Migration

Migration

*(This story is not complete. It is the short story version of a novel in progress...please keep that in mind. Thanks!)

“There’s a world outside of your darkened door
Where blues won’t haunt you anymore
Where the brave are free and the lovers soar
Come ride with me to the distant shore"
~Tom Cochrane
****
It's a tropical sky, Alex Biamonte thought absently. She wasn't comforted. It just reminded her of all the things that lay beyond. Things that beckoned her, calling her name in the middle of the night, forcing her to leave the comfort of her bed and place her feet on cold wooden floors. It was early spring, and the air, although chilly, had a moldy damp smell heralding the arrival of the Earth's rebirth. She was always a little anxious this time of year. She couldn't wait to shed the confinements of winter and have a chance to start anew, finally breaking through the ice for a new chance at life.
His chest rose and fell like the tide as he slept, and her gaze alternated between his sleeping form and the white curtains billowing around the open window. She turned and looked intently at the bed, willing herself to return to its warmth and comfort.
But from somewhere just outside the window, she could hear the road calling, and she knew this was just another detour. As much as she loved him, it wasn’t enough to hold her. She walked around the bed and stumped her toe on something jutting out from under. It was her suitcase. She bent over and eased it out into the middle of the room. A few of her shirts hung in the closet, and a half full dresser drawer held a pair of jeans, mismatched socks and a dozen pairs of frilly bikini underwear. The rest was still packed away in the suitcase.
I could stay another day or two, she reasoned. The thought rolled around in her mind for a moment before her inner cynic replied, but what’s the use of stalling? She yanked the shirts off the hangers, and one clanged loudly on the closet floor. She held her breath for a moment, but Joe only let out a sigh and turned over on his side. After cramming her stuff into the suitcase, she leaned over and kissed the face of the man she’d loved for almost a year. She thought of leaving a note, but that was way too clichéd for her tastes.
Alex struggled with the suitcase down the stairs and out the door. The car started on the second try and the radio blared: “One morning, I woke up and I knew you were really gone…” Fitting. She looked up at the house, to the open window with the billowing curtains. She thought of shutting off the car. Instead, her hand found the gear shift, jerked it into drive and the tires squealed as she pulled out onto the road.
* * *
Alex lugged her black suitcase up the three flights of stairs to her new apartment. The humid Florida air smelled of salt, burning asphalt, and hibiscus. Wisps of her wavy light brown hair had fallen out of her ponytail and were damp against her neck. The back of her red tank top stuck to her skin and her sunglasses were fogged up from the heat. She thought it must be quite a sight to a passerby, her tiny five foot three, 110 lb. frame struggling with the massive suitcase up the rickety metal stairs. Usually, when people moved they acquired more stuff, but Alex seemed to lose just a little more each time she moved. Three more towns and she figured she could join a convent. She’d be able to handle the vow of poverty at least, considering that all she had to her name was a massive black suitcase.
She struggled with the door, pushed it open with a loud creak, and stepped into her new place. It was one of those pay by the week joints, and Alex was swayed not only by the cheap rent, but by the fact that it was a quick walk to the beach. Flipping the light switch by the door, she cringed, wondering if the ideal location was worth having to actually live in this dump. The walls were bare, except for a few gray outlines where pictures used to hang. The apartment had a hardwood floor, but it was scuffed as if someone had been giving tap dancing lessons in the living room. The entire front of the couch was ripped to shreds. Exposed wood and tacks patiently awaited a new victim clad in shorts, prepared to dig into the legs of the poor, unsuspecting soul. One cushion, Alex was sure, had been resting beneath a boulder for the past ten years.
In the kitchen was a Formica table with rusted legs and remnants of a plastic flowered table cloth stuck haphazardly along the top. The lone chair wobbled in it’s permanent resting place, the linoleum beneath it worn through to the plywood that supported the metal feet. In the corner was a brown micro-fridge covered loosely with wood-toned shelf paper. On top rested a small two burner electric range. She was afraid to open the cabinets.
