The trunk of a 2003 Mazda Miata fits exactly three small cardboard boxes. One for clothes, one for books, and one for everything else. Or, for John Waltz on an overcast fall night, the entirety of one’s earthly possessions. It had been exactly 12 hours since he packed up his life and decided to drive west, only stopping for gas and tall Styrofoam cups of lukewarm gas station coffee.
The faint glow of a rising sun begins to cascade across the morning sky as The Beatles’ Hey Jude whispers gently across the cabin. John yawns and takes a deep breath, sitting upright and blinking himself out of the trance of late-night driving.
Outside, two strips of golden leaves sway gently with the wind, the trees giving way towards whatever comes next over the horizon. Inside, John tries to forget.
Three years and five states ago John had met Sarah at a coffee shop. Having flown in the night before for an interview, all that was left was to wait and hear back. It was a particularly fitful attempt at sleep that drove John out into the streets of Boston and towards a cafe, the warm glow and rich aroma drawing him in like a warm blanket. Standing in line for three orders too long, Sarah had stepped in and ordered him a macchiato and a slice of pumpkin bread.
“Trust me,” she said, “They’re known for it here.”
John had thanked her, offering to pay for her drink in return. “I’m Sarah,” she said, holding out a hand, “do you mind if I join you?” John agreed, and they sat and talked for hours while the sun rose over the city behind them and the morning regulars came and went. When John finally got the call that he had gotten the job, she had celebrated right alongside him.
“Does this mean I can see you again?” She asked.
“Of course,” he blushed, writing his phone number on a napkin, “I would like that.” As the months went on, they began exploring the city more and more. They often took the train up and down the coast on weekends and walked around the nearby parks and waterfront. And when his mother passed away, she was right there to console him every day, never asking him to do more than he was able.
“Take all the time you need,” she had told him when he got the call, “I’ll be right here the whole time.”
The golden trees had by now given way to the distant Indianapolis skyline and the steady thrum of cars passing by on his left. John glances at the dashboard, making note of the three quarters tank of gas as a green Subaru with a Coexist bumper sticker limps alongside. I’ll try to get to Saint Louis before I pass out, he thinks, taking a sip from the room temperature coffee. The bitter aftertaste lingers as he replaces the cup in the cupholder. Maybe that’s enough of that.
Another year had passed before John and Sarah moved in together, her warm and welcoming demeanor now reflected in each and every corner of their one-bedroom apartment. Every day and night, John saw Sarah’s warmth radiate between them, no matter where they were. They took more trips together, their love of new foods and cultures and places melting together into one beautiful, shared memory.
And when Sarah got sick, John was right there by her side every step of the way. He learned to cook, making her warm golden soups and baking simple pastries and breads for the days when she felt she could eat. He brought their trips to them, setting up a projector in the living room and covering the walls and windows to make it feel as if they were anywhere but where they were. On one occasion it was a cruise in the Mediterranean, swaying gently in the calm sea breeze. On another it was a cottage in the Swiss alps, snow gently muting the world outside while a fire crackled behind the screen inside.
“I never doubted you for a second,” John had told her when Sarah got the news that she was all better.
She smiled and grabbed his hand, “I know.”
Sarah took up cycling as she recovered, gone more and more on early morning or late evening rides with friends. John would often wake up to notes, “Long ride in the hills today” or “Be back for lunch”. Never much of an athlete, John took up reading, a hobby he hadn’t had the chance to try since he was a kid. On mornings when Sarah was out biking, he would take a new book to the coffee shop where they met, sitting by the window, drinking a macchiato with a slice of pumpkin bread.
And then the night before, after months of slow mornings in the coffee shop, he came home to find her standing in the kitchen. Cold, emotionless, closed off. He knew something was wrong from the tightness in his chest like a python strangling his heart.
“I think I just need some space,” She said when he asked what the matter was, the counter between them, “I need to remember who I was before us.”
“You’re not being serious,” he replied. Sarah only stared at the ground.
“You can take as much time as you need, and I’ll be right here when you’re ready. You always stuck by my side, and I want to always be by yours.”
“You don’t get it, if I know that you’re waiting for me, I’ll never know if I could have made it on my own.” A single tear rolled down her cheek.
“That’s supposed to be the best part of finding the love of your life,” John whispered as Sarah walked out the front door, “you don’t have to try.”
A heavy numbness began to drift off of John like a lead blanket, only just realizing it had even been there in the first place. The memories began to flood back in, a torrent of past joy now poisoned by heartbreak. John slams the radio off as Johnny Cash comes on the radio, rubbing his temples in an attempt to hold himself together.
What awaited him beyond this city and the next he hadn’t the slightest clue, the only certainty that he would keep on passing them by until he couldn’t anymore. As the skyline disappeared in the rearview mirror, John was vaguely aware that the only thing more painful than his heart was the sharp corner of a small box pressing into his left thigh.
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Some great writing in this. Good example of how an external stressor can really damage a romantic relationship. Hope john can brush off that heavy numbness and find happiness again. Loved the opening "The trunk of a 2003 Mazda Miata fits exactly three small cardboard boxes. One for clothes, one for books, and one for everything else." Tells us exactly the situation he is in. Good work!
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