Sunrise Fires

by LaBarge, Heather

  Talia called and e-mailed. I answered, but only because she’d wring my neck if I didn’t. She tried to ‘talk sense’ into me.

  “Call him back.”

  “I did call back. Three times that day! It’s been weeks, Talia, and I don’t hear my phone ringing!” I huffed, still infuriated that my fearful inner voice had been right all along. “And why would I call him now? So he can hurt me again? So he can spell out exactly why he doesn’t want to be with me anymore? Fuck that. Fuck him!”

  “Jen, seriously?!” She huffed, exhaling heavily onto the line. I could picture her rolling her eyes. “Is it that melodramatic?”

  I chuckled through my tears. “Yes,” I pouted. “Yes, it fucking is. He was the love of my life—”

  “And yet he’s not worth a phone call?”

  “I’m not worth one to him!”

  “He called you. You hung up on him.”

  “I dropped the phone. Maybe he hung up. I mean…I had a meltdown. I…I….”

  “Call him, Jen.”

  “When are you coming? How about you come keep me company since his sorry ass won’t?”

  “That’s how we’re gonna handle this? He’s a sorry ass, and I’m supposed to be some stand-in?” She huffed again and let it hang in the air.

  “Was that a real question?”

  Silence.

  “Goddamn it, Talia. He fucking broke my heart. I’m not calling him to beg for more heartbreak.”

  She sighed. “So to be clear, I’m not gonna be your stand-in lover.”

  I laughed through my tears. I snapped my fingers. “Damn. And I was really counting on that.” We both laughed appreciatively. My God I loved her. What an amazing friend she was! Even after a decade, I still felt like we had so much to talk about and learn from one another. We made plans for her visit in November. She’d bring Jackie; they’d stay at my place. We’d all work really hard to drown my sorrows.

  * * *

  Contrary to any expectation I had, preparations for Oktoberfest began in late August. The largest of the tents took weeks to build and prepare. They were able to seat thousands at once and that didn’t even count the outdoor seating. I could feel Munich beginning to swell with people and activity, even in the early weeks of September. I had arranged to have a vendor’s booth out by the Hofbrau-Haus tent, hoping to capture the eye of Americans that would be drawn to the Hofbrau name. Then it was as simple as a few brews, and they’d be talking about our products and our booth with their Oktoberfest co-tourists.

  In the weeks that led to the celebration, I was busier than ever and thankfully so, because the sting of Ryan’s phone call had not lessened in the least. Each night, I fell into bed exhausted, barely able to think about my phone or drop more than a few tears before passing out and beginning again the next day. The bustle of Oktoberfest was infectious. After the huge tents went up, more and more brew houses arrived and set up tents. Eventually, vendor booths started going in, and services such as telephone booths and taxi stands stood up. Signs, posters, maps, and advertisements were hung all over town, making the place look like it had been ticker taped with images and slogans. And by the end of the second week in September, there was a buzz about town; the hushed anticipation of thousands of voices electrified the air. The place felt poised to burst, and with up to six million attendees expected, it just might do precisely that.

  I had expected to take a vacation for the final two weeks of the three-week event; it was supposed to have been Ryan’s time. I, of course, had cancelled my vacation, but the swill of his rejection kept me flip-flopping between an apathetic emo and a driven, focused professional. I suspect my staff was confused or intimidated or both. Regardless, our vendor booth was set and stocked. The store was stocked, and the warehouse was packed in preparation; all staff were either scheduled or on standby to cover every day of the event. We were ready, right up until the very first day when it became clear that we weren’t.

  The store was a madhouse for the entire three weeks. We were awash with tourists. Merchandise was flying off the shelves faster than we could restock. Never before had I had to decide between stocking and customer service, but the loss of either might’ve meant loss of sales. Too slow at the register, and people lose interest in hopes of returning to the event sooner; no merchandise on the shelves, and people don’t find something they’d like to spend their money on. Gross sales were through the roof on things like sports team apparel; carabiners from the Bundesliga, rugby, and other sports; and patches, key rings, and so on. Any merchandise small enough for a suitcase seemed to be what we needed to stock. We stayed late every night, restocking and even moving larger displays aside to allow for more of the ‘hot’ items to be stocked in preparation for the next day’s rush.