It lacked something in comfort, but it would have to do. Determined to make the best of it, Alex headed for the bedroom to put away her things. In their infinite wisdom, the architects responsible for this dump designed the closet as the largest room in the place. The modest forty-watt bulb just wasn’t enough to reach all the corners of the massive walk-in. Too much room and too little light. Alex stood in the vast expanse of the walk-in just long enough to let the loneliness of it all pull her down. Then she got to work unpacking her things from the designer black luggage. It was odd pulling Goodwill t-shirts out of a Gucci bag, but she figured if she was going to live out of a suitcase, it should be one damn fine piece of luggage. And that it was. Solid black woven nylon with gold plated zippers and a gold Gucci medallion dangling from the side. A small leather ID tag hung off the handle. Inside was an address card. Name: Alex Biamonte, Address: Saint Somewhere Phone: Public.
Alex killed the light in the closet and stumbled in the dark towards her bed. Not even bothering to set her alarm clock, she fell onto the thin, stained mattress vowing that tomorrow she’d begin to make a life for herself in Key West. She’d stay this time. No more running. It was time to settle down. Slowly, with the noise of the highway just twenty feet away, Alex drifted off to sleep.
She awoke to the sound of seagulls outside her opened bedroom window, and thought about how she'd ended up here. Twenty-four years old, no real job, no friends, no where to call "home." She twisted her face until she couldn't tell if she was frowning or smiling, and prepared to face her first full day in Key West.
Alex glanced at the clock. 11:45. After a breakfast of coffee and Marlboro Lights, she got dressed and decided on job hunting. Ten minutes later she found herself walking into the first open bar she found, thinking that she’d better watch her step, because if at that moment the floor decided to cave in, she was sure she’d go straight to hell. Ignoring the stares and whistles of the black leather clad beer bellies, she walked over and sat her purse on the sticky counter.
“Can I get ya something to drink?"
"Amaretto sour please," she said. The bartender paused for a moment, turned to the cooler, and dropped a Corona in front of her.
Alex looked at him startled, and for the first time analyzed his appearance. The earring in his left earlobe, the moustache and beard that would have made ZZ Top green with envy. He had so many tattoos decorating his arms and neck that it was impossible to decipher what any of them were.
"Corona works,” she finally managed. She drank in silence while he waited on a couple of guys at the other end of the bar, willing herself not to get up and leave. The bartender gestured towards her and three men turned their heads in unison to look at the newest face on the island. Alex pretended not to notice and glanced around the bar, taking it all in. The sign above the door said “Shark Fins” in big bubble letters. A chunk had been bitten out of the bottom, a “shark” bite Alex assumed. Cute, she thought, slightly sarcastic.
Inside, the bar was a mishmash of styles and décor. Surf boards served as table tops around the perimeter of the bar while sea shells and stuffed fish hung entangled in fishing net. There were pictures of Hemingway, Captain Tony, and Jimmy Buffett stuck haphazardly on the walls in between replicas of Harleys and fishing boats. An inflatable shark hung over the bar, as well as a Corona sea plane and a sombrero clad parrot holding a beer. A life sized palm tree wrapped with clear Christmas lights stood beside a raised platform in the corner, probably used for live bands. Everywhere neon signs promoted Budweiser, Corona, Miller, and Michelob. Maybe Alex could get a job here. It was close to her apartment, it seemed busy enough, and didn’t look as though they’d require a current resume.
When Mark returned, he grabbed her empty Corona bottle, and before she lost her nerve she blurted out, "Excuse me sir, are you hiring?"
He studied her a moment, wiping his hands on a dirty white towel tucked in the belt loop of his jeans.
"I'm Alex Biamonte, just came into town yesterday," She said, trying to break the ice. The bartender grinned at her and shook her hand.
"Name's Mark, glad to meet you.” He popped the top on a couple beers and slid them down to two waiting bikers. He started wiping off the counter, and Alex wondered if he had heard her question, or was simply ignoring her. Finally he looked up and said,
“Do you have any experience?” Alex hesitated a moment, and before she could answer he continued.
“Well, tell you what. If you can sell those two guys over there a pitcher of water instead of beer, I’ll consider it.”
