front of me, its pencil strokes now full of life. The setting sun, rolling waves, and white sand soothed my sore senses. Seagulls squawked in the distance and landed around us to inspect the new life.
“What do you think?” Alex asked as he stepped off and helped me with my helmet.
“Breathtaking,” I replied.
Alex removed his sandals and tucked them on the bike as I did the same. The white sand tickled my feet. Alex took my hand and led me slowly, softly toward the water in front of us. The image was awesome, one of the most awe-inspiring ever to enter my eyes.
“How did you find this place?” I asked.
His response still rings in my mind. “I love finding beautiful things in this world, including you.”
He grasped both of my hands and looked at me with those eyes. And then, he leaned in and kissed me tenderly. I let go and gave myself to him. The waves pulsed; the seagulls fluttered; the sun burned. And there we were making love surrounded by it all. I felt like I was in a dream, whisked away by a prince sent to me by my subconscious. I couldn’t think; I couldn’t anticipate; I could only be. It felt like this was the real reason for my decision to go to Florida, a reason that would become a part of me so deeply, I couldn’t think of my life without it.
Calmness consumed me, a deep contentment after our lovemaking. Alex grabbed his sketchbook and started to sketch, but all I wanted to do was to hold on to him and to bask in the remaining light. After the ocean finally stole the sun away, Alex offered me a ride back to my hotel, a ride back to reality. I wished I could stay and live a life with him, but I knew I could never do it. All I could do, however, was hold on to him as we rode through the night, hold on to him as tightly as I could.
We pulled into my hotel’s parking lot, as the uneasy feeling returned. I wondered whether Mr. Bernstein was somewhere lurking in the shadows.
“Why don’t you move to Florida?” Alex asked as he stopped near the hotel’s entryway.
“I have a life back north.”
“Life is about living, and I can see that you are alive here with me,” he replied gently.
His words energized my soul. He was right. But could this work? Could I just pick up and move to a place that I had only dreamed of before?
“Will you take a chance with me?” he asked so softly I could barely hear his voice, yet I could hear it louder than anything.
I wanted to tell him that he had opened a side of me that I never knew existed, a side that wanted to move to Florida to become that businesswoman at the traffic light. But before I could reply, I saw thick black smoke spewing from an old car in the parking lot. The whirling pollution reminded me of cigar smoke—cigar smoke from my life in Indiana. I simply smiled at my prince as he took my hand and kissed it. Alex knew that what had happened was special, and just like a completed masterpiece, the artist must leave it untouched after the last brushstroke.
Alex reached into his moped’s pack and handed me his sketch. I realized then what he had been doing as I relaxed on the sand back at the beach. He added me to the picture, lying in paradise. And then like that, he rode away toward the unknown as I simply watched darkness devour him.
I went to bed, and then began the second and last day of the conference bright and early. I saw Mr. Bernstein and he asked if I was feeling better. All I could respond was, “I’m fine.” I continued my note taking over the humdrum insurance presenters. While my body was physically sitting next to my boss in the conference room, my mind was with Alex, back on that beach.
Later that evening we flew back north, and as the plane transcended paradise underneath us, I looked hard to find Alex and that beachfront, but I couldn’t find it or him. The only place they existed now was in my mind.
We arrived back in Indianapolis, back to the status quo. Things were the same, my family, my job, my boyfriend, my monotonous life, but as the weeks went by, I craved more. I craved to return to Florida. As I stared at Alex’s sketch day after day, I thought about his last words—his last question. I realized that I wanted to move to the Sunshine State and become my drawn counterpart. I wanted to live life.
Then, exactly one month after my trip, I decided to take action. I flew back to Tampa, back to the place that I couldn’t get out of my mind. I wanted to search for Alex, to tell him of my aspirations, and to tell him that I wanted to be next to him. The only thing I had was his sketch that I kept close to my heart. I had no plan, no area of town to search, no idea of where to find him. All I could do was go back to the place of our meeting, go back to that café. Something told me that the answer I sought would be in there.
I walked in and looked around at those two tables where we had met, but all I saw was an elderly man and woman barely awake. My prince was nowhere to be found. I suddenly felt lost, defeated, but then I saw something that offered a glimmer of hope. It was Alex’s painting hanging proudly on the wall—the painting of the palm tree. I saw a waitress cleaning a nearby table and I asked her, “Do you know this artist?”
“Alex?” she said.
“Yes, Alex. Do you know where I can find him?”
Her expression suddenly turned sour, as if I had delivered some terrible news. She paused for a moment, and then said something that would forever haunt me and forever change the way I think, the way I act—the way I live.
“He passed away three weeks ago. A truck hit his moped. It was all over the news in town.”
My heart stopped as I filtered out of the store incapable of thinking. I went back to my hotel, packed my things, and then left Florida. As the Sunshine State disappeared from my plane’s window, a part of my heart darkened, choked away from the light.
“How could he be gone? Why?” I asked myself repeatedly.
I felt terrible. If I had answered Alex’s question in that parking lot, would the dice have rolled differently? I realized that I would forever regret that decision, regret not listening to my heart and not taking that chance.
It’s been three years since this experience, and I still think about Alex and that evening on the beach. I still live in Indianapolis and work for Mr. Bernstein. Not much has changed, in fact. While I have accepted my life in Indiana, I often sit back and close my eyes where I can see Alex, see his tanned face, his cool hair, his green eyes, and his sparkling smile. While he is gone from this world, he lives on in my mind…and in my heart.
THE END
Watch this story recounted by actress Tenille Houston, free on YouTube HERE
About the author:
Jonathan Sturak grew up in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania. He is a Penn State University graduate and holds degrees in Computer Science and Film. He currently lives in Las Vegas where he uses the energy of the city to craft stories about life and the human condition. The Place Called Home, Sturak’s essay about Eastern European heritage in Northeast Pennsylvania, was featured on Glass Cases, associate literary agent Sarah LaPolla’s pop culture blog at glasscasesblog.blogspot.com. Sturak is also a contributing editor at NoirNation.com, the premier location for international crime fiction. His debut thriller novel Clouded Rainbow was published in December 2009 and has over 100,000 downloads on the Amazon Kindle. New for 2013 is his crime thriller novel Vegas Was Her Name published by Noir Nation Books. Sturak keeps updated information on his website at sturak.com
Also by Jonathan Sturak
NOVELS
Vegas Was Her Name (New for 2013)
A Smudge of Gray
Clouded Rainbow
COLLECTIONS
From Vegas With Blood
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