I absorb his words for a beat. “Not tonight.”
He pulls back. “What do you mean, ‘not tonight?’”
“Not tonight, I’m not without you. You’re here. I’m here. We’re not done yet.”
He threads his hand through mine. “You want to say goodbye?”
I whisper in his ear. “We’ve got one more night left before I leave. Do you want to do something about that?”
His hand slides down my side, and I feel the same surge of electricity I felt during our first kiss.
“Let’s get the out of here, shall we?”
“Yes, please.”
We exit the hotel, and I can feel all the eyes of my Peace Corps volunteer friends on me as we head up to my room.
I don’t care, though.
I just want one more night with him.
Once we’re inside my room, he slides my body up against the wall and kisses me softly at first, then forcefully.
My heart is racing, and I’m higher than any drug could make me.
“I guess this is the last time,” I say as he throws me on the bed.
“Let’s make it good, then.”
28
Luke
The first thing I notice when I wake up in the hotel room in the morning is that I can smell her scent on the pillow next to me.
I bolt up in bed, my heart hammering.
It’s quiet.
Too quiet.
I look where Sky’s bags were the night before.
Gone.
I recall that I groggily kissed her goodbye.
I grab the letter I wrote the other night, along with the keycard off the nightstand and sprint to the elevator and into the lobby.
Out of breath, I huff to the person behind the desk. “Excuse me ma’am, did the Peace Corps volunteers check out yet?”
“Why yes, about an hour ago. Why’s that?”
“No time to explain.”
I’m in a tank top, blue jeans, and flip flops, and I probably look like a crazy person. I hail a taxi—no time for Uber, or to find my car right now.
“Orlando International Airport, please, and step on it.”
He takes off, but it’s rush hour and traffic is slow going. I run my thumbs over the envelope in my hands.
Why didn’t I just sneak this letter into her bag or something last night?
Oh yeah, because we were too busy fucking until the break of dawn.
It was like magic last night. She has to know how I feel about her. It never seemed like the right time, though. But this letter—if she just opens it once she gets to Paraguay—maybe there’s a way we can have both our love and our independence. We’ll give each other our freedom for a couple of years of our twenties, and then be waiting for each other when we get back.
The reality is, she’s stolen my heart and there’s nothing I can do to get it back.
The taxi driver drops me at the International terminal, and I rush in.
I run to the nearest terminal, and purchase the cheapest ticket I can for a random flight, then basically run through security. Thank you, TSA pre-check!
I make it into the airport and look up at the board for all flights heading toward South America. There’s no direct flight to Paraguay, but I do see a flight for Rio de Janiero. That’s got to be the closest connecting hub to Paraguay.
I take off sprinting in flip flops, and accidentally plow into a suited businessman, who spills iced coffee all over me.
“What the hell, buddy! Watch where you’re going!” he says.
“Sorry,” I grumble, then hand him a ten dollar bill. “Get yourself a new drink.”
The rush of cold coffee on my blue tank top actually doesn’t feel all that bad. Though my body and mind are both on fire right now.
I run up to the counter of the flight headed for Rio de Janiero, and notice the door is closed.
“Excuse me, is this flight connecting in Paraguay?” I ask the attendant.
“Yes sir,” the woman says. “And it is now sealed.”
I put my hands together in a prayer-like gesture. “Is there any way at all I might be able to get this letter on that plane?”
She shakes her head. “Like I said, sir, I’m afraid it’s sealed.”
“Ma’am,” I say. “This has to do with true love.”
She gives me a wide-eyed stare, and I think I might have broken her. She looks out the window, and I see the plane rolling away, down the tarmac.
In a trance, I walk toward the window. I watch with pain as Skylar’s airplane takes off.
This is it, I think.
This is really over.
I stare at the letter in my hand, overcome with emotion.
This is that last lesson Sky has taught me: if I ever feel this way about someone again, I’m going to tell them immediately. I’m not going to wait for some special moment. Because before you know it, that moment is over.
My phone buzzes, and I smile.
Is she somehow calling me from the plane?
When I see who it is, though, it’s Ryan.
I answer. “Yeah?”
“Dude. Guess who just got a minor league contract with Tampa!”
“Get out!” I say, trying to sound enthusiastic.
“Yeah man, I gotta thank you for everything you’ve done for me this year. It shall be an honor to catch more of your balls over these next few years.”
“Great. That’s great.”
“You okay? You sound off.”
I stare at the letter in my hand.
“I’m at Orlando International Airport. Tried to say goodbye to Sky, but I missed my chance.”
“Ouch man. That’s rough.”
“I know. I slept in.”
“Pssh. Women, am I right? We’ll never figure out how to deal with them. Guess it looks like we’re both going to be single this year. Hell yeah.”
“I guess so, Ryan. I guess so. Gotta go man, we’ll talk in a bit.”
I hang up and blow out a loud sigh.
I text Sky, and it’s deactivated. She’ll be getting a new Peace Corps phone once she gets to Paraguay. A work phone.
I stare down at the letter in my hand.
Yes, I know I could just email her. Maybe send my handwritten letter as a picture attachment.
But something about that feels unnatural. I wanted her to read this letter, to feel it, to smell it.
This feeling of supreme emptiness knocks me over.
I don’t like having regrets.
I don’t regret falling in love with Sky.
But I do regret not telling her everything in this letter before it was too late.
I glance down at the letter I wrote, and I read it one more time:
Dear Sky,
For as long as I live, I’ll never forget the impact of your soul on mine.
You taught me what it was like to really be able to love.
To give love to another human being.
Before you, I was sure all marriages ended in a lifetime of unhappiness. I looked at having a wife like having a ball and chain attached to me, weighing me down wherever I go.
Ironically, you could call my condition, “Rock Block.”
I was afraid of true commitment and connection. I was afraid to fully open my heart to another human being.
And now?
I look at marriage like an open-ended adventure. One I might get to take with one special person.