Alex looked in the direction he indicated and turned back to Mark in disbelief. One guy was wearing dirty khaki cutoffs and flip flops, his blue hawaiian shirt covered with sailboats and unbuttoned halfway down his massive hairy chest and the other was clad in jeans and a white t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, proudly proclaiming, “If you can read this the bitch fell off.” On his head, hiding the origins of his long sandy colored ponytail, was a leather do-rag with a menacing skull emblazoned on the top. There were two empty pitchers of beer on the table between them already, and it wasn’t even one in the afternoon yet.
Mark grinned at her, shooed her in their direction with his hands, then abandoned her to wait on a couple that had just entered the bar. Alex wondered if it was worth it. Surely, there’s some other job, she reasoned. But a few years on the road reminded her otherwise, and besides, she liked a challenge. Alex took a moment to gather her composure and then slowly stood up. She took in a breath and started walking towards the two men. Neither noticed her until she said, “Buy you fellas a round?” Slowly, almost in unison, the two looked over to see the face that belonged to that little voice.
“Why sure, young lady. Why not?” The biker agreed.
“All right!” Alex said. “But how about we make this interesting? A little wager perhaps?”
“What you got?”
“If you win, I’ll buy you a pitcher of beer. If I win, you’ll give me five bucks for a pitcher of water. You up for it?”
“Ah hell,” said the big guy, “what’s five bucks? Besides, I could use another beer.”
“Ok then” Alex said. She turned to Mark and ordered one shot of Jack and two pints of Bud. Mark brought the drinks over and leaned on the bar, too interested to miss this.
“A little drinking contest. I’ll bet you that I can drink both of these beers before you can finish that one shot. Just give me a one beer head start to warm up. Oh, and one rule. I can‘t touch your glass, and you can‘t touch mine.”
“Oh I’ll take that! Mark, go ahead and pour that pitcher. This girl ain’t got no sense.”
Alex drank her first beer quickly while the other three, and now a small crowd, watched intently. When she finished she placed her empty pint glass upside down over the biker’s shot.
“Go.”
There was a moment of silence, then the small crowd roared with laughter. The two guys sat dumbfounded for a moment, then good-naturedly joined in. Alex turned and looked triumphantly at Mark, and he motioned in the direction of the two guys.
“Alright fellas. Pay up. She got you fair and square.” Begrudgingly, the biker reached for his wallet, laid five bucks on the counter, shook his head and said with a wink,
“Well I’ll be goddamned. All right, missy. Like to order a pitcher of water from you, if you don’t mind too terribly.” The entire bar burst into applause.
“You got yourself a job, Alex. Be here tomorrow at five.”
Alex beamed as she paid for her drinks, thanked Mark for the job, and said she’d definitely see him tomorrow.
Outside, the blaring sun burned her eyes, and she fumbled for sunglasses. I have a job, she told herself disbelievingly. Not exactly what I had in mind, but look around! I live in Paradise! Gazing up at the clear blue sky framed by palm trees, she impulsively did a little skip. Blushing and making sure no one noticed her childish antics, she crossed the street toward her apartment, wondering how to spend the rest of her day.
Back at her apartment, Alex decided that it was too nice of a day to be stuck inside. She rummaged around in her still half packed suitcase and fished out a two-piece swimsuit and a sarong covered with smiling pink flamingos. She changed quickly, and grabbed a beach towel. At the door, Alex turned around to survey the bare apartment. When her gaze rested on the Gucci suitcase, she was suddenly consumed with all the loneliness and instability that traveling in style carried with it. She heaved the bag up, and bracing it with her knee, dumped the rest of its contents onto the unmade bed. She then lugged the suitcase out the door, and out into the humid Florida afternoon.
During her job hunting excursion she had spotted a pawnshop that she was sure could help relieve her of her problem. The process was quick, easy, and relatively painless. Fill out a form, pocket forty bucks, and kiss the unhappiness goodbye.
She headed for the beach, planting herself between a fat old man with skin like a wet brown paper bag and a buxom blonde that made Alex feel more than a little inadequate. After a few hours working on her already dark tan, Alex headed for the pier and found herself surrounded by happy sunburned faces in brightly colored Hawaiian shirts, awaiting the arrival of sunset. She grabbed a Sno Cone from a street vendor, and smiled at everyone she passed. As the sun was dropping from the sky, Alex felt drawn away from the crowd, and sat on a bench, slurping her melting Sno Cone.
