2

That itself shocks me. The idea of wanting more of any emotion when I work so damn hard to turn it all off is insane to me. I never want more, but in those fleeting moments with a complete stranger, more was all I wanted. More time, more feelings, more him.

“Which car is yours?” he asks, bringing me out of my revelation.

“Oh, ummm, it’s a white CR V.” I glance around the lot, now filled up with cars, spotting it far off to our left, facing the bay. “It’s right over there.” My heart suddenly pounds in my chest: this is it, he’s going to say goodbye. Then, he surprises me by tugging me along by our joined hands towards my car. I smile behind him, happy for another few minutes of connection, even if it’s just our hands.

“Oh, shit!” he curses, and drops my hand, quickly walking the last few feet to my car.

I look up confused and see my driver’s side window smashed in. I can’t help but laugh at the situation. Had I jumped, my car wouldn’t have mattered. None of it would’ve mattered. Someone decided to take advantage of me potentially ending my life by helping themselves to my car and possessions. After all the rawness and insanity of the last half hour, I can’t help but fall into a fit of manic laughter.

“What’s so funny? Someone broke into your car. They probably stole some shit, too. Why the fuck are you laughing?” He looks down at me bent in uncontrollable laughter, looking completely confused by my inappropriate reaction, as he should be, considering he can’t hear my brain’s logic. I try to calm myself so that I don’t look so nuts, but it’s hard, really hard. After a minute, I rein it in and try to explain.

“I left my purse and phone in the car because I was headed to jump off a bridge, so my stuff really didn’t matter. Can’t take it with you when you go, right? Then I saved your ass, and you saved mine, and now I have to go back to caring about earthly possessions and I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m laughing. It’s just been a fucked-up morning,” I say between half giggles and half cackles.

He stares at me for a beat more, then breaks into a smile that quickly morphs into his own fit of laughter. We laugh hard, so hard that we end up wiping tears from our eyes. I think we’re both still coming down from our adrenaline surge; I’ll be back in the pits of despair soon enough.

We both seem to come out of it at the same time. Standing up straight and steadying myself, I walk over to my car, unlock the doors through the broken window, and go around to where I stashed my bag. Sure enough, it’s gone.

I snort at the sight. “My purse, wallet, and phone are gone. So are the keys, which is kind of funny. Guess they didn’t want a car.”

I hang my head, feeling the weight of this morning crashing into me. I have a list of to-dos a mile long, with no way to do any of it with my stuff stolen. I rub my forehead and lean my back against the car. I swear, every time I take a step forward, I’m thrown back into the bullshit of life again.

“I’m not even sure what to do. I don’t have a spare key, or my phone to call anyone, or my card to pay for anything,” I say, mostly to myself, assuming my hot, strange savior has already left. I riffle through the car to see if anything else was stolen. Nothing else was, which means they just busted in for a quick purse grab. I guess that’s good news.

“It’s all taken care of,” hot guy says, shaking me out of my thoughts. I thought he’d left, so I’m glad but shocked when I see he’s still here. “The tow truck’s on its way. They’ll take it to my buddy’s shop to replace the window and get you a new key,” he says with a shrug, like it’s no big deal.

“What? You don’t have to do that,” I say, somewhat taken aback by his generosity.

“Of course, I do, Thumbelina. You saved me from a watery grave today. I owe you everything ,” he says, completely seriously.

“Well, you saved me from the same fate, Redwood. We’ll never be even at this rate,” I say with a smile.

He shakes his head, as if I’m crazy for saying it. “Come on, let’s go get celebratory coffee. Vinny will call when the car’s done,” he states as he extends his hand back towards me.

The amount of trust I feel with this stranger should really worry me, but it doesn’t. I feel like I’ve known him forever. His commands and matter-of-fact-ness are everything I never knew I needed. So, I grab his hand again and follow him wherever he decides to take me.

Twenty minutes later, we’re sitting in a booth at Mel’s Drive-In diner, coffee, french fries, onion rings, tater tots, and mozzarella sticks on the table in front of us.

The only way to celebrate life is with a side of cardiac arrest, obviously.

“So, Thumbelina, what brought you to your death today?” he asks with a french fry halfway to his mouth. I got so caught up watching his big, full lips wrapping around the fry that I almost didn’t hear his question. He smiles, knowing I’m staring at him, and I actually have to fight off a blush. Blushing over his mouth while talking about my choice of suicide: super, great, fun.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit of a personal question for two strangers?” I remark.

