But when I think about what
I’ll face if I stay, staying feels harder.
I turn the key, shift into
gear, and start my journey.
As I park in the drive of my aunt and uncle’s house, I
think about the times I spent here with my mom, dad and Elena. I have so many
good memories, and though it’s been a few years since my last visit, in some
ways it feels like home away from home.
I decided during the
long-ass drive that my stay in Arizona will be my time to be Callie without
Joe. He’s owned my head and my heart for seven years, even influenced my
relationship with Nick. I’m certain that any decision I make will be better if
made with a clear mind and I can’t have that if my thoughts are all about Joe. Coming
here was the right thing to do, so I’m treating it as a vacation. I can explore
as much as I want, since I have enough money saved that I don’t need to think
about work while I’m here.
Su, my sister and my parents
have agreed not to tell me anything about Joe when we speak. Updates will not
help; I need to be as free of him as I can be. The baby is due in four months,
I’ll give it a little time beyond that and then I’ll make contact. I’ll know
for certain how I feel about him and the situation by then. For all I know, if
he and I hadn’t remained friends for all these years, I might’ve gotten over
Joe a long time ago. This now is our test.
If we’re meant to be
together, we will be.
As I walk to the door, Aunt
Maria and Uncle Vince come out to welcome me. I can see they’re trying to hide
their sympathy, which makes me feel worse, but I know they mean well. They’d
planned to come to Vegas for the wedding, they’re fully aware of the details.
My aunt pulls me into a hug.
“You stay as long as you need to, you hear?”
“Thank you, Aunt Maria.” I
squeeze her, taking in her sweet scent. She never seems to age, and that’s
without any kind of surgical intervention. She’s in her mid forties, but could pass
for ten years younger. She’s without a doubt a MILF, with a pretty smile, moss
green eyes and long chestnut tresses. My natural color is the same as hers.
Uncle Vince, who looks like
my dad with brown eyes and mousy hair, gives me a great big bear hug, just like
he always did when we came to visit.
We gather all my stuff, from
the trunk, and head inside. I’ve always loved their home. It’s an open, split
level house with maple plank wood floors, soft coordinated colors throughout, and
great mountain views. I’ve swapped the hills and fog of San Francisco for the
mountains, desert and the blazing heat of Arizona. It’s different here in so
many ways.
That should assist in this
deluded plan of mine to treat this as a vacation.
While I’m here, I’ll be
sleeping in my cousin’s bedroom. Jennifer’s an only child and left home two
years ago to work as a journalist in L.A. I sit on the double bed, my butt
molding into the mattress, and take in my surroundings. Her room is just as it
was the last time I was here; lemon walls, a sturdy antique pine double bed and
matching furniture. I feel comfortable already.
After I finish unpacking my
stuff, and speaking to my parents, I go down to the kitchen and help prepare
dinner. My aunt’s making vegetarian enchiladas, especially for me. Mom will be
happy; we ended our call with her telling me to make sure I eat, regardless of
my lack of appetite. As I reach for a knife, to start chopping onions, a hand
lands lightly on my shoulder. “We don’t have to talk about anything back home
if you don’t want to, but if you decide you do, just know that we can,
okay?”
“Thanks, Aunt Maria, I
appreciate it.” I return her smile and grasp the wooden handle. As much as I
want to talk, not that it will resolve anything, I have no intention of
discussing Joe, or my feelings. I need to stick to my plan of eliminating him
from my head and focusing on only me, or this won’t work.
After we eat and watch TV
together, I go upstairs to dye my hair. Tonight, I’m switching to a full head
of shocking pink; so much brighter than my mood. It’s a shame to say goodbye to
the white-blonde and pale pink, but it’s too Joe, even though it was my
post-Nick hair. I think I’ll let my brow-skimming bangs grow out over the
coming months, too.
Once I’m finished, I get
into bed. It’s comfortable among the soft, thick pillows, but it’s too warm for
the comforter, so I drape a lavender scented sheet over myself. With the blinds
raised, the room is lit in silver by the moon. A perfect atmosphere for what I
should be doing right now. I’m tired enough, too, but surprise, surprise, all
my head wants to do is think about you-know-who.
