Dear Jon (12 page)

“Just a minute.” I leaned down on one arm and moved the other hand to her thigh, holding her next to me. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said.

“This is where I belong, Liv.”

She smiled, proud. I pulled out as I went in for more kisses. After a minute or two, I rolled over on my back, pulling her on top of me. She kissed my chest while I lay nearly comatose. It took an inordinate amount of energy to put my hands on her hips, squeezing just enough to get her attention.

She looked up at me, her hair obscuring one eye from me. She looked so sexy, climbing up to kiss my lips.

“Hey,” I whispered. “I need to go take care of something… but when I come back, I want you, just like this.” I nodded my head, making sure she was on board.

“I’ll be waiting.”

I open my eyes to find myself alone in a twin bed. Mykonos is a memory that’s not as distant as it should be because I keep allowing myself to revisit that night… but Utah is where I find myself.

As in my memory, I make my way to the bathroom to clean up, happy to find the house dark and all bedroom doors closed.

Back in my room, I pick up her letter from the floor.

I regret nothing, Jon. A child flew into Mykonos, but a woman left there the next morning. I felt cherished and loved and… sexy… desired. I had no problem saying goodbye to that girl.

I felt honored to share that perfect night with you.

Never tell me you regret that. Even if you do, and that’s the one thing you want to say to me, please never do.

Don’t ruin my perfect night. I’m afraid I’ll never have another, and I need to own that; to keep that.

We aren’t finished.

Αντίο

A relieved sigh escapes when I realize she wasn’t telling
me
goodbye. I’d worried about that. Maybe I’m not as ready for closure as I thought I was… because this letter brought back so much that I love about her.

A mistake caused by a plumbing contractor creates extra work for us at the beginning of the week. I had to work until 8:30 Monday night, until we lost sunlight. We needed to work later, but couldn’t get the industrial lights needed to assist us. Today, they got the lights, and at 10PM, we’re finally caught back up and released from the site.

Mom needed the car, so I had secured a ride with another guy on site.

“We’re gonna go grab some beers, kid. You in?” Zeke asks me.

“Yeah,” I answer with no hesitation, knowing I’m at his mercy and don’t have a choice anyway. I don’t want to make a big deal out of it. On a regular day, I might try to walk home, but it’s late and I am beyond exhausted.

Grabbing the backpack I bought with my first paycheck, I follow him to his pickup.

“This place is always swarming with BYU chicks.”
Chicks
. Nice. “They don’t all drink, but they’re not prudes, either. I’ve taken a few home. I always bring a spare shirt with me and clean up in the bathroom a little.”

I glance down at my work shirt, which is covered in dirt and sweat. I can’t imagine why any girl would want to go home with me, looking like this.

“I got a few spares in the backseat. I got you covered.”

“Thanks.”

“College. Man,” he says. “What a waste of time, right? We make good money. It’s hard work, but we get a good workout and don’t have to take orders from some idiot boss in the next cubicle. And Shane’s not a bad foreman.”

“No, he’s great,” I say, bypassing his comments about college. “He gives good direction… and really knows his stuff.”

“Do a good job, and he’ll hire you for his next job. This is my fourth.”

“That’s awesome… but I’m going back to New York at the end of the summer. I’m only in Utah to visit my younger brothers. They moved here with my mother last November.”

“New York, huh? I thought you sounded like a Yank.” I laugh a little. “You get lots of tail there in New York?”

I’m totally rethinking my decision to go with Zeke. We’ve talked for hours on the worksite, but looking back, it was mainly about work or his ex-wife. I’m hoping there are others there that I will be able to relate to a little more.

“I can’t say that I do,” I admit. “Not much luck with the ladies,” I add, trying to be social.

“They must be picky bitches up there. You’re not bad lookin’. I bet you won’t be able to keep them off you tonight.” I bite my tongue, hating when people refer to women as
bitches
in such a casual manner. I nod my head to answer him. “Unless you’re a shy one. After a few beers, you’ll loosen up.”

“Probably.” We pull up at the same time as five of our other coworkers. Zeke throws three folded t-shirts at me, telling me to pick one. One advertises Coors Light; the other two are concert shirts for country musicians. I almost think the filthy work shirt is better than these, but I decide on the beer shirt, knowing that if anyone asked me about either of the singers on the shirts, I wouldn’t be able to sustain a conversation.

The shirt is a little snug around my biceps and chest, but I like my new physique and appreciate the fact that it helps to show off what I’ve worked to maintain.
Surely I won’t be able to keep them off me tonight.
Oh, sarcasm. Save my sanity tonight.

