Michael had barely registered that he was in a Jeep with Rachel and Celeste when she’d hit the gas and he hit his head.
His pain was replaced by a rush of memories of the not too distant past.
—-
Michael Greer had been driving North on A1A in the middle of the night. His latest rendezvous had involved a little more confusion than he had anticipated. He’d spent the better part of a year trying to bag Amber. Hell, he’d broken up with Rachel to get a chance with her. And yes, Amber’s lithe Italian limbs and svelte midriff were as appealing to him as when he’d first set his eyes on them. The sex, however, was not what he’d hoped. He was reweighing his decision to give up a solid relationship with Rachel for a one night stand when suddenly the sky looked as if he were driving in the middle of the day. It took a few hours for him to learn that Mayport and NAS Jax were removed from the map that morning. Two military complexes were destroyed soon after Amber had let him lean on her for comfort. Michael’s worries about himself and his situation were gone in a flash. Well, two successive flashes that had eliminated the defences Jacksonville Florida had been boasting.
—
Earlier that day, Michael woke up the same way he’d done so many times; as if he’d not gotten any sleep the night before. His drool crusted down the side of his mouth and onto his pillow. In the focused yet unfocused vision that is nearsightedness, he saw her. Rachel had the face of a cherub. You’d think that the Precious Moments collection of angel figurines had modeled their figures from her face. A perfectly centered knob of a nose, freckles that dusted her cheeks and virtually everywhere else and beautiful, healthy long auburn hair framed Michael’s vision. She was perfectly rotund. A lot of guys had passed up on this beauty in her lifetime. Michael had not. In his waking state, Michael thought about how he’d given up hope of finding this kind of beauty who would also find him worth giving him time as well.
Michael rolled over to try to subtly wipe the crust off of his cheek and eyes. He looked at his phone, six thirty. Not bad, but not good, and he felt it. Joints sang with pain as he rolled himself off of the bed, trying not to disturb Rachel. Thirty wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Right? He questioned. Though his twenties hadn’t been the easiest.
Michael mindfully walked the circuit from his side of the bed, around it, to the bathroom. Carpeted bedroom made way to faux hardwood. Cool rubber grooves granted room for his feet to gain traction. It was a pain that his bedroom and his bathroom were not joined in this apartment. They were separated by the shared utilities closet and his generously-sized closet within the bedroom. It wasn’t far, per se, but far enough that walking naked from the bedroom to the bathroom was not recommended. Bill, Michael’s roommate, slept just as well as Michael did, if not worse. Bill, a veteran of the Navy and the Army, might have been used to seeing dudes naked, but Michael was not planning to have his ass added to the list of asses Bill’d seen in his lifetime.
His bathroom was lavish enough for him. He’d gone so far as to add decorative stickers to the mirror. “Even Pirates Wipe Their Booty” printed in a looping font and framed as though it were a weathered old treasure map made him laugh every time he had to use it. The necessary completed and back in the mirror, Michael assessed himself. His hair had grown out a bit from being buzzed down to a number two. Morning shaving could wait, it was Saturday morning after all; work didn’t call for him to be barefaced again until Monday. He had some weight. Divorce and depression and never really living a healthy lifestyle would do that to a body.
Ugh, the divorce was still fresh. Katherine and Doug weren’t even teenagers yet, and Michael’d left them with their mother. Ditched them felt a more appropriate word to him. His and Jessica’s relationship had been good... up until it wasn’t. Sex was great, it had yielded two wonderful children. Michael and Jessica had gone to the same college, were from the same area, held similar interests and so on and so forth. Then they graduated college. Jessica plunged herself into grad school while Michael worked. Jessica got a job in Georgia, though she had convinced Michael they should buy a house near her grad school in Starkville. Jessica got a better paying job than Michael. Work became her top priority. They felt to him as though they were ranked from highest to lowest: Work, Facebook, shopping, exercise, kids, Michael. He’d come to rank as highly as the doormat. He wouldn’t put up with that for too long. Just another four or five years. Until Doug could make his needs known and make his own cereal. After that, Michael had to get out of there. The lack of respect and general interest given to him was too much to take.