She thought of her suitcase, and for a moment wondered if she’d done the right thing. For three years it had been the only thing permanent in her life. It had been everywhere with her. It was a high school graduation present from her father. Well, not exactly. He'd actually given her a camcorder. It was a nice digital camera with all the bells and whistles, but Alex wasn't impressed. There wasn't a lot that she wanted to record for all posterity and certainly even less that she wanted to relive over and over in digital quality. The camera wasn't much her style and just proved that her father didn't know her all that well anyway. She kept it for a while though. It sat in its case in the top of her closet behind a shoebox full of magazine clippings until it finally found its purpose.
Alex left her parents house on January first. After a long night of celebrating New Year's at the family’s lake house on Lake Erie, she went home for the last time. She stuffed everything she could into her backpack, shoebox first, and headed out. Her parents wouldn't be awake for hours. By the time they got up all they would find was a note. "Thanks for the camera......Love, Alex."
On her way out of Ohio, Alex stopped at a twenty-four hour pawn shop. She needed cash and had no use for a camcorder. Alex got a hundred and fifty bucks for the thing, about half of what it was worth. On her way out she spotted something hanging on the wall next to the door. It was a black Gucci suitcase. She yanked it down and blew a third of her take on it. She told the cashier she wanted to travel in style. The guy looked as if he couldn’t care less, but took some of the money back and sent her on her way.
Alex smiled, thinking of all the places that suitcase had taken her. This was the end of the road. No more suitcase, no more aimless wandering.
Suddenly tired, Alex shuffled past drunken revelers and dodged maniacal bicycles, heading back to her apartment. She’d celebrate the sunset some other night. Right now, all she wanted was sleep. Back at the apartment, she kicked her sandals off her aching feet and immediately collapsed on the bed. After a halfhearted attempt at plumping the lumpy pillow, she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Alex Biamonte had been transformed into a bona fide regular on Key West, and was as happy as she’d ever been. She’d held down her job at Shark Fins for nearly ten months, a new record for her, and she was everyone’s favorite bartender. She’d made a few friends on the island and they promised to teach her how to surf. She hadn’t woken up in the middle of the night in weeks, and the nightmares had disappeared. Alex was sure that Key West was the destination that she had been searching for. She actually felt like she lived here, not just a visitor on vacation. She went to the grocery store, rented movies, hung out at the local bars, got a library card. She even had mail. That was the most amazing thing to her. This was the first time she’d ever lived anywhere long enough to receive mail on a regular basis. She delighted in seeing her name and address displayed together for the world to see. Even if it was only junk mail and bills, it made her feel so real.
When Alex met Rylan Skye, all the pieces of her shambled, haphazard existence seemed to fall effortlessly into place. He was the drummer in one of the regular bands at Shark Fins, and she joked that he was her “rock ‘n roll man.” He had tried for weeks to pick her up, dropping compliments, etc. But Alex was slow to take the bait. She had heard it all before and most of the time, she ignored the hammered tourists looking for a quick spring break tryst. But it was very hard to ignore Rylan. First of all, he was gorgeous. And his sense of humor floored her. He was sarcastic and quick witted, very much like herself.
One crowded Friday night Mark announced to the bar that he had two tickets to the Jimmy Buffett concert in Miami the next weekend. He wanted to give them away, but he wanted to have some fun doing it. The crowd, of course, went nuts. People would have killed for those tickets, but Mark had something much more interesting planned. He told everyone who was interested to grab a partner and line up in front of the stage. Alex laughed at the mass from behind the bar. She always thought those Parrotheads were a strange brew. Before she knew it, someone had hold of her arm. It was Rylan. He pulled her from around the bar and they lined up with the crowd in front of the stage. Mark handed a lime to every other person, winked at Alex as he placed one in her hand, then returned to the microphone.
“Ok, here’s the deal.” Mark announced. “The one with the lime has to pass it up one of your partner’s pants legs, then out through the other one. The quickest one through wins the tickets to see Jimmy!”
Alex blushed, looked up at Rylan and thought, Oh good Lord!
“Ready, set, go!!!”
