The Year I Left

by Brae, Christine;

  “Look at how much I want you,” you growled. “Touch me, Carin.”

  And I did. I held you in my hands while you leaned over and trailed kisses down my face and neck, settling yourself on me, biting, nipping, driving me wild. I’d discovered love before. I’d swooned over words and promises and believed that if we were lucky enough to have one single moment of true love, we should take it. But this.

  This felt impossibly new.

  Your touch made me shudder. It broke me and then revived me all at the same time.

  “Now,” I moaned. “I want you now.”

  Gently, I placed my hands on both sides of your head and pulled you up, aligning my lips with yours. I spread my legs and arched upward, pleading for your body to invade mine.

  “I’ve wanted this for so long,” you whispered as you buried yourself in me, your eyes locked on mine, watching me react. “Tell me what you want.”

  But you see, I didn’t have to say a word. Because you saw how overcome I was, how tears streamed down my face, how my muscles trembled. How perfectly we fit each other when you filled me. How we moved to the cadence of a song I’d never heard, its melody soothing, its words reassuring.

  “Take me, take all of me!” I huffed, breathless and reaching the peak of my pleasure.

  With those words, you pushed one last time, gasped sharply, and released yourself. Your brows were furrowed, eyes were closed. I savored the seconds I had you in me, wishing we could stay like this forever.

  When it was over, you rolled to your side and held me close. You kissed me once more before settling your head on your pillow and falling asleep.

  The plight of the jet-lagged. In my dream I arrived so hard, I screamed out loud. I woke myself up with a shudder at two o’clock in the morning, finding you under the covers with your mouth on me. At four o’clock, I was on my knees, asking you to tear into me. To our dismay, we overslept, waking up at nine the next day and missing our seven o’clock flight to the island.

  We got dressed quickly after making a few phone calls—you to your hotel, asking them to send your suitcase to the airport and me to let our colleagues know that I was running late. We agreed to arrive at the airport separately, sit separately, and interact separately.

  “What are we going to do?” you asked, taking my hand and bringing it to your lips while we sat in the sitting room.

  “We go on as we have been. The deal is done. You have your commission—you’re also on to a great life in Spain.” I tripped all over my words, tried to sound as upbeat as I could. Despite a broken heart, I was thankful to have had you even just for a day.

  “That’s not good enough for me anymore,” you declared. “Carin, I will leave her. I want to be with you.”

  “Don’t do this,” I said. “Don’t change your world for this. You have everything ahead of you. You’ll forget this ever happened and move on. You have to.”

  “You have no right to tell me what to do, how to feel,” you argued. “Did last night not mean anything to you?”

  I cowered, allowed you to envelop me in your arms. “Of course it did. But all this is temporary—things like this don’t last. We steal the moments that belong to others. You and I don’t have a right to them.”

  I looked up at you and for a while, I thought that maybe I was wrong. Maybe we had a chance. Until the phone rang—our ride to the airport was waiting in the lobby.

  “We have to go,” I said, resolution and concession fighting to the surface. Last night was the first time I had let go of myself, relinquished all pretense. Today, it would come back with a vengeance—the fight to survive regardless of the circumstance. You’d come into my life way too late.

  It was too late.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Into the Sea

  Neither of us had much to say on the way to the airport. Entry into the island was currently limited to the doctor and his family and so a private plane was the only available means of getting there. There were six of us again—two lawyers, two architects and us. One of the architects was a personal friend of Jack’s. It was only respectful for us not to interact too much during the entire scouting trip.

  I smiled when your eyes grew wide at the sight of the Gulfstream G150. You were like a kid in a candy store, appraising the lushly appointed leather seating, the extended bar, and the three large television screens.

  You didn’t know how much flying terrified me. As we sat across from each other, I tried my best to mask my fingers under my sleeves so you didn’t see them digging into the armrest. It was a forty-five-minute flight, a quick take-off and landing—and as the pilot was giving us last-minute instructions, you motioned to me not to turn off my phone.

  You’re so beautiful.

  We have to talk. I can’t leave tonight.

  Don’t push me away.

  Uncross your legs for me.

  I want to be inside you.

  Want to join the mile high club?

  I know what you’re wearing underneath that skirt.

  I laughed out loud a few times, stole a few glances and fell head over heels for your lopsided smile. My heart sank when we landed. All I could think was that it brought me closer to the time when we would have to say goodbye. What you had given me the night before would keep me alive for the next twenty years. Not everyone got to soar as high as I had that night. Sometimes, life keeps you pretty close to the ground. There are no guarantees that one day you’ll take flight.

  In our convoy of golf carts, I was way up in front and you were in the back. In my car were the doctor and his son, in yours were the architects.

  I missed you. So many times, I wanted to turn around and check on you. Instead, I listened to the woman with a megaphone walking us through a history of the island as well as its geographical location. We passed through the town before ending up by the ocean. Slowly, we made our way through the village where happy, toothless people waved us on. Many children played in the streets, among tooting horns, speeding cars and crackling motorcycles. The sounds of life were different here. There was a vibrancy in the air, an affirmation despite the dilapidation and poverty. How could there be misery when they didn’t know what they were missing?

