For the entire six-minute runtime of the song, Sawyer is a beacon of energy: singing at the top of her lungs, dancing, and enjoying herself. Someone brings them each a bottle of beer, which they hold in the air and wave back and forth as the final verse of the song begins. The entire room joins in with them as the song rolls to a close with Freddy Mercury’s lyrics exiting the beautiful lips of the woman I’m desperately in love with.
As I stare at her up on that stage, I see her happiness radiating off of her. Olivia’s words repeat in my brain, telling me over and over that I’ve brought Sawyer back to life.
I know right here, right now… I can’t tell her who I am.
Chapter 23
Sawyer
There’s a looming sense of dread, of being watched and judged, woven within the narrative of The Great Gatsby in the form of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg’s bespectacled gaze. That’s how I see the anxiety in my life. A way to give it a name, a being. It’s easier for me to work through that way.
I feel it heavy on my shoulders when my eyes open before the sun has even fully made her appearance. I inhale deeply then push the air slowly out my mouth, repeating that over and over until I can feel a sense of calm settle into my chest, shaking what I can of this bad feeling. The last thing I want is for it to overtake my entire day.
I spent Friday night, after the party, with Isaac at his place, and he stayed here with me last night, before leaving an hour or so ago to prepare for his twenty-four-hour shift today. Slipping into a routine with him is one of the easiest things that I’ve done. We fit together like a puzzle. My wobbly, awkward into his perfectly smooth-edged piece, creating one cohesive portion of a larger picture.
I tug the comforter up over my head and roll myself toward his pillow, creating a burrito of myself and burying my face into the fabric that smells like his shampoo. Love is a weird thing that makes you do and think things you’d roll your eyes at any other time.
I’m settling into a peaceful, very comfortable place... sleep just on the horizon until...
Meow.
I groan, tugging the covers tighter over my head. Maybe if I don’t make any sudden movements, he’ll leave me alone.
Meow.
“Ugh.” I toss the covers off of my head and find Herbert standing on my nightstand, staring at me. “You’re rude.”
Meow.
“Fine.” I toss the covers completely aside and sit up. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
I snatch my cell off the table, resigning myself to the fact that if I’m up, I’m staying up. May as well scroll social media and have some coffee.
Herbert hops up onto the kitchen table and continues to meow the entire time I prepare his bowl of food.
“You’re the most impatient cat.” I place his bowl on the floor to which he hops down and begins to happily eat. “There. Now you can stop bugging me.”
I squat down to pet him from his head, down his back, and up his tail. He may be an asshole but he’s mine, and I love him.
I pop a K-cup into my Keurig and slide my mug underneath that boasts one of my favorite quotes from Hamilton. A legacy is planting seeds for a garden you’ll never get to see.
I lean against the counter, scrolling through my phone while I wait for my coffee to finish brewing.
The usual is happening on social media. Drama here, feud there, hilarious pictures, and wildly untrue political memes abound. I can only handle so much of it before I close out all of those apps, opting to check my email instead.
Swiping through all the spam and junk, I see a new email this morning from the Sunnyville Journal. I think I may have signed up for their weekly newsletter when I stopped by their booth at the Harvest Festival back in September.
That’s not the part that makes my stomach do a front flip though. It’s the headline of the email.
“Los Angeles Wildfires - Five Years Later - Sunnyville’s Finest Heroes”
I know better than to read it. At least that’s what I tell myself, even as I move to the table to sit. Even as I press the screen to open the email. Even as I begin reading. It begins as a normal memorial piece, but the middle shakes me to my core. The middle brings tears to my eyes. The middle shakes my world up, throwing it around and tossing it upside down.
While this tragedy may not have affected us directly here in Sunnyville, some of our finest men in uniform ran into those fires head on, saving lives in the process.
Isaac Black has been a firefighter here in Sunnyville since he was twenty-two years old. He has battled house fires, structural fires, aided in car accidents and more, but a story he told us five years ago has stuck with us, and we’re sure it will stick with you too.
I click the link just below and it takes me to a different web page. A video dated five years ago nearly to the day begins to play, and Isaac’s face fills my screen.
He looks the same, but a little younger. He didn’t have his facial hair then, probably opting to shave it off. Even as my gut is swirling, my face can’t hide the slightest hint of a smile.
But that doesn’t last very long.
I watch his lips as he details his experience while battling the fires all those years ago. Telling stories of the things he saw and the things he had to do. Some heroic but heartbreaking, but he transitions into a story that he