Michael scrubbed his face clean and took a deep breath. Today was a new day. No need to live in Yesterday. Move on. He returned to his bedroom. Rachel rustled around in the bed, awake but not awake. Her huge tits uncovered in the process. One nipple wrinkled in the cold morning air and one stayed flat, half covered by their shared sheet. Life was better now. He had Rachel.
Rachel Ridgeway was kind and considerate. She was a good cook. She was so good, she probably ought to have set up a bakery. She took feedback on her cooking well, though Michael didn’t have any for her. He was happy to eat something warm and edible compared to his and Bill’s lack of kitchen acumen. She typically had to bring the ingredients if she was going to cook at their place. Michael had flour but it and most anything else outside of milk and cider in his refrigerator were probably expired. She didn’t much care for Bill, but she wasn’t fucking Bill, so he wasn’t her problem as far as Michael was concerned.
Bill reciprocated her feelings. Since Rachel was around, Bill and Ol’ Mikey didn’t go out on the town Friday nights like they had been when Michael was single. Bill didn’t have a car so Michael was his driver if he wanted to go out. What Bill did have was a lifetime of shit in their shared garage downstairs and in his larger, master bedroom of the apartment whose bathroom was attached, in his larger, master bedroom closet, the kitchen, the living room and anywhere else there could have been a vacant, level spot to put something.
Not to say that Michael’s room was the picture of cleanliness, but he’d downsized quite a bit since the divorce. He had his tv and his xbox and his clothes. His bed and car weren’t originally his, but they were now.
The bed was his uncle’s. Uncle Joe had passed and no longer needed his bed. It was Michael’s now and it was half-filled with a woman who purred with desire and sleepiness. “You’re up early, what’s going on?”
“Oh, you know, same ol’ same ol’, no rest for the wicked,” Michael shrugged, closing the bedroom door behind him.
“Wicked? Well,” Rachel yawned and stretched deeply, “Maybe we can do some more wicked stuff and then you can go back to sleep”. Her stretching redistributed the sheet so that it covered her chest thinly and uncovered her thick thigh enticingly.
“What’d you have in mind?” Michael perked up, stepping slowly toward her side of the bed.
Rachel purred again, “Come a little closer.”
Careful not to trip over the xbox controller, Michael positioned himself up toward the bedside table. Rachel hooked his boxers with a finger and pulled them down. Kissing a path from his hip to his growing interest, she convinced him that she was wicked as well.
It was a shame Michael was going to have to break up with her.
---
The morning had been a reminder of their trip to Mississippi. Michael had worked in the Magnolia State previously, when he was married to Jessica. It was where she’d gone to grad school. Work had called him back for the annual convocation and Michael had brought along Rachel and two of their work friends, Amber and Celeste. This was quite a deal for his former employer as Amber and Celeste were not certified but qualified, meaning that they could do the work, but wouldn’t get paid for it.
---
Amber Favreau was a product of Italian heritage raised in the heart of West Palm Beach. Michael met her when he first moved out from living with his ex wife and into the same student apartment complex as she had, near his job. She was everything his ex wife wasn’t anymore: enthusiastic, exciting and interested in the same field of work as he was.
Michael had struck up conversation with her early into moving into their apartment complex. He was a staff interpreter and she was going into the interpreter training program. She could learn from him and he could enjoy being with someone who made him feel relevant. Their conversations went long into the night. Long enough that Amber had let him into her bed a handful of times. He had gotten as much of a handful as she would let him, which wasn’t all that much. Their relationship hadn’t crossed the line past clothed snuggling and talking; it was rich and made both of them feel good, but it wasn’t dating.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Michael had had enough of the clothes on business and Amber’s enthusiasm became droning. As much as he wanted to go all the way with her, he knew that he wasn’t interested in having a relationship with her beyond sex. She wanted a relationship beyond sex. She probably would prefer a relationship with someone thinner and younger, Michael assessed, putting an end to his pursuit of her.