  I was busy, but I should have been so busy that I couldn’t think straight. I wasn’t. My body ran itself into the ground from the store to the booth and back again deep into the wee morning hours before starting all over early the next morning. For three weeks, I ran without stopping, and yet I couldn’t find enough to keep Ryan from my mind. There wasn’t enough running or physical exhaustion to stop the thoughts from flooding in. I found myself wondering if he came anyway whether Germany was the draw and not me. Maybe he was at Oktoberfest, but taking the place in as a tourist, a free man. Maybe he was there with another woman. Maybe he brought the guys along. I scanned the faces of my customers. Surely, he wouldn’t be so brazen as to come into my store, but still I couldn’t help myself. When I manned the Huntington’s booth, I searched the crowds for any signs of him. A few times I thought I smelled his cologne, and I whipped my head in the direction the scent had come from, but he wasn’t there.

  It was grueling. And each day ended in anger, frustration, and heartbreak. Every day I felt that phone call hanging over me: ‘I’m not coming.’ Why? How come he couldn’t give us a chance? I thought we were magical. I genuinely believed us to be a special kind of couple, something that only comes around once in a lifetime. And I didn’t want three years to define the beginning and end of that for me. I wanted my lifetime thing, and now, he had stolen that from me.

  Oktoberfest passed but the feeling didn’t. It gripped me. He gripped me. Always at the back of my mind was the feelings of doubt and the persistent what-iffing. What if I had stayed home? What if I had never let this offer even land on my desk? A simple ‘no, thank you’ would have kept me safely there with him in our beautiful status quo. What if he had simply agreed to come with me? He would be here right now, and I’d not be trudging through this existence alone. What if Mark was right and Ryan just needed to be man enough to ask me to stay? Why hadn’t he asked me? Why didn’t he need me enough to beg me to stay for him?

  The questions never ended.

  The melancholy remained.

  The bustle of Oktoberfest had not silenced him, the pain, the memories, nor the questions. In the quiet that followed Oktoberfest, I was nearly deafened by their mental chorus.

  And I dreamt of him…often. And it was as tender and loving and sensual as always. He held me, drew me into him, and wrapped his warmth and strength around me. He kissed and nuzzled my neck, gripped my hips and pulled me onto him or pulled himself deeper into me. He covered my breast with his mouth, his tongue flat and smooth, coaxing my nipple out; his hand warming and massaging the other breast. And then I’d wake, grabbing my neck in hopes of catching his head, my crotch throbbing, my breasts cold and unattended, my lips parched and dry. I’d pull the covers around me tightly, trying to bar the dreams from coming back, trying to protect myself from the want of his loving touch. I fucking missed him, and I hated it. The need seemed to be unending and the sorrow a black hole.

  Chapter Twelve

  November finally blustered in with a chill we never see in Las Vegas. And it brought with it my girls. Ahhh, they blew in right on time. Since I hadn’t used vacation time during Oktob
erfest, I had additional time to spend. The girls extended their trip from the originally planned week so that we had eleven days together. It was glorious and touristy, and absolutely the escape I needed. We traveled Europe by train with backpacks. We dined at fine restaurants, sidewalk cafes, and wineries. We Volksmarched in Bavaria, sunbathed in Nice, and held up the Leaning Tower of Pisa—I’ve got the photos to prove it. They were supportive, fun, and amazing, exactly the kind of women I needed in my life.

  For the most part, we avoided the topic of Ryan, and I was glad for that. I loved being able to focus on this other thing—this time with them. Thoughts of him snuck in on occasion, like when I saw lovers hand in hand on the beaches of Nice or sharing a Cappuccino at a sidewalk café in Venice, but I rejected them as quickly as they rose. He didn’t love me anymore, and I had to move on. It had been nearly eight weeks since the phone call, and now it was undeniable. He was gone for good.