I wish I could fall into
slumber, I need it. I haven’t had a complete night’s sleep in over a week.
Obviously some of those were because of my passionate late-night antics with
Joe – and there I go, again, thinking about him. I can’t seem to stop.
It’s just after midnight. I
wonder what he’s doing now. Is he awake, too? Is he thinking about me as well?
Is he angry with me? Disappointed in me? Missing me?
I knew this would be easier
in my brain than in actual reality, but I didn’t expect to feel his absence
physically. I ache to be with him, to have him close. Every single part of me
aches for Joe. I can barely breathe, it hurts so much. I grip a pillow tightly
in my fists, wanting the pain to go away, but it doesn’t work. I’m starting to
doubt that I can stay away from him. Should I just go back? Can I? The moment I
consider it, I know I can’t, just like I knew I couldn’t the four times I
stopped during the drive here and considered turning back. The situation is
still the same, a situation I can’t deal with. Maybe I should call him. I’d
love to hear his voice. But what would I say? What would he say?
I have two clear options;
stay here or go home. I can’t go back yet, so coming here was the right
decision. It’s not like its forever. I just have to hold out until after the
baby’s born, then I’ll know what to do. I can do this. I can. Five or six
months at the most, I managed seven years. This is nothing in comparison.
For the past three months, I’ve been a tourist in
Arizona. I drove out to the parks and forests, covered desert land and visited
a variety of attractions. With my camera, I got lost in my own world and
captured anything that caught my eye; lakes, the various cacti, mountains,
butterflies, birds, Jackrabbits, I’ve even caught coyotes and a rattlesnake –
for the two seconds I could force myself to stand still and take the picture.
I’ve explored everywhere I possibly could, and one thing’s for sure – I kinda
love Arizona. Though, when I first got here, it was just a little too hot.
Scrap that, it was way too hot.
I’ve started a blog, so that
I can post some of my photos and communicate with people who have an interest
in photography. It’s provided an additional distraction, which I’ve craved.
I’ve spoken to my mom and dad every night. They’ve been great and supportive
and even flew out here with Elena and Su. I speak and text with Su and Elena
all the time.
My days have been well
occupied, so far, but now I need something new. Aunt Maria has given me a job
in her 5th Avenue jewelry store, in downtown Scottsdale, which I started this
week. It’s only a few hours a day, but it’s something to do. She sells pretty
beaded accessories that she makes herself, as well as silver, gold and platinum
pieces. As she and Uncle Vince won’t accept money from me for rent, I’ve
refused to be paid for the work I do for her. I have few expenses, and it’s
cheaper here, so I don’t need the money, anyway.
Aunt Maria’s friend, who
owns a Gifts and Collectables store, has also offered me the opportunity to
sell some sculptures there. So far I’ve made the type that take a lot of focus
and detail, because when my mind is on the task it’s an escape, I’m completely
absorbed. What I’m finding hard is when I go to bed. That’s when my thoughts
take hold and keep me awake; it seems heartbreak is worse at night. When I wake
in the morning those feelings resurface until I busy myself.
I miss Joe like crazy; he
was a close friend and a major part of my life before we got together. I’ve
come close to calling him, a number of times, but the nearer it gets to the
baby’s due date the harder it gets to push the ‘call’ button, no matter how much
I want to. So three months on and we haven’t spoken. I miss the others as well,
simple things like hanging out as a group, and texting and talking with
Saffron. I almost allowed Su to lure me into talking about Saffron, a couple of
months back, but I stopped her. The link is too close to Joe, it was inevitable
we’d end up at him as the topic of conversation. I just haven’t felt ready.
It’s Friday afternoon, and
I’ve got one hour left at work. “Aunt Maria, your catalogues are almost
finished. Why don’t we put a new one together?” I continue to flip through the
small rectangular booklet. It’s nice, but she has some new pieces in the shop
that aren’t in it.
