Meet You Soon [Sun-Kissed Summer Anthology]

Meet You Soon

My mother fell in love with a trickster-man, an unstoppable-man; a man who stole back the roses he picked from his mother's garden.

My sister fell in love with an uncommon man, a blue-eyed, broken-down man; a man who cried her to sleep at night.

But I?

I fell in love with a leaving-man, a loose-fingered, dream-breathing, magic-man, a letter-writing man; a man who disappeared.

***

Right after the divorce, I told Kellen my love story, woven from the smeared lines where fact meets fiction. I wasn't planning on sharing it – not then, not ever.

But I woke up to find my older sister hunched over the kitchen counter, elbows propped on the lip of the sink, chin resting against her palm, eyes vacant as she watched the bluebirds sing. When I touched her back to say good morning she didn't move. So I slipped my wrists over the ceramic, shoulder brushing hers. Cleared my throat, voice trembling – slight, ever slight, but trembling – and told her again how she had fallen out of love, and how I had fallen into it.

***

It was the morning after final tryouts for next season. I had been varsity team captain since freshman year. My spot in the team: secure. But my status, despite seniority, as an insider: uncertain. I underwent the perfunctory tumbling and yell drills and mounted the gym bleachers, white cheer sneakers unlaced and sweat sticking behind my knees, ears, and elbows.

By noon the tryouts were half-over and most of the sophomores grappling for spots had slunk home defeated. Our team was defending regional champions. Not much of an accomplishment, considering the region, but: it was an important title, because it was ours.

I sat taking notes – sloppy form; loose ankles; sharper wrists, Kristin, sharper! – until footsteps rattling up the bleachers stopped on the row below me.

"Brioni." Sherren, co-captain, twisted a dreadlock back out of her face. "We're narrowing down top ten over coffee."

"Is that an open invitation?"

"Maybe." she glanced down at my notebook. "Depends – did you vouch for me?"

"Never and always."

"Well." tugging down her athletic shorts, she looked over her shoulder. Lingered. Back at me. Below, our faculty advisor picked shoelaces, headbands, and pre-wrap off the gym floor. Knots of teammates – mine, but also not mine – laughed, stomped, clapped, shrieked, smudged each other's eyeliner, shoved each other's shoulders.

I was their leader, sister, but sometimes I was not. I was one of them, sister, but sometimes I was not.

Sherren watched me watch the wall. Perfume soured beside sweat. One of the girls under the hoop attempted a back handspring, landed on her ankle, screamed.

"I'm inviting you," she said. "So come."

I capped my pen. "I'll think about it."

She left.

***

Max found me at midnight.

Walking back from the public library, sneakers knotted together and hanging from my hand. None of the teammates had been out for coffee. I spotted a car flashing blue, gold, blue, pom-pom confetti dust crushed against window glass, heading into the hills behind Wuthering Stones, drawn by the insatiable pull of free alcohol and cramped spaces.

In the dark, Colorado Springs was a jungle of concrete and desperation. Developments rose from one corner, slack-jawed, lopsided, fresh and wooden and barely inhabited. Half-finished office complexes gaped across fields of dead grass and concrete roads. Yawning mouths, swallowing sound.