  “Hey, scoot in. I want to get both of you and the gondola in the background.” Talia and I hugged up closer together on the Rialto Bridge overlooking the palaces lining the Grand Canal in Venice. This place was heavenly and unique among all the possible European tourist stops. The narrow walkways and quiet private alleys provided shade and respite from the throngs of tourists in places like Ponte di Rialto and Piazza San Marco. Still, all of it was worth seeing and experiencing. The smell of the water here was thick and laden with a hint of algae and the occasional acrid breeze of a water taxi or motorboat. The architecture reminded me of middle school social studies classes about the Renaissance and everything that Americans fantasize European buildings will look like. The brick and stone construction combined with the romance of majestic church steeples next to quaint sidewalk cafes and the stunning Doge’s Palace really can convince you that anything is possible, even a Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty tale.

  I squeezed Talia’s shoulders. “I love you, girl,” I said quietly while we were so close as Jackie snapped the photo. “Thank you for being here with me.”

  “Oh, please, I’m just here for the Italian food. Hadn’t you heard how good it is?” She smiled and poked me. “Just kidding, honey. I love you, too. How are you holding up?”

  “I’m fine,” I lied.

  “Hmmph,” she sucked her teeth through pursed lips, “fine, huh?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got you two here.” Jackie joined us again, and I pulled her into a side hug. “Right, Jackie? With my girls, who needs a guy?”

  “Hey, hey, wait a minute. Hold up now,” Jackie cocked her head to the side in disbelief and wagged her finger in the air, “I need a guy. I don’t necessarily need a boyfriend, but I need a guy!”

  All three of us nodded and chuckled. “Yep…hmm…okay,” I said nodding. “Maybe that’s why I’m sad. Lack of sex.” And then I added more softly, “Ryan was amazing in bed. Whew….” Jackie and Talia exchanged a glance. I fanned myself with my hand, “Whew. I think I should start taking applications because I need a qualified replacement.” I forced a smile.

  Talia cut her eyes at me and pressed her lips together.

  I shrugged and had begun to qualify my statement when Jackie said, “Let’s go get some lunch! I’m starving, and this crowd here is worse than a mosh pit anyway.” She took each of us by our elbows and guided us off toward Piazza San Marco.

  The square itself was a huge open space headed by a beautiful cathedral, Saint Mark’s Basilica, at one end and opening to the canal at the other. The buildings on the sides had gorgeous archways under which you could pass to find shade from the sun, and also perhaps dodge into a café for a somewhat expensive bite to eat. Pigeons settled in the open areas of the square and begged from around that café tables. It was a beautiful sight but also packed with even more tourists. We decided we’d do better to head away from the square, and eventually, we found a café a few blocks from the piazza. And just in time, too; I was hungrier than I expected to be.

  We’d barely placed our order when Jackie took a deep breath and said, “Jen, listen…” She paused, looking serious and concerned. I felt as if bad news was coming, and she had saved it until this specific moment for some reason. “I need to tell you something. And I want you to hear me out before you shut me down.”

  “Oh, man, Jackie.” I closed my eyes in a long exasperated blink. “Please don’t start in on Ryan. I get that enough from Talia.”

  “Just listen,” she placed her hand on mine and shook it with purpose, “and don’t interrupt.” I clenched my jaw and squinted over at Talia, warning her of the tongue lashing that was to come if she’d put Jackie up to this. “I’ve been riding lately. And, ever since your going-away barbecue, I’ve been occasionally riding at Apex. Strange thing is I never see Ryan or the guys there….” She paused, looking at me as if something was suppose to sink in. “Not since August some time. I sometimes see Johnnie and Paul, but they are never with the others. And sometimes they even come alone.” I wrapped my arms around my chest and shrugged. My appetite was fading and my throat tightening. “I used to say hi to them and talk to Ryan, or even hang out with Chris on the sidelines, but I haven’t seen Ryan or Chris at all since the end of the summer.” I squinched my face together and shrugged again, offering a loud heavy sigh and looking as bored as possible. “I think something happened; something bad enough to make them stop riding.” I relaxed my shoulders and raised an eyebrow, sucking my teeth. “Stop it and listen. You know how much they loved riding. They were out there all the time, at least some of them. And now… none of them? Or at best, only one of them? They never rode alone. They were one of the most responsible set of guys, always making sure there were at least two in case someone got hurt, especially after Chris. And now?”

