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Jack
Keeping busy is my new priority.
It doesn’t really matter what I’m doing.
I can’t ride my dirt bike all day, so I’ve been mixing some work between bike laps on the dusty sandstone trails.
Right now, I’m in my truck with the windows down. I just finished a loop around the Slickrock Trail and loaded my bike into the back of my truck.
It’s a Saturday morning, probably why my new manager, Billy, is surprised I was willing to talk.
“Hey, Jack, I really appreciate the work you’ve put in so far,” he says. “It’s unusual for that restaurant to buy so much. We’ve had a lot of problems working with that owner in particular.”
“Eh, he wasn’t a bad dude. He likes sports. On Wednesday, we talked about the Knicks for a solid hour.”
Billy chuckles. “I like your style. And really, you’ve been going above and beyond. We’re lucky to have you. Look at this: you’re working on weekends and everything. This is dedication, man.”
“Well, it helps me, too.”
“The commissions add up, right?”
“Sure, that, and I like keeping my mind on the job.” It’s a heck of a lot better than thinking about Hazel Thorpe…
And how much I miss her.
Every day I put in with Buzzy Digital Marketing felt like torture after we broke things off.
I kept getting her emails and messages on Slack. Always formal, always about work. That email signature, with her full name in italics along the bottom, along with that fax number, hit me like a punch to the gut every time.
I kept thinking about how she giggled in the Yellow Coral bungalow when I teased her about having a fax machine.
And then I’d think about the kisses that followed.
How sweet she tasted, and how good she felt in my arms.
I’d think about her pretty face, bathed in that warm, golden morning light. Her wavy hair, and how soft it was under my fingertips when I brushed it off her cheek and tucked it behind her ear.
I’d relive moments before then, too. It was like a movie kept playing in my head: The first day, when we locked eyes in the lobby. Then, later, our first conversation in the hot tub… her nervousness, her innocence, how she opened up to me.
That second night at the Tiki Grille, when her lips were painted cherry red, and she wore that pretty black dress.
Each time I had to check in with her about a work-related task, I pictured that time she fainted in the hot tub, and I had to catch her and hold her and lower her to the ground…
That moment when I caught her felt so good.
I was saving her from getting injured; she was on her way to the metal railing fast.
That’s what I wanted to do: Save her from harm.
I really did save her from harm that late afternoon in Hawaii. No doubt about it. She’d have had a bandage on her head if it wasn’t for the fact I was right there, arms out.
And then I tried to do it again when the legal mess came up. I wanted to save her from getting terminated, from trouble, from punishment, from reprimands, and from having that promotion because it seemed like what she wanted.
But what I really wished—and still wish—was that she wanted me.
She didn’t.
She didn’t want me.