“Hell no. I think it’s the perfect question for strangers. I don’t like people. I don’t open up to people. I don’t talk about personal shit. My friends don’t know jackshit about my emotions. Half the time, I don’t even think I have emotions. But today, I feel like being open with a stranger. A stranger who I feel more connected to than anyone in my life for some reason.” He pauses, considering his next words as he watches me. I feel both terrified and alive under his scrutiny.

“I think there’s a reason. There’s a reason we were both there at the same moment. There’s a reason why you of all people showed up at that moment, and there’s a reason we both feel this connection. We’re strangers but we’re not. You feel that too, don’t you? That’s why you’re sitting here, trusting me, on the worst day of your life.”

“What makes you think this is the worst day of my life?” I ask, probably a bit more sharply than I’d meant to, furrowing my eyebrows.

“Well, it would have to be, wouldn’t it? To consider doing what you went there to do?” he asks. I think he really wants to know. It must be the worst day of his life, if that’s how he feels. After taking a few moments to think about it, I decide he’s right. There’s a connection between us, and though we’re strangers, unloading might not be the worst thing in the world.

“No, today isn’t the worst day of my life,” I say on a heavy exhale as I toy with a fry. Clearing my throat, I continue. “In fact, my life has been a series of worst days. Every single one was the worst it could get, or so I thought, but it only got worse. Today was the culmination of that. Today was the day I decided to finally release it all. It wasn’t the first time, and I honestly don’t know if it’ll be the last,” I tell him, opening up the wounds I try so hard to keep cauterized.

He tilts his head and looks at me in that assessing way I’m starting to think is his signature. He almost looks angry at my admission, which catches me off guard. At least it’s not pity. He’s quiet for so long, I’m half worried he might leave. Finally, he speaks, and it sounds like the words are being cleaved from his soul.

“I’ve had some fucked-up days. Horrible shit has happened to me, but I’ve always pushed through. I’ve never wanted to quit. Never.” He shakes his head, maybe in disbelief?

“Today was my worst day. Not because something happened, but because of what’s going to happen. I have to join a world I don’t want to be in. I have to become someone I don’t want to become, and I don’t want to be here for that. I’m not sure I can survive what’s waiting for me. I don’t want to fail, let my family down, but I don’t think I can do it. This morning gave me clarity, though. While I was standing up there, I realized it’s the coward’s way out, to walk away from something, from a future, because you don’t think you can handle it.” He shrugs. “I was walking away from my future, and you want to walk away from your past.”

I ponder that. God, I have so many questions. I want to know what’s expected of him, what exactly he’s walking away from. I want to know what future could be so bad, you’d be willing to quit life altogether to avoid it. I’m just not sure I have the right to ask when I know damn well, stranger or not, I won’t be going into the specifics of my past.

“I suppose you’re right. It’s my past I’m trying to escape. No matter what I do or how hard I try, I can’t get rid of it. It’s the heaviest weight and I’m so tired of carrying it. I wish I was afraid of my future, but I’m not. I want so badly to have one, to dream and see happiness and joy ahead of me, but my past makes everything…. black, dark, unachievable,” I state quietly, feeling old wounds ripping open inside me.

He takes a long sip of his coffee, maintaining eye contact, probably thinking of how to appropriately respond to that clusterfuck I just unloaded onto him. I want to say something, to fill the silence, remove the heavy weight of the conversation, distract him from my ugly insides, but the waitress interrupts to refill our coffee cups.

“Hey ma’am, do you have some paper and a pen?” he asks, flashing a full-mouthed, beautiful smile. If I was her, I’d run to Kinko’s for paper if I didn’t have it, just to have him smile at me again.

“Yeah, sure doll, be right back,” she grins, shooting him a wink.

I look at him questioningly, but all he does is smile mischievously. Not the response I thought I’d get to my dark, ugly confession but sure, okay, we’re just rolling with the punches today. A few moments later, she’s back with a small yellow notepad and a pencil.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“We’re giving you a future,” he states with determination as he flips through the notepad, settling on a blank sheet.

“Umm, what does that mean?” I question as he starts to jot things down. I watch him write a few words, trying to read them upside down. He catches me and tilts it out of view, then looks up, full gorgeous grin on display.

“Give me a reason to live. Not just something simple; it can’t be for anyone else, either. Living because dying will make your mom sad isn’t a reason to really live. You can’t live to control other people’s feelings. Pick things solely for you, things that make you feel alive: a future that brings you joy and gets rid of the darkness. Unless it’s a kid -- do you have a kid to live for? If you say yes and you were about to jump off that bridge, I don’t think we can be friends anymore, Thumbelina,” he says flatly.