The crowd cheered and laughed as the drunks fumbled through each other’s pants, but Alex flew into action, making quick work of the lime through Rylan’s drawstring linen pants, careful not to touch anything valuable. When it was over Mark announced the winner proudly and handed Alex and Rylan their tickets. Rylan laughed out loud at his good fortune. Alex looked at her ticket, handed it to the disappointed woman standing next to her, patted Rylan on the cheek and walked back to the bar.
Dumbfounded, Rylan followed her. He took a seat on one of the stools and sat looking at Alex, while she very obviously ignored him. Rylan had embarrassed her, he just didn’t realize how badly. Now, he sat there alone, and Alex could feel him watching her not watching him. Abruptly, Rylan jumped up from his bar stool and headed towards the stage. The rest of the band was busy drinking while on break between sets so he had the stage to himself. He reached over and hit the button to kill the jukebox. Rylan was an incredible drummer, but a singer he was not. He picked up the microphone, turned up the PA, and began singing what had to be the worst rendition of Looking Glass’s Brandy ever to be performed in public. “The sailors say Alex, you’re a fine girl, what a good wife you would be. Your eyes could steal a sailor from the sea”
Again the bar went crazy with cheering and clapping. Alex looked over at Mark and he could see the confusion in her eyes, but he just smiled and nodded in Rylan’s direction. Alex couldn’t help but smile back.
So she agreed to go out with Rylan. He took her to Hemingway’s house and they played with the seven-toed cats and talked about what novels they’d write about if given the chance to sit down at Papa’s writing desk. They toured Duval St. like a couple of tourists, stopping in every little shop on the way. Rylan even took her to a small cigar shop off the beaten path and they shared a Churchill rolled right in front of them.
After their first couple of dates, the two were inseparable. He hung out at the bar while she worked, took her to dinner, the beach, and taught her how to surf. They hunted ghosts in Old Key West at night and slept tangled up in each other until late in the afternoon. Rylan put lotion on her legs and feet and back after dips in the ocean dried out her skin, and she loved to peel the sunburn off his freckled, fair-skinned shoulders. And just like that, Alex Biamonte was in love.
Weeks turned into months, and everything was smooth sailing for Alex and Rylan until one night in September, while a hurricane threatened the coast of Key West, her nightmares returned. She woke up in the middle of the night, gasping for breath and sweating despite the air conditioned bedroom. Rylan held her tightly against his tanned chest, trying to soothe away the monsters that had emerged from Alex’s closet.
The first couple of nights, Alex let Rylan hold her, console her back to sleep. But after a while, she couldn’t stand him to even touch her. Most nights, she’d crawl out of bed and sit at a chair looking out the window at the ocean. Although she tried desperately to quiet the voices that plagued her in her dreams, they were becoming louder by the day. Alex knew it was only a matter of time before she’d be on the move again.

“What are you doing?” Rylan’s voice was a mixture of alarm, surprise, and dread. hAlex hadn't heard him open the bedroom door and it startled her. She set the t-shirt down on the bed, and let the hanger clatter from her hand to the floor. She didn’t turn around. She thought that if she turned to face him, she might wither up and die. Instead, she yanked up her t-shirt and shoved it down in the trash bag with all her others.
“I said, what are you doing?” This time his voice was steely and cold, and she could feel the panic he was desperately trying to conceal hit her in the back like a frigid northerly wind. Alex wanted to turn and feel his arms tightly around her, forbidding her to move an inch. She remained motionless as she replied, “What do you think I’m doing?”
“Well, it looks to me like your packing up. But I can’t possibly fathom why you would be doing that. So maybe you should explain it for me.”
Explain it to him? Hell, she couldn’t even explain it to herself. She couldn’t explain it to him, and she never had to explain it to anyone else before, so not knowing what to do or say, she resorted to cold sarcasm, and said, “Well, when someone is packing up all their stuff, it usually means that they are leaving.”
Silence. Then, a simple, “Why?”
She was leaving, doing what she always did, but there was no rhyme and no reason to the decision. She hadn’t the faintest idea what she was doing or why. She’d never once stopped to think about what kept her on the move, why she floated from place to place, town to town, with no destination in mind and no plan once she arrived.
