Gypsy Moon

Chapter 2 - Jake

August 17, Present Day

Every year for over two decades, I have returned to this place and today was no different. I don't know why I do it. Really, I should have let it go awhile back but I just can't quite get there. My stupidity cost me the best thing I ever had and I've never been able to recreate what I had when I was younger. And each year I come back and stand there, in that same spot where I glimpsed my future, grabbed onto a dream and shortly thereafter fucked it all up. God, what the hell was I thinking? Well, I can't change it now. I can't fix what I broke. I can't even replace it, I've tried, three times.

Walking across this old covered bridge, it starts the old movie in my head, the one from that day. I was oblivious to what was going to come. What amazing news I was about to receive from the woman I loved so much. Yeah, we were pretty young. She was eighteen and I was twenty-two though I thought I knew everything. Shit, I didn't know a damned thing. The bridge hasn't changed much, the red paint has faded a bit more and the inside is peppered with even more neon graffiti. I never understood what the appeal was of damaging a historic structure like this did for people. I guess it gives some pathetic fuck a thrill. Or teenagers something to do with their ample time. Who knows?

Damn it's hot. My motorcycle boots clunked across the heavy wood planks of the bridge and echoed against the walls. I stepped to the right to avoid new hole in the floor where the edges have been charred. Some moron obviously tried to start a fire. What are they thinking? Looking down through the hole, I see the lazy stream passing underneath. It's quiet here. I can hear the rustle of the sycamore leaves of the trees that surround this covered bridge. I wish I felt that peace inside of myself. Somehow find some semblance of calm. All of my fifty years, the only time I even came close to inner peace is when I was with her. I was happy. Hell, I don't even know what happy means anymore. I have all the money in the world, literally millions and that hasn't made me happy. Yeah, I thought that if I earned enough money, built enough businesses, sold enough businesses, built a big beautiful home, bought more homes, bought cars and bikes and everything else that I'd find the peace I had when I was twenty-two. But I was so dead wrong.

The trail split as I walked back into the light and onto the ground. There was no decision, I always went the same way, to the right. Down the hill, through the Osage orange tunnel and to the river bend. I'd stand in the same spot or sit for an hour or two remembering. The first few years, I could barely stay ten minutes but now time has buffered the sharp edges of those memories. Now, I can sit in that turning point of my life. The best moment of my life. Not even earning my first million dollars surpassed this memory. Funny how that is. When you grow up poor, you believe that having a lot of money will fix everything. It fixes a lot of things; it gives you stability and the freedom to do more of what you want. But it sure to hell doesn't bring you love. It doesn't bring you lasting happiness. Oh sure, you can buy whatever you want but that kind of joy is fleeting. I would be happy for a bit, then I'd want to buy something else. I could buy everything in the world and it wouldn't have fixed what is broken. Nothing ever will. I have to say, I'm resigned to feel this way the rest of my life, however long that may be.

That big ol' sycamore stood tall above everyone. It's a bit like a beacon, a trail marker, I guess. It marks that very spot, the one I keep coming back to like some sort of annual magnet, calling my name. Jake... Jake.... Jake...

The grass and weeds brushed against my Levi's and I was grateful I had on long pants. Not that I'm going to be riding a Harley in shorts. Sweet Jesus what kind of idiot does that? I've seen them though. Especially women riding in the bitch seat. Scantily clad in tank tops and shorts and flip flops. If you get into an accident, that's not going to help one bit against a major case of road rash but whatever. Not my circus. My long-sleeved t-shirt was clinging to my chest and arms as I sweat like a freaking hog. I pulled the fabric away but it didn't help much.

The trail split again and again I went left just below the sycamore. Then I saw her, curled up like a wood nymph at the base of the tree, sound asleep, her sunglasses tipping precariously on the top of her forehead threatening to fall onto her face. Her feet were bare and wet sand clung to her toes. Toes painted a bright shell pink. I pushed my own sunglasses up on my head to take a second and closer look. Is this really her? It sure to hell looks like her. Honey blond hair, not as long as it once was, veiled her face which was tipped down, her chin on her chest. Her long legs were tanned and muscular. Her knees were drawn up to her body. She was only wearing a thin, skimpy turquoise tank top over a similar colored sports bra. There was no makeup on her skin but I could make out the freckles that covered her face, her arms and most of the rest of her body that saw the sunlight.

My heart stopped and then started at full speed when the adrenaline of seeing her again kicked into my system. I had heard she got a divorce and came back to Ohio but I didn't expect her to be here today. Actually, I haven't seen her for over a quarter of a century and our parting was not exactly cordial. It was more like her two hulking older brothers, Marc and Tony, grabbing me and pulling me away from her while she screamed 'I NEVER want to see you again, you cheating cocksucker!'. Yeah those were her last words to me. I haven't even so much as caught a glimpse of her because her bouncer-like brothers told me they would kill me if they caught me within five hundred feet of her and they meant it. Not that they really scare me, I just know when not to push my luck and frankly, I fucked up. I hurt this beautiful girl sleeping under a sycamore at my feet. Not just hurt her, crushed her.

Her face was flushed red. I wondered if she was overheating. A water bottle sat at her hip, tipped over into the sand. Should I wake her? Christ, she'd probably scratch my eyes out. Her breathing seemed normal. I felt torn. I wanted to wake her up and pull her into my arms. I also am not a completely stupid man and know that doing that to your ex-fiance, probably isn't the smartest thing. But I can't exactly stand here and let her end up with heat stroke either. It has to be over a hundred degrees with this damned humidity.

I stepped closer and squatted down beside her, ignoring the cracking in my left knee. I didn't even touch her before her eyes opened and she sat up in a start. My joints popping actually woke her up. Her jade green eyes turned to me and opened wide. She pushed herself back against the tree as if trying to put more distance between us. Her chest, her glorious chest, was heaving.

"Jake?!" She yelled out in surprise.

"Yes, darlin'." I drawled softly. "It's me."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Her words were full of venom. So much for a happy reunion.

"It's a public place, Jesse. I just came down here to cool off." I stood up and held out my hand to her. She looked at it like it was a snake that would bite her. My heart sunk but I couldn't show her that. I have to play it cool.

She ignored my offered hand and pushed herself up while grabbing the water bottle next to her. "You scared me."

"Sorry, your skin is really flushed, Jesse. I was worried you were getting heat stroke." I figured honesty was going to be my only shot.

"Oh." She brushed off the back of her black running shorts. "I guess thanks, but I'm okay."

"Good to hear." That sounded stupid but I didn't know what else to say.

She was still so amazing beautiful. Sure, time had aged her a little bit but shestill looked the same, she was still my Blondie but damn, I wasn't going topull out that endearment. Not when shewas looking at me like she wished she had a knife.