As a group of us approaches the door, I see a sign that says “21 & up only.” I hadn’t really considered that I wouldn’t be able to get in. I grab my wallet subtly, taking out my ID from the front pocket and tucking it into a hidden one. I’ll just take my chances and tell them I lost my license.

I let the other guys go in before me. A girl stops me at the door, asking to see identification. “I would love to show you that, but I’ve lost it…”

“Leslie, he’s with us,” Zeke says.

“You twenty-one?” she asks.

“Twenty-three,” I lie. She nods, letting me pass through and into the bar. I meet everyone at the three tables they’ve pushed together.

“First round’s on me,” I hear from behind me. Shane waves at the bartender on his way to our group.

“Shaaaane,” the other men all call out in unison. I smile at my boss. He knows how old I am. He’d voiced concern about my age, saying that other nineteen-year-olds he’d hired weren’t very reliable. I’d sworn to him that I was different. Aside from the day I went home with strep, I hadn’t missed any work.

He pats me on the back and takes the seat next to me. “Hey, kid. Glad you came out with us.”

“Yeah,” I say, unable to keep eye contact. A waitress named Amy goes around the table, guessing what each man wants to drink.
I guess they come here often.
When she gets to me, she looks perplexed.

“You’re new.”

“I am.”

“Am I to assume you want a Coors Light?” she asks, glancing down at my shirt.

“Uhhh, yeah,” I answer, not knowing what else I’d order.

“I’m not letting you drink that,” she says. “I’ll bring you something better.”

I nod, knowing that I won’t have a taste for anything she brings me. The smell of beer brings back bad memories, and I never liked any of the ones I’d snuck from the fridge when I was younger and curious. When Mom asked where her beers were, she’d normally be so wasted that I could convince her she was the one who’d consumed them.

A few minutes later, Amy sets down eight shot glasses in the middle of our group. I grab one, following the lead of everyone else.

“Good job, guys,” Shane says as he holds up his drink. “Don’t get too crazy tonight. We’re starting at six in the morning.”

There’s a collective groan at the table before everyone drinks. I follow suit, cringing as I feel the burn. It tastes
horrible
.

“Never had a snake bite before?” Cameron asks me.

“No. Yikes,” I say, wishing I had some water to wash the taste out of my mouth.

“It’s an acquired taste,” Shane says. “Another round?” he asks.

“I’ll pass. I’ll be right back. I need to wash up,” I say as I stand, grabbing my back pack and heading to the side of the bar where I saw a sign for the restrooms.

Immediately, I splash cold water on my face and run it through my hair. I repeat once the water is warmed up, still feeling grimy and disgusting. Maybe it would be better if I was in a different frame of mind.

Over our lunch break today, I’d taken my sandwich to a spot in the woods nearby the house. It was grassy, a natural clearing between the trees. I sat on the perimeter, next to a group of beautiful, full silver lindens. I’d never seen this type of tree before, but I’d decided that if I ever had a house outside of Manhattan, I’d like to plant some of them. I’d taken one of the unique leaves home a few weeks ago to identify the tree. The white underside of the leaf made it easy to find online.

As I sat alone, I’d taken out the letter I found on my desk when I got home last night. I was tired and in need of sleep, so I saved it for today. Wanting to know what I was getting myself into, I read the inscription at the bottom first.

Loss

Loss of innocence? Was it another letter about sex, because Sunday’s letter had stuck with me. If I was talking to Livvy, I know she’d be happy to know that her
Goodbye
letter broke through. It affected me as I’m sure she hoped it would.

I looked up the page as two leaves flitted past my face in a swift breeze. I had seen the word Granna, and I knew it would be about a different kind of loss. One of permanence and sadness. I finished eating before I continued with her letter.

I love you, Jon.

I couldn’t help but think how much I missed her.

I don’t remember the day my mother died. I think God made it happen before memories form because he knew I wasn’t ready to accept the death of someone close to me–and not just that, likely the only person I was close to.

I am not sure why God had to take Granna last year, though, because as I’ve proven, I still wasn’t ready to accept death. It all happened so suddenly. I didn’t have a chance to send her a get well card, or to make a special trip to church one Sunday to say a prayer for her. I never had the chance to cry with her, or to reminisce about the life she lead and the impact she had on mine.

I knew what she meant. I’d had the same feelings when she was taken from us. There was no time to mourn with her; only time to mourn after she was gone.

I wonder, though… is it better to know ahead of time, or worse? I wish I could ask you that, because you’ve known both. I know Granna was well admired by you. I know you felt the same loss I did. But you knew your dad was dying… was it better then?