Alex stared at a paint chip peeling from the wall. ‘I should have fixed that,’ she thought. ‘Maybe I should stay. I’ll get some paint and really fix this place up.’ She looked down and realized that she was crumpling the trash bag that held her belongings and her knuckles were white and hurting from clutching it in her hand. She let it fall from her fingers like it had suddenly caught on fire. She turned to face Rylan. She shouldn’t have. Alex couldn’t stand the pained look in his face, the eyes searching hers, desperately asking a question for which there was no answer.
“I don’t know,” she said, barely audible. He stepped towards her slowly, like he might approach a cornered animal, one that he didn’t want to frighten or run.
“Al, things are wonderful. I love you and I know that you love me. I don’t understand why you would leave. I…I don’t know what to say…” he trailed off, but he grabbed her hand and squeezed hard, a testimony that what he said was truth.
It made her mad that he was being so nice and calm. She wanted him to scream at her, throw things against the wall and shout, “Bitch! I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.” It would’ve made this so much easier for her. She jerked her hand away.
“I have to get out of here.” She lurched toward the door, scared that he’d try to stop her, and stepped out into the glaring, humid sunshine.
Alex walked blindly and quickly, sidestepping drunks and lost tourists, and didn’t stop until she hit the water. She jumped headfirst into a wave and stayed under for a moment before pushing up into the sunshine, gasping for air. She fought against the waves and the tide back to shore and sat in the sand for a long time. Her wet clothes clung to her body, and she didn’t know if the salt she tasted was ocean water or her tears.
When her clothes were finally dry, she stood up and dusted the sand off her butt. Alex then headed up to the road and towards the pier. Digging in her pocket for fifty cents, she found a payphone and dialed her home phone number. After the fifth ring, she dropped the receiver, hung up and jumped as her change clanked in the coin return. She fished her change out, lifted the receiver gingerly, then carefully replaced it and looked around. The sun blazed orange and purple streamers across the sky, and Alex dodged the crowd of happy revelers celebrating the end of another day in paradise. She sat down on a bench overlooking the ocean and kicked off her shoes, fighting that old familiar feeling. The boats floated in orange tinted water and off in the distance, an island prepared for the sun's setting like a pillow awaiting a dreamer. For the first time in months, Alex missed her suitcase.
Alex had her feet on the bench, her arms wrapped around her legs, her knees tucked under her chin. She was staring off into the ocean, watching the swirls of sea foam floating on the clear blue surface of the water. When Rylan sat down beside her, she barely noticed.
“Hey babe.” The voice made her jump. She stared at him in disbelief.
“What are you doing here?” She asked.
“What do you think I’m doing?” He tried to be funny, bringing up her earlier comment, but it failed miserably in light of the context. He sighed and said, “I’m looking for you. And looks like I’ve come to the right place, because here you be.” She smiled faintly.
“Why don’t you come back home with me? Whaddya say? I’ll make you some blueberry pancakes and cheesy eggs, and you can ….”
She turned to face him, looking him straight in the eye. She swallowed hard, closed her eyes for a moment, and spoke.
“I can’t. I have to go. I’m sorry. I love you, but I just can’t stay here. I can’t breathe.”
“No you don’t Alex. You don’t have to go anywhere. You can stay here with me. You can stay here in this tropical paradise with your fabulous job, all your friends. Your life is here Alex. In Key West. With me.”
“NO!” She was surprised at the sound of her voice. It sounded like a child throwing a temper tantrum, not a 25 year old woman in control of her life. It scared her. She sounded small, frightened, out of control. Not the person she wanted to be at all.
“That’s just who I am, Rylan. That’s what I do. I run. I leave. I can’t explain it. I’m not proud of it. But that’s just me. I’m sorry.”
They sat in silence for a long time, staring out at the ocean. The sky was a quiet gray color, preparing for the first pale yellow strands of sunlight to cut through and illuminate their island paradise.
“Alex,” Rylan began. “I’ve been thinking about this all night. And I’ve come to the conclusion that, if you want to go, or need to go, you should. I can’t stop you. I don’t even really want to try. I came here to see if there was any hope for us. And I guess, there just isn’t.”
Alex shifted toward him, searching for a way to change his mind. This isn’t what she wanted at all. She wanted to be with Rylan. She loved him. No words formed at her mouth, and he continued.