  Jackie was trying to bring hope back. Here I was, barely holding onto accepting the fact that Ryan and I were over, and she had the audacity to bring doubt to that. She wanted me to reconsider even though Ryan clearly hadn’t. She wanted me to fabricate some mental excuses for him that would make this okay. I couldn’t bear to listen to another word. “Are you done!?”

  “I mean, yeah. Can’t you see that something probably happened?”

  “Yeah, maybe they found another place to ride. Did you ever think of that? Maybe they didn’t like my friend riding where they ride, checking up on them for me. Maybe that’s how they saw it. So now, yep, something happened. Ryan kicked me to the curb, found another girl, and doesn’t want you to know. Seems easy enough to sleuth out, don’t you think?” My nostrils flared, as this vacation seemed suddenly more like a trap than an escape.

  “I don’t think that’s it, Jen. Everything doesn’t revolve around you.” Jackie spat. “Even if Ryan did have somebody else, do you really think hiding it from you is enough to move to another track to ride?”

  I looked at Talia. She gave me the ‘I told you so’ face and nodded back in Jackie’s direction.

  Suddenly, I wanted away from there, away from them both. I wasn’t hungry even a little bit. I wanted my room and my pillows and the somber solitude that my German apartment provided. My eyes scanned the area, searching for escape, thinking of a place to run. The water! I wanted the water. I desperately needed the ocean, the beach, a tent, a blanket, the sunrise, the gulls, and the swells and crests of waves. Venice would have to do and St. Mark’s Square wasn’t too far off. “I’ll meet you at the water taxi stop near St. Mark’s.” I threw my napkin on the table and marched off.

  The square stood open and welcoming. I saw the pigeons settled in the middle of it, and I ran into them at full speed, chasing them off. Being so aggressive helped dissipate the anger, and seeing them all flutter into the sky made me feel like I was powerful, like I could do anything. I could command a flock of birds to move in a choreographed display towards the sky. It felt like a revelation. A few of their wings lightly caressed my skin in their haste to get skyward, and the feeling was ticklish and magical. My belly bubbled and fizzled like cham
pagne. I ran through them again, but this time, feeling like a four-year-old. I stared at the sky as I ran, watching them all rise up around me. My heart felt full and joyous for those few seconds.

  I smiled and laughed at my silly behavior before continuing on toward the canal. I stood and watched the tiny little peaks of water slap up against its concrete edge. I was mesmerized by the tiny little microcosm that was so much weaker than the ocean but behaved in such a similar way. The gondolas, water taxis, and personal watercraft making their way around the canals was a sight to see in the bright sunlight of midday. The sun danced as little diamonds on the water’s surface. I plopped down and inhaled deeply, letting this different sea smell settle into my nose and lungs. Tears bathed my eyes as I longed for the beach; no blanket here, just the hard concrete of this man-made city. It was beautiful and soul moving, but it was not the beach.

  Was this to be my new life? If Ryan was the beach, a blanket settled on the sand, cozy, warm, moving, and flowing, then did the Venetian canals represent my new life: water flowing but forged on something more firm and sturdy than the sand? I was uncomfortable here on this canal. I disliked that I could not bury my feet in the sand. I scooted to the edge and tried to dangle my feet in the water, but it was too far down and a little bit dangerous with all the boats coming and going. And algae, thick and slimy, carpeted the steps and edges of the canal. Even if I could stick my feet in, it would be a far cry from the solid grounding comfort that cooling gritty layers of beach sand provide. I stared out across the water and looked at the people on the bridges crisscrossing this glorious place. I loved Venice. I genuinely felt like I was in a special divine location, but it was not the beach. This new life didn’t compare to my old one with Ryan. I loved Jackie and Talia, but they were my support system, my friends, not my life mate, not my lover. Could I find another lover like this man who had stolen my heart?