doing? he asked. What am I doing?

You’re making a choice. You can go wherever you want to go, she declared. But, once you make that choice, stick to it. You hear me? Lotta men don’t have choices. They’re squandered on youth. Mistakes. We pay for our mistakes.

Yep. I suppose we do.

Go on now while your slate is clean.

And they drove through town. Passed the school where they played on the swingset together when they were kids. Went by the drug store where they used to steal gum and Tootsie Rolls. Drove her up to the trailer they shared as boyfriend and girlfriend. There was no kiss goodbye. No words were said. She just got out of the truck, and he drove away.