“And you know, it’s ok. Really it is. And just because there’s no hope for us, doesn’t mean that there is no hope for you. I don’t know why you feel the need to run, but I do know that you don’t particularly like yourself for it. And that shouldn’t be. There’s nothing wrong with you Alex. There’s nothing wrong with your need to travel, stay on the move, explore the world. But there is something wrong with leaving in the middle of the night, sneaking out of people’s lives without so much as a “thank you, I loved you, goodbye.” You have to take responsibility for who you are. For your actions.”
He took a breath, held it, and let it out in a long deep sigh. Somewhere during his speech, he had grabbed her hand, and Alex sat staring at it. She knew he was waiting for some response from her, but his words went too deep, stung too much. He was right. Every bit of it. She was ready to grow up, be responsible, be considerate. And she wanted Rylan. She wanted him to be with her through the whole process. For the rest of her life. She suddenly brightened.
“Will you come with me?” The boldness of the statement and the simple pleasure it gave her startled her and made her warm. The look on his face drained that pleasure like dirty dishwater down the sink drain.
“I love you. But when I said there was no hope for us, I meant it. Alex, I can’t sit around everyday wondering if it will be the one that you’ll be gone. I can’t spend sleepless nights watching you to make sure you don’t up and leave in the middle of the night. It’s not right and it’s not fair. It’s too late.”
Alex felt the tears stinging the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She had lost him. For the first time in her life, she knew what it was to lose, instead of to be lost. The past years of being on the run had caught up with her in a single moment, a moment that was too horrible to comprehend. She pulled her hand away from his.
“Look,” he said, as tenderly as ever. “I have something for you. It’s not much but…” He pulled a hemp backpack from under the bench and laid it in her lap. She fingered it gingerly, not quite grasping the significance.
“I know it’s not your suitcase, but I figured it was perfect for someone traveling light,” he said. Realization began to dawn slowly across her face. Her eyes implored his. He kissed her softly on the mouth and stood up.
“Rylan.” Her voice was a mixture of regret, grief, love, and gratitude. She stood up, still clutching the bag, and hugged him.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I love you.”
“I love you too, kiddo,” he said. He squeezed her hands, then turned, walked up the pier, and out of her life.
Alex sat there a moment and a few tears fell down her cheeks. She had mistaken her nomad feet as escapism, but yet, she wasn't escaping anything. Rylan showed her that.
She walked along, not really seeing anything, clutching her new bag tightly to her chest. Back at her apartment, she packed up what she needed, left a message with the landlord that she’d be leaving, and headed down to Shark Fins to say goodbye to Mark.
When she walked in, Mark yelled toward her, “What are you doing here? You’re not scheduled in for a couple more hours.” Then he noticed her bag.
“Alex, what’s going on?” She took a deep breath and explained that she couldn’t stay, that she was sorry to do it on such short notice, but she was quitting her job.
“I’m actually leaving Key West this afternoon. Mark, thank you for all you’ve done for me. You’ve been so wonderful. I’m so sorry I have to leave like this. I hope you’re not too upset.”
Mark, surprisingly, didn’t seem at all phased by her decision. “Alex, Key West is a haven for drifters. They come and go like the tide. I’m surprised you lasted here as long as you did. Thanks for everything Alex, and good luck to you.”
That’s it? She thought. Easy as that? As if reading her thoughts, Mark added, “You know, I’ll have to keep your next paycheck to cover the expense of finding a new bartender. Hope that’s all right with you.” She chuckled.
“That’s fine Mark. Totally fair.” She turned toward the door, and Mark yelled at her.
“Where do you think you’re going? You’re not out of here ‘til I get a hug!” She met him halfway, dropped her bag at her feet and was enveloped in Mark’s tattooed bear hug. “Miss you Mark,” she said.
“Aw, hell. Get on out of here.” She picked up her bag and headed towards the door. She’d almost reached it when Mark called to her, “Hey Alex! Where you running off to?”
She grinned, and turned around slowly. Her eyes were gleaming with a mischievous happiness as she replied,
“Mark, I am done running. But you know, I hear Antigua is nice this time of year.”