Chapter 24
Ben, May 22
It is so hot here. The second my airplane landed I felt like someone was holding a hair dryer in my face from about 15 centimeters out. It’s flat, brown, hot, and miserable. I haven’t been in Arizona in ten years and I’m shocked by how much it hasn’t changed. Sure there are new buildings, but overall it’s exactly the same.
I have booked myself at a hotel near the old high school and driving to it brings back waves of nostalgia. There’s the little café we used to hit up when we left school early, the coffee shop where a friend had caffeine for the first time, the house a girlfriend used to live at, and the high school itself. I actually pull into West High’s parking lot and sit for a minute. I allow myself to think about how different my life would be if I had decided to stay in the states. Would I be married? Would I be working at the power plant out in Tonopah? Would I be with Liz?
I have to shake my head to clear that last thought. The act of doing that brings me back to reality. I’m a 28-year-old man sitting in a high school parking lot, bad idea. I drive the car out of the lot and directly to the hotel. In my mind I’m wondering what she’s up to, but I can’t allow myself to go there.
The past months have been torture. It’s supposed to get easier, being away from her. I gave her the space I thought she needed to find her perfect relationship, but I hate myself for not being able to give it to her. My paychecks have more than doubled with the amount of overtime I’ve racked in over the last two months, but it’s not taking my mind off her. I’ve been on dates, but nothing helps. I can’t seem to find anyone that makes me think “this could be the one.” Hell, at this point I’d settle for “this one doesn’t make me think of Liz every five seconds.”
I park myself at a little bar. I remember seeing this bar when I was in high school, but we weren’t old enough to attend. Tonight I recognize a few faces from high school. I am carrying a drink around, chatting it up and generally being good company. I’m actually feeling like this was a good idea, coming to America to attend this reunion.
I’m in the midst of a conversation with a high school mate when the door opens and she walks in. The air seems to shift, the noise dimming as if the entire bar has stepped aside just for her entrance. For a half-second I forget to breathe.
She has a purple button-down shirt on, top two buttons open to reveal just enough to bring my attention to the area. Jean skirt, just brushing the knee. Black strappy sandals with a slight heel. The brown hair is softly curled around her face and God — she looks older, sharper, brighter than the girl in my memory. Ten years gone and somehow she’s even more devastating.
The guy I’m reminiscing with turns his head to see what I’m looking at. “Who is that?” he asks.
“Liz. Liz Banks. She went to school with us.”
“Oh yeah, I remember her.” He snaps his fingers. “She’s a lesbian, right?”
I actually laugh as I shake my head. “No, she’s not a lesbian. I’ll talk to you later. Nice catching up.” In the back of my mind I hear a voice telling me this is a mistake. Walk away, walk away. But my feet keep moving in her direction. Every step feels like I’m walking into a fire I already know will burn me. Before I know it, I’m right in front of her and those deep brown eyes are locked onto my face.
“Hello.” It’s all I can get out of my mouth.
“Hi.” She smiles. “You’re speaking to me now?” Her head tilts to the right, her eyes flash in defiance.
“I deserve that.” I nod, holding up my hands defensively.
“You deserve more than that. You hurt me.” She didn’t need to tell me that. I can read the anger in that beautiful face as clearly as I can read any book.
Straightaway, I’m matching her anger. “I hurt you? I set you free. You gonna tell me you haven’t been living it up the past couple of months?” Honestly, I don’t know what the hell she’s been up to the past months. For all I know she never even called him. The point is it’s not my fault if she’s not living her life.
“Living it up? You’re such an asshole. You don’t know what I’ve been doing. You haven’t bothered to find out. You cut me loose and set me to float adrift alone. You don’t get to make sure I’m fine now. You didn’t care about me then and I’ll be damned if you get to care now.”
Her voice carries, sharper than I expected. Heads are turning. The guy I’d just been talking to actually raises his eyebrows, like he’s stumbled onto live theatre. Liz notices too: her chin lifts, her spine goes rigid. For a second, she looks as furious at the gawkers as she does at me.
I feel the heat rise in my face. This isn’t just our fight anymore; it’s on display, and that makes it ten times worse.
“Liz —” I start, but she cuts me off with a glare.
“Not here,” she snaps, quieter now, as if the word itself tastes sour. She turns on her heel and walks up to the bar. The crowd pretends to look away, but the damage is done. I can feel eyes still on me. I hang my head and charge out the open bar door into the stifling heat.
Did she really say I didn’t care? Clearly my intentions, honorable as they were, didn’t come across to Liz. What is my goal here? This woman is so exasperating. I stomp my foot, trying to clear my head. I cannot believe she honestly believes I haven’t been thinking of her. Every bloody day, Liz. Every single bloody day. I did this for her!
I have to set her straight.