Bad Sun Rising

     One moment shouldn’t get to change a life forever, not like this, though he hadn't thought that when these moments were good moments, like their wedding or the day they met when he nearly spilled his coffee all over her and she laughed about it. 

 

     Her phone hadn’t been recovered from the crash. Hayden didn’t know when he started drinking and he didn’t mean to drink this much. For weeks, he had been texting and even leaving voice mails, usually when he got drunk. It had been a silly thing at first. After the funeral, he had said one thing to his brother. “I wish I could just talk to her one more time. There are so many things I never said.”

 

     “So tell her,” Grayson had said, wanting to be supportive. “In anyway you can.”

 

     It was the day after the funeral, but Hayden was still in his black suit. They had talked about adopting a dog and he wished that they had. “It’s crazy, but I kind of want to call her.”

 

     Not so crazy, Grayson had thought, but didn't say it aloud. Maybe one percent of Hayden hoped she would actually answer and reveal it was just a terrible, terrible dream. They never found the phone. Maybe she picks up. Maybe she’s with the phone and not in the coffin that he had carried from the herse to the grave.

 

     It had been several weeks and he managed to get himself forced leave off work. No one wants to fire a good teacher going through a hard time and they were heading into the summer anyway. What a terrible season to be alone.

 

     Hayden was at the point where he could pretend to be better, when people tried to get him out of the house. Then he had to return home. If they stopped making lease, he wouldn't have to readjust to the emptiness everytime. 

 

     “Why don’t you try writing a book?” Grayson tried to offer helpfully. The fuck was Hayden supposed to write a book about? Every answer he used to have for that question was out of reach now. 

 

     Hayden threw the rest of the brandy at the wall. It was a bad liquor anyway, something they bought to make some weird cake with and never touched it again. He'd gone through most of the liquor cabinet by now and his options were limited, unless he was willing to leave the house. Running his hands through his hair, he stared at the mess he made and then grabbed his phone again. He knew she wasn't listening, but it felt better to pretend there was someway she could. It felt crazy to be talking to no one, so he liked pretending there was someone on the line. 

 

     “ . . . And I’m so angry. It’s not fair.” 

 

     “I’m sorry.” The voice was soft. So soft and sincere and so full of some emotion- longing? Pity? “I’m so sorry.”

 

     He blinked. Was he that drunk? Did his wife just speak to him from the dead?

 

     Summer zipped her duffel bag shut and slung it over her shoulder. In one hand she took her guitar and in the other, she grabbed the poptart that had just popped from the toaster. At the doorway, she took one look back at what she was leaving behind. Her childhood home with skewed pictures on the wall and empty beer cans littered around the easy boy chair. Part of her wished she could have a really cool exit, like dropping a match into the half filled vodka bottle, but he was never a mean drunk, just a lazy one. She didn’t blame him. It was her first lesson in what happens to a broken heart, when someone tries to fill the void with the first thing in reach. After all, it's the stuff from which songs are made. 

 

     So she let the screen door shut behind her and continued down the road. She spent a long time walking down the road that led to interstate 90. She thought about naming a song or album after that interstate. How contemplative she was with her six string in one hand and a warm bite of frosted strawberry poptart in her mouth.  She stopped suddenly, just before she stepped on a pink, sparkly phone. Picking it up, she tried to turn it on, only to find it was dead.

Shrugging, she figured that she would charge it when she was able to and look for a contact labeled mom or dad and send it back home. Unless they didn’t want it. Then she would just trade for cash.

 

     Even though it was behind her, Summer heard the familiar sound of some jacked up truck coming up on her and she threw caution to the wind and stuck her thumb out. “Where you headin’?” A blonde stuck her head out the window.

 

     “South,” Summer said, though that was probably obvious seeing as there were only so many miles between her and Canada, if she were going anywhere, it was probably south.

 

     “Hop in,” the man drummed on his thighs excitedly, “Where headin’ out to California, so you can ride with us as far south as you need to go.”

 

     “Yeah,” the blonde laughed, “We’re goin’ to Cancun! Woo!”

 

     “Cancun isn’t- that’s very kind of you,” Summer answered. It was just as long for them to turn arund and fix the mistake as it was to get Summer a little further south. She'd tell them how to get to Cancun later. “Put your guitar in the back and hop on up here.”