I wasn’t sure I could answer her question. I’d had no regrets about the weeks leading up to my father’s death. I had plenty of time to come to terms with his illness, and I thought I was ready to let him go. The cancer had spread rapidly; it was declared terminal by the time they found it, so he refused treatment and was in a lot of pain. I didn’t want to see him suffer anymore.

But once he was gone, I saw what I was left with, and it terrified me.

I knew my dad grew to care about me. When I was a baby, when my parents were still married, he had very little to do with me, but as I started growing up and asking questions–insightful ones, for my age–he saw himself in me, and he wanted to teach me things. Had I depended on words or emotions to see how much he cared, I never would have known, but his actions spoke volumes. He’d take me to the park, to museums, to exhibitions that were far too advanced for me to understand. But I tried to keep up, and asked him enough questions to create a strong foundation for learning later.

He was proud of me. He knew what inspired me. With him out of the picture, I had a mother who knew nothing about me, had nothing to teach me, and–based on her actions–didn’t care about me. She told me she loved me, but it never felt like she did.

With the realization that she was the only parent left for me, I felt more immense loss than I’d felt in the time Dad suffered through his illness. It was a shock to my system, just as it was when we learned that Donna had died.

So I don’t know what I would tell Livvy if she’d asked me that question in person. Loss is loss, whether you have time to prepare or not. I think of the Band-Aid analogy. It hurts less to rip them off suddenly. We all know and accept it.

But humans are not Band-Aids. No matter how they go–fast or slow–removing them still exposes a wound and requires extra time and care to heal. I’m still not healed from my father’s death, because there are still things I need. There’s one thing I still need. I need to feel loved. I need someone’s actions to reflect that they care about me. It’s so lacking in my life, that I feel hollow at times.

Spending the afternoon thinking back about all that my life is missing has enshrouded me in pity, and I can’t shake the mood, even after a snake bite–whatever the hell that nasty thing was.

I hadn’t finished reading the letter, and take it out of my bag before leaving the bathroom. I tuck it into my back pocket and return to the table where a bottle is waiting for me.
Magic Hat
. Why not?

The guys are mid-conversation with a few girls. These must be the BYU
chicks
Zeke was telling me about. One smiles at me, and I return the kindness as I take a drink. She keeps talking to Cameron and Zeke, but glances over at me every so often… catching me as I watch her. Thirstier than I realize, I finish the beer quickly.

“Let me get you another,” she says from across the table, not waiting for a response before walking up to the bar. Would
her
actions show that she cares for me? Will anyone’s?

“Hear the singer outside?” Shane asks me, bringing me out of a haze.

I hadn’t, but I strain my ears over the bar noise and finally hear a guitar and a female voice singing a song that sounds familiar. “Yeah.”

“The patio’s nice. Let’s go get some fresh air.”

“Okay.”

I follow my boss outside, taking a seat across from him at a picnic table. The song playing is mellow; thankfully not loud.

“You’re not old enough to be in here, kid,” he says. I look at him curiously. Sure, he knew that, but he also bought me a shot
and
a beer. “You know you don’t belong here.”

“I, uh… I came with Zeke. I didn’t have a ride home.”

“Zeke’s your ride home? You’re screwed, Jon. He’s going home with a girl, not you.”

“Great,” I say with a laugh. I guess I should have figured that out. “Well, home’s not too far from here. Two miles, maybe.”

“There’s a bus stop over there.” He nods across the street. “Got money for the fare?”

“Yeah, of course. But why’d you buy me drinks if you don’t want me here?”

“It’s not that I don’t want you here. It’s that I don’t want you gettin’ yourself into trouble, and that girl who wants to buy you a beer comes with more baggage than a 747.”

I laugh at his explanation. “Gotcha. Then thanks.”

“Don’t be thanking me. While you were in the bathroom, I let it slip that you were going back to New York in the fall for school. You didn’t tell them you’re in college?”

“I wanted to fit in,” I tell him.

“Jon, come on. Be proud of who you are and where you come from… and what you’re doing with your life. I wish some of these guys could see there was more to life than work and women. Did you know Ralph is thirty-four and lives in his parents’ basement?”

“No.”

“Well, I told your secret to them. May as well give you some dirt on them. Zeke’s wife left him after he went home with Little Miss ‘Let Me Get You Another.’”

“Oh, wow. I didn’t need to know that.”

“Cameron’s on parole for petty theft.”

“Okay, too much,” I interrupt Shane. “To me, they’re just the guys who are helping me kill time over the summer, working hard to get this house built. I want to remember them like that.”

“They’re good guys. Missteps and all. And for the record…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m an Oregon State graduate. Civil engineering degree. You and I, Jon. We aren’t so different. I married my high school sweetheart and we have three little boys… boys that I had to go kiss goodnight before I came to the bar this evening.”