  “And this is the largest island in a group of how many?” I asked Dr. Fernandez.

  “Yes, Lubang Island is the largest. There are other islands in this group, but the land you purchased is right here. We will be there in two seconds.” He paused. “Ah, here we are.”

  The carts circled around a stone landing and before we knew it, we were in paradise.

  I caught my breath at the sight before me. Sand, white as snow, stretched as far as the eye could see, sparkling like sugar crystals, untouched, unspoiled, spotless.

  “Can we stop, please?” I gasped, leaning down to remove my shoes. I didn’t wait for a response; my feet were on the fine white powder, running toward the shore.

  The doctor stayed in the cart while his son tried to catch up with me.

  “My god! I never knew a place like this existed! Look at the water! You can see everything underneath. It’s amazingly clear!”

  Vincent smiled. “This place has been kept a secret for a long time.”

  “Carin!” you shouted, running toward me, loafers and all. I shielded my eyes from the sun with one hand and held the other one to you. You grabbed it, despite the fact that the whole world was watching.

  “Look at this, Matias!”

  “It’s gorgeous,” you answered. “Just stunning.”

  “You see over there?” Vincent pointed to the right side of the island. “That’s the island of Cabra. Do you see the lighthouse at the very tip over there? That is where the Virgin Mary appeared to a young girl, a student, in 1966.”

  “A place for miracles,” you said, your eyes never leaving mine.

  In a matter of minutes, the people from the village began to descend upon the beach. They were curious about the foreigners who had entered their world. Three little girls in shorts ran up to me an
d touched my skin. One of them gently tugged at my hair, giggling and saying something in their language.

  You watched this all take place, never letting go of my hand. The crowd filled the beach.

  “There must be two hundred people out here. Where did they all come from?” I glanced around. The island began to look small, a country of many compressed into one place.

  “I don’t know.”

  There were women dressed in sarongs and men in dark-colored pants. Strange, I thought, that fishing boats were pulling in so early in the day. Maybe they’d started out in the middle of the night. Maybe they were the day shift. In a matter of minutes, the water line began to rise. People started moving backward—what had been a shoreline at my ankles was now up to my knees.

  You looked at me with worry, tightened your grip on my hand, squeezing my fingers firmly, as if signaling a course of action.

  “Ms. Frost! Mr. Torres!” Vincent called to us. “Please come here!”

  We pushed our way through the crowd until we reached the golf cart. “We should leave now. There is word from Golo Island that there is some volcanic activity on Ambil. They experienced a small earthquake a few minutes ago.”

  Golo Island was one of the islands, I guessed.

  “Okay, okay,” you said, pulling me toward the second cart.

  A shrill, screaming siren cut through air, leading to an uncanny silence.

  People stopped in their tracks, immobilized and shocked.

  And then a rumbling. A soft drone right before the ground began to shake.

  “Carin!” you yelled above the screams. People were running in every which way. I feared a stampede, but you—you looked so calm and collected. You took my hand and led me away from our colleagues.

  I could hardly hear you yelling.

  “This is our chance. This is our start! Carin, can you see it?”

  “What? What are you saying?” I yelled back.

  “We can start over! Leave our lives, be together. Erase our past!”

  “How?”

  “By getting lost!” you answered. “We can let it all go, right here and now.”

  “No!” I cried. “My present has Charlie! And Jack! And Trish!”

  “You will always have them! But this! Me and you, a life together! Can’t you see that?”

  I started to cry. More than anything, I wanted you.

  “I’ll never leave you, Carin. I will always be here. I don’t want the life everyone has planned for me. I want this life.” You reached for my face, cradled it gently between your fingers. “With you.”

  From the distance, a glowing red light emerged from the ground.

  “Run!” you bellowed at the crowd. “Something is happening!” You grabbed me with both arms, lifted me off the ground, and slung me over your shoulder. You climbed a huge mound of hardened soil, huffing and panting until we reached the top of a small hill enclosed by a break wall. The golf carts were gone—there were strangers all around us.

  People ran from the water, tripping on their feet, trying desperately not to be swallowed by the sand.

  There was a rumble, a slow one, the waves thrashing in and out. You encircled me with your arms, holding me against your chest, anchoring me to the stony ground.

  And then a deafening sound—a thunderous clap followed by a loud boom. The ground shifted and we were met with the ear-splitting sound of an approaching freight train.

  You held on to me, kept me from falling. I felt safe with you. The waves rose higher and higher, crashing against the wall and drenching us. I thought of the Godfrey, when getting lost in your voice, in your song was the only thing I could remember from that night. I felt that way again except this time, I didn’t want it to end. I wanted to be lost forever. With you.

  You looked at me, and I looked right back at you.

  “I love you, Carin.”

  “I love you, Matias.”

  “Let’s throw our old life into the sea,” you beseeched, tears in your eyes.

  In every life, there is that one time.

  When for one miniscule moment, you are selfish, self-serving, even hedonistic.