---
Celeste Patel was Duval proud. Never date a woman from Jacksonville. She was an Asian Indian cheerleader, always bubbly and happy. Always looking for the party. Shirking responsibilities when she could and rarely using her moral compass.
Michael met Celeste in their office, where she was a testing coordinator who was also interested in the interpreter training program. Michael had confidence in her ability to develop into a certified interpreter, but it was Rachel who became her mentor after the Mississippi trip. Good for them, Michael thought at the time. Little did he know that Rachel would reveal truer colors to him through Celeste’s experience as her mentee.
Celeste was much like every other person who wanted to become better at their chosen profession: she needed the freedom to spread her wings. Young people often need a good amount of runway before they can take off; certainly more than they think they need. All the same, space is needed to grow and the Mississippi trip was a great opportunity for Celeste to take a running go at it.
--
Mississippi’s Deaf School had a beginning of the year convocation ceremony followed by a few days of training. Michael and company stayed with his former boss, Lacy, for those few days. Lacy and her husband had a warehouse of a garage beside their house that had a large, single room upstairs with plenty of room for air mattresses in addition to the one spare bed that was already there.
They were all sign language interpreters by trade, a field mostly composed of women. Michael was among the one percent of working interpreters who were men. Further still, he was among the one percent of that one percent in that he was also straight. All the same, no one was upset by the sleeping arrangements. Michael and Rachel, being the adults in the room, had the spare bed while Amber and Celeste took an air mattress.
More than once, trips down the stairs between the two sleeping arrangements had incited meaningful glances between Michael and Amber. More than once, Amber looked at Michael working and Michael interacting with Rachel with a blend of awe and jealousy.
---
During a dinner out at the local steakhouse that week, Lacy’s husband, Don--who knew everyone in their little town--asked a local preacher to meet their houseguests. He introduced the preacher to Celeste and Amber and the cute couple Michael and Rachel.
“You know,” Don suggested through his brushy cop mustache, “The good preacher here could marry you two while you’re here.”
Michael recoiled as inwardly as possible.
“If you want…”
Rachel’s face was beet red, but did not say no. She was down.
Michael was not.
It was too soon. His divorce from Jessica still chapped him enough that the thought of marrying again felt impossible. He couldn’t tell his host off, but he was not going to acquiesce to the offer.
Flatly, but plainly, Michael looked from Rachel’s stiff red smile to Don’s shiteating grin and stated, “Not today. I appreciate the offer, but I’m afraid I can’t take you up on it at the moment.
“Well, Preacher here will be available between now and when you leave.”
Neither man gave any ground.
“Thank you kindly.”
Michael took inventory of the situation. No, he was not going to marry Rachel though her demeanor said she was entertaining the thought and would not mind getting married; perhaps not in Mississippi, away from her family. No, Don was not quite being serious, but not quite joking--his boundaries were hazy at best. Celeste held a cheery-through-the-awkward smile and drank deeply from her water. Amber looked...relieved?
Don finally let the man of the cloth and Michael go, but not before the entire restaurant held their breath long enough to see if the cute couple would say yes. A beat longer and everyone had to exhale.
----
Beyond the dinner awkwardness, everything went well on the job until Michael got sick. Rachel took over and led the team for the last day before they left. Her care and the comfort he felt in letting her take over turned him on that morning, just as it had this morning.
This feeling that he was being taken care of was what had kept him in this relationship.
What kept him at a distance...well…
---
“What kind of music do you like?” Michael asked before taking another fork of turkey and dressing Rachel had dished out for them.
“Oh, Avett Brothers, ABBA, that kind of thing,” Rachel looked up and to the right before sitting down on the couch beside Michael. “What do you like?”
“I’m pretty eclectic.” He hoped the words came out understandably around his mouthful of food.
“I’m sure you like some things I’ve never heard.” Rachel’s doe eyes balanced over the teeter totter of her smile.
Michael swallowed. “Probably.”
---
“Where do you want to go tonight?” Michael inquired as Rachel buckled herself into his car. The spaciousness of the Buick Lacrosse kept them socially distant.