“No!” I quickly shake my head, heart racing. God, that would be so sad. “No, Redwood, I don’t have any kids.” Swallowing, I fight the urge to ask, but fail epically as my curiosity wins out. “Do you?”

Do you have kids? A wife? Girlfriend?

“No, Thumbelina, I don’t have kids,” he quirks a half-smile, and the butterflies flip around more in my belly. “I’m single and unattached. Now, stop postponing, give me a reason. What are things to live for, things you want to do to bring yourself joy?”

I think about his question for a few minutes. I like his intention and this game, even if it is a bit silly. I want to give him something real, something honest.

Things that bring me joy.

I close my eyes and think of all my reasons to stay. They’re reasons I’ve come up with before, ones that brought me happiness in the now but weren’t big enough reasons to keep going. They brought me smiles but not a future. Rainbows, foggy mornings, coffee…. What do I want out of life? If I could have a future that wasn’t so dark, what would bring me joy?

“If I had a future that was bright and not—” I break off, almost choking on my words. “Not so dark, I’d want to go to college, get my degree.” It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. I wanted to be a successful business owner with a solid education behind me, but when it was time to apply to college, it just felt too big, too scary. There were too many ways I could fail, too many people to disappoint.

He starts the list without any question. “Okay, when you graduate, what are you going to do? What school are you going to go to?” I notice that he says everything like it’s a sure thing. A statement. A future. My future.

“A degree in business, and San Francisco State.” He jots those down as well.

“What else? What do you want to do that you haven’t done? Don’t quit on me now, Thumbelina. I know you’ve got big dreams in that beautiful head of yours,” he murmurs.

Beautiful.

My fingers shake and I have to tuck them under my legs to hide the tremble. No one’s ever called me beautiful before. “I’ve always wanted to volunteer. I feel like I have so much to give, but I’ve been too scared to try. I’m not always a sunshiny person and I’ve never wanted to bring anyone else down,” I mumble, tipping my shoulders up in a vain attempt to hide.

He cocks his head to the side, almost animal-like, again trying to see inside of my soul, as if it’s not already sitting on this table next to the fries, waiting for him to devour.

“I don’t buy that shit for a second. You have so much compassion in you that it radiates off your skin like sunlight. You are a sunshiny person, you’re just weighed down by bullshit. You’re going to let the bullshit go and work on a bright ass future. Tell me, Thumbelina. Tell me all your dreams, mi peque?o sol .”

Mi peque?o sol. My little sun.

The way he looks at me, right then and there, as if saying my dreams and putting them on a memo pad is the way to make my future happen, past baggage be damned, fills me with an overwhelming feeling of possibility.

Desire for an honest to God future courses through my veins. I can’t fight the smile that takes over my face as sunshine begins to seep through the dark clouds of my mind.

Suddenly, I see all sorts of possibilities.

We went back and forth for the next few hours, talking about my future and my weird ideas for life. He shared some of his with me, but I noticed he was reluctant to give much information at all, always diverting the topic back to me.

We shared carbs and coffee, laughing and smiling as if we didn’t just meet a few hours ago under literal life and death circumstances.

I found myself so happy and content with him, this nameless stranger sitting across from me, helping me sort out my hopes and dreams, giving me a future. It should’ve felt strange, but instead, something huge was shifting in my world.

We finished off my list of reasons for a future full of joy and decided to order milkshakes. Neither of us seemed to want to go; I’d have been happy to sit and talk to him all day.

“What are your reasons for living, Redwood?” I ask as the waitress delivers our shakes, his Snickers flavored, mine strawberry.

“I already have my reasons for the future. I’ve always had hopes and dreams. Wanting a future isn’t my problem; it’s the future that’s being forced on me that I don’t want. Honestly, I don’t need a list of reasons. Today, when I was standing out on that ledge, I knew I didn’t want to be there. I knew all the people who’d miss and mourn me; my brothers would be devastated. I knew all those things. but I stayed there because I was scared.” Dropping a straw into my shake, he slides in it my direction before doing the same to his.

“To be honest, when I got the news yesterday, I drank way too fucking much, and I let myself spiral. I let the anger of my situation, the frustration of feeling like my life isn’t mine anymore, push me over the edge. That edge is exactly where I found myself at 5:00 am today. It’s where you found me, and do you want to know the craziest part?” he asks with a look of awe that confuses me.