  You become a mercenary for yourself, an advocate for your own happiness.

  That moment for me was profound and absolute. It was the end of my world but also the beginning.

  The apocalypse and the birth. Our origin.

  I watched you pull out your wallet and your cellphone. When you turned to me, that same storm was brewing in your eyes. They were conflicted, swirling like the clouds above and yet sparkling.

  You were giving me your heart. How could I refuse it? Slowly, I pulled out mine too—my wallet, my cellphone, and slipped the diamond ring off my finger. You nodded and, without a word, we flung ourselves far out into the angry, grumbling sea.

  Part II: OUR SPRING AND SUMMER

  “People go

  But how

  they left

  Always stays.”

  Rupi Kaur

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The Place for Miracles

  March 2016

  “How much farther?” I asked, holding on to the crook of your arm, my footsteps unsure and reluctant. We were on sand, I knew that much. It felt cool and compact, like it had been touched by water. I could hear the rushing sound of the tide and smell the salt in the air. But those were a given, a new normal for the two weeks we’d been living by the sea. I lost all sense of time and place. I was with you, and that was all I cared about.

  Our origin. It began in a dingy little room somewhere in the middle of the earth, where the temperature was punishing and the dust seeped in through the windows. We clung together, on a bamboo bed with a sunk-in futon, unsure of where we were or what we were going to do, but filled with anticipation about what was to come.

  The night of the earthquake, we disappeared together with the others, evacuated to the opposite side of the shore. Its magnitude was recorded at 5.8. There were no deaths—or at least no dead bodies.

  Just the missing.

  Buses and tricycles transported us to a more touristy side of the island with small hotels and resorts. You said we couldn’t stay. That it was the eventual place where people from home would try to find us. So we took a tiny motorboat across the island and ended up here.

  “Just a little bit more,” you answered, adjusting the blindfold settled snugly on my nose.

  “Where are we exactly?” We’d taken one jeepney and one tricycle and walked a heck of a long time on the beach. You carried this out so well, so secretive, like a stealth mission. “How’d you even find this place?”

  “The other day, when you were getting some clothes at the village, the lady at the hostel introduced me to some guy who knew another guy who owned some abandoned properties.”

  Your voice had a lilt to it. A tinge of excitement. I knew you were doing all you could to convince me that we’d made the right decision.

  “Ha, yes. These clothes,” I said, before turning to you with a smile. A tiny dive shop by the beach with clothes at tourist prices had sold me three sets for a hundred dollars. Of course, dive shops don’t really carry many essentials.

  You read my mind. “I told you we don’t need underwear.”

  “It’s quite liberating—literally and figuratively.” I laughed. “To think I was a slave to my outfits for years and years. Here, we get to wear the same thing every day.”

  “Don’t worry,” you assured me, “we’ll take a trip to one of the bigger resorts once we’re settled and get you all the stuff you’ll ever need.” Finally, you stopped, pivoting to the left and guiding me to turn away from the water. “Here we are.”

  A few hundred feet in front of us, behind two coconut trees and a smattering of tall grass, stood a modest raised bungalow with wooden shingles and a low, pitched roof that extended over a porch. I let go of your hand, dropped the knapsack on the ground and made my way closer to the dwelling. The porch was littered with leaves, the front door hung loosely on its hinges. The
large bay windows were boarded up to protect them from the elements.

  “Blue and white,” I muttered to myself, observing the scaly, blistered flecks of paint that now exposed the clapboards. I saw the gentle hues of the sky and the clouds and the deep blue sea dispersed around the good portions of the structure.

  You wrapped your arms around me and leaned your chin on my shoulder. “I know there’s some work to be done, but I can do it in no time. All it will take is a little bit of—”

  “It’s beautiful,” I countered, tightening your arms around me, craving to touch your face. “How much did it cost?”

  “Five thousand,” you answered, skimming your nose against my cheek.

  “For a house?” I had no perspective at all.

  “He wanted more, but I pointed out all the stuff I have to do to fix it,” you explained.

  “That leaves us with ...?” We started with fifteen thousand between us. It seems like a lot to bring on a work trip, but truth be told, I had plans to shop in Hong Kong on the way back to the States. It looked like you had planned to do the same, too.

  “Ten thousand more.” Gently, you twisted me around so that I was facing you. I saw the worry in your eyes. “But Carin, you don’t—”

  “I’m not worried,” I declared right before I kissed you. I kissed you with the fervor of someone who’d been found. Someone who’d just realized the magic of a kiss. Someone who was in love for the very first time. The kind of life-changing kiss that said “you saved me”.

  I surprised you, I guess. Because when we pulled away, you had that glaze in your eyes that only happens when tears begin to form.

  “That was nice,” you whispered. “Do it again.”

  I planted soft kisses on your forehead, your nose, your cheeks. “Let’s see our home,” I whispered.

  You lifted me with both arms and carried me up the wooden steps, laughing as the porch floor creaked and the wind blew the door open. When you set me on the ground, I was paralyzed, overwhelmed with emotion.