“Anywhere you want to go.”
Memories of his past relationship filled the space between them.
---
Rachel’s face was a boiling kettle, ready to whistle, but keeping in check. Her sister and mother had come to town. Her relatives knew her buttons, Michael did not. While they were kind enough to Katherine and Doug, they sized up Michael and Rachel without hesitation. Bites and jabs were absorbed, added to the heat of Rachel’s anger.
Michael knew this look. He knew this look and where it went. He’d done the math before with Jessica and it’d ended poorly.
---
Michael had found enough reasons to excuse himself from this relationship. This led him to pursue whether other doors were open to him yet or not. He began texting Amber.
>How’s things?
Michael didn’t pay attention to the actual answer. He didn’t care how things were with Amber. Something was always going on with her. As far as he was concerned, the reply was directly from Charlie Brown’s teacher.
>That’s rough. I think I’m going to end it with Rachel.
>wahwahwahwahwah wahwah wah wahwahwah
>You think we might have a chance?
>wahwah, don’t want to get with you while you’re still with her. Maybe if you were single...wahwahwah.
>I’ll see what I can do.
The conversation probably went on for a bit. Michael didn’t understand how women thought that a handful of “Oh really?” texts and poop emojis could translate to “He cares about what I’m saying”. There it was, though, the path to the promised land. Break up with Rachel first.
The thing was, Michael had been the victim of his relationships in his head. Jessica had pulled the trigger and filed the divorce. Michael wasn’t going to do it. He wasn’t happy, but he was raised to think that marriage was forever. His Dad got away with death do you part; cancer took the lucky SOB at 50. No one tells you that partners tend to stick together when poorer and split up once they get richer. Michael had done everything as right as he figured he could have done: cards and flowers or other genuine signs of affection for birthdays and anniversaries, digging for the root cause of their spats instead of ignoring the problems...until the problems ignored him. Since he’d done something wrong to mess up what he’d thought was as good as it could have been, when the paperwork was signed and he was set to leave, he decided to make some wrong decisions. Drink more. Try some drugs. Sleep with people with no intention of sticking around. Try anything four times. Why four? Because Michael could be wrong, he’d been wrong in the past.
Rachel was so clearly the victim in this situation. She was great. She was everything a partner could be. However, Michael had just gotten out of a relationship that looked just like this. She was going to be the sweetest kool aid he’d ever drunk until she wasn’t. Michael did not know how to break up with her.
He invited her to their favorite sushi restaurant. They made their order. She knew something was wrong. What to do? How to say it?
“I think we should break up.”
There it was. The words that he wanted to say. There was no preamble. There was no onramp to what led him to say these words. There they were...out in the open.
Rachel started crying. Quietly at first, then she got redder and redder. “What’s wrong with you!?” She screamed as she got herself up from the booth and rushed out the door.
Michael regretted his decision. Not so much his decision to break up with her, but he regretted his decision to do it in this public place. He regretted saying it after they’d ordered but before they’d eaten. Before they’d paid. As the waiter brought out their food, Michael asked for a box and the check. Eyes upon him. Paying and leaving, obviously the bad guy.
---
He got home carrying numerous styrofoam boxes up the stairs.
Glancing away from the game he was playing on his enormous TV, Bill noticed Michael’s stacks, “Heyyyy, buddy, what’s up?”
“I broke up with Rachel.” Michael stated without any fanfare.
Bill jumped up from his couch, “Yippee! The boys are gonna hit the beach tonight!”
Michael smiled as he joined Bill. Ignoring the adulations happening beside him, he texted Amber.
>I told her. It’s done.
>Good? I’m sorry?
>Thanks. What time should I come over?
>7 works for me.
---
Michael filled Amber in for several hours. Long enough that he questioned whether he should go home or stay for sunrise and head straight to work.
With his head cleared, he opted to go home. Driving along the beach, Michael’s newfound clarity gave way to a new clarity. It was three thirty am and he could see the road clear as day. The sun had already risen in the distance. Couldn’t be…Were those bombs going off?
Then a second sun blinked open ahead of him to the west.