“Is that something you can
do?” she asks, looking over at me from the display she’s arranging by the window.
“For sure, all I need to do
is take pictures of your jewelry and then I can design the pages in Photoshop.
I’ll show you the proof, and when you’re happy with it, we’ll go get it printed
professionally. It’ll be easy.”
“Great, go for it.” She’s
pleased, and so am I. I love doing stuff like this and an extra perk is that I
have a project to keep me busy now. Anything that distracts me is a good thing.
I’ll make a start tomorrow.
I finish my shift and head
to a coffee shop a few blocks away. I like to stop there after work, before
heading home.
As I cross the street,
approaching the café, which sits on a corner, something catches my attention.
Parked outside is the funkiest vehicle I’ve ever seen. I just felt myself fall
in love with it. It’s a Volkswagen bus and it’s all hippified, with painted
designs all over it, in an array of bright colors. It has the word ‘Love,’ an
impressive portrait of Jimmy Hendrix, a peace sign, flowers, clouds and a large
rainbow across one side. I’ve seen funked-up rides before, but this one is by
far the best. Wow!
I walk up to it, for a
closer inspection and to ask the owner if I can take a photo. A man climbs out
of the driver’s side. “Omigod, your Kombi’s awesome.” No doubt the expression
on my face is like that of a kid on Christmas morning, confronted with a room
full of gifts Santa left the night before. It’s just so ... groovy, baby!
The owner smiles at me and
gestures with his hand toward it. “Take a look, sugar.” I instantly pick up on his
slight southern accent. “This is my baby, Roberta. I saw her at an auction and
just had to buy her. She was born the same year as me, the Summer of Love.” He
finished with a mock hippy type of tone and suggestively raised eyebrows. I
can’t help but laugh. “I like your hair, sugar.” He admires my shocking pink,
which now has purple highlights, with his ocean-blue eyes.
I grin at the compliment.
“Thanks. I like yours, too.”
I’d been appreciating his
short, loose, blond curls. We’re in the shade, but I imagine they appear golden
in the sun. I loved
Justine Timberlake’s
when he had them, but this
guy’s are even better. He’s an attractive man, with fair stubble and a lean
physique. I’d like to capture him, but it feels inappropriate to ask. Going by
his image and his manner, so far, I’ve decided he’s a modern day hippy.
He slides the door open, so
I can check out the inside. It’s amazing, cozy and cute. With the exception of
the lack of a toilet, it’s a perfect living place if major space or storage
isn’t required. The rear has seating that looks like it could fold out for
sleeping and the area just behind the driver and passenger seats are cooking
facilities. Synthetic sunflowers and daffodils form part of the décor and lime
drapes add a splash of brightness to the brown and beige interior. What a ride?
After making my request, I
snap away at the interior and exterior and I do wonder if he lives in it, but I
won’t ask that. There aren’t clothes or anything to suggest it, so I guess not.
“You’d go nicely in here,
sugar. Picture us driving along, the windows down, your pretty hair blowing in
the wind.” This time he spoke with a dramatic edge to his tone and hand
movements. You’d think he was trying to sell me a tour of Arizona in his Kombi.
I have to chuckle again. It feels so good to laugh.
“Thanks for letting me take
photos.” I say goodbye and go into the café, already looking forward to putting
some of the shots up on my blog tonight.
Sitting at a corner table,
with my café mocha and newest book purchase, I’m barely halfway down the first
page when I ‘feel’ a presence in front of me. I gaze up to find the Kombi Man
standing on the other side of my table, a mug in hand. “Hi,” I say, being
friendly.
“Hey, want some company?”
“Sure, why not?” I close my
novel and place it by my beverage. He takes the seat opposite me and puts his
mug down. I read the label hanging over the side.
“A fan of
fruit and herbal tea?”
I ask.
“Yes, actually, I love this
rosehip and strawberry one.”
“It sure smells nice. So are
you a health freak?” I smirk, in jest, so that I don’t offend him.