 

     Summer did just that. As she got in, she handed them the phone she found in the grass by the road and asked, “You don’t happen to have a charger? So I can call my family?”

 

     “Sure thing,” the girl took the phone and hooked it up.

 

     “Cancun sounds fun. Is it vacation, honey moon maybe?” Summer inquired.

 

     The blonde laughed and slapped her boyfriend’s knee. “Don’t jinx us, hun. We just got the trailer and quit our jobs. We came into some money and decided that we should just go somewhere and do something.”

 

    “Put all that high school espagnol to work,” the man said. “I’m Paul, this is Becky. How ‘bout yourself?”

 

     Summer answered, “I’m Summer Tatem. I am headed out towards Tennessee, I just inherited some property out there.”

 

    “It’s sure nice to meet you, Summer Tatem,” Paul said. Even he figured the name was a little too redneck. “What’s that your stage name?”

 

     She laughed genuinely. “Yeah, but I was born with it. Mama was a folk singer who never really made it to the big stage.”

 

     “Fine, but y’all better sing along,” Summer said back.

 

     She left them about a few hours later, waving as they drove off. “Thanks for getting us headed the right way,” Becky called out the window. “We’ll be sure to buy your first album!”

 

     “Send me your address in Cancun and I’ll give you one for free,” Summer yelled back. As she walked towards the bus stop, she turned the phone on. At least twenty texts and five voicemails popped up as soon as she did. Apparently, this phone had been lost for weeks. Seeing who the last person to text was, her brow furrowed and she realized whoever owned this phone had been dead for a long time now and someone was missing her ferociously. Something plucked at her heart and she wished for a minute that she could know a love like that. Maybe she'd call the album Heartbreak Highway.

 

     Suddenly, she phone rang in her hands, loud and shrill. A bird squawked, equally as surprised as Summert. Goose bumps made her shiver and a coldness ran up her spine. Before she knew what she had done, she had pressed that little green button with her traitorous thumb.

 

     “I miss you and love you, and I know I should move on, but the truth is, I don’t know how. I’m not okay and I’m so angry. It’s not fair.”

 

     “I’m sorry,” Summer breathed. 

 

     There was a long pause during which Summer could only hear her beating heart. The blood was rushing violently through her neck and she swayed. Clearly, the voice on the other end hadn't expected a response. Finally, Summer went on, “It’s never fair. It always breaks the heart of those left behind. There's a void right now that's never going away.”

 

     She closed her eyes and held her breath. What was she thinking? Should she tell him who she was and that she found this phone? She opened her mouth to speak, but then she heard a soft plea croacked, "What am I supposed to do?"

 

     On his end of the converstaion, Hayden closed his eyes. Everyone else was hiding that fact from him, giving him false hope, trying to plaster over his pain. No one else had been honest with him. 

 

     "Take it day by day. Giving up isn't fair either. There are other people in your life," Summer cut herself off and closed her eyes. There was someone else to whom she wanted to say this. When she spoke again, she changed the direction of her speech. "There is a list of things you want to do. Everyone has a list of things they wanna do, but never did. There is nothing that will change the lonely and the heartbreak sucks. There's no cure, but it does get better and you don't want to miss out on the better. You're gonna miss out on so many other people that you already know and some you don't know yet. So you do those things. You live." And I'm sorry she can't be there with you. 

 

     "I wish this was you," he said quietly. 

 

     Softly, Summer said, "Me too."

 

     There was a long heavy breath. "Thank you." There was a pause. Summer didn't know what to do. Was the conversation over? "Can I talk to you again?" He sounded unsure and a little drunk. She knew very well what drunk sounded like. 

 

     "Always," Summer said and meant it. What was she doing? She couldn't keep it this going, it was wrong.  Sardonically, she thought, now there's a country song. Maybe that should be the title of her first album.

 

     Just as she started walking again, a mustang honked as it slowed down. A gaggle of college students stuck their heads out, hollaring abut summer break. "Need a ride?"

 

     "Where are you heading?" Summer asked. 

 

     The driver answered, giving her a wink. "Miami."

 

     "Close enough," Summer said, grabbing the handle of the backdoor. Maybe that should be the album cover.