I’ve worked my ass off since the day I took off to file my passport application. From sun up to sun down, I’m on the ranch making sure everything is getting done. My nights are now met under the cloak of darkness with critters watching my every move, waiting to come out and scrounge around for rodents and vermin. I’m throwing them off their eating habits, but if I have to suffer, so do they.
The first few nights when I walked into my house, supper was sitting on my table wrapped tightly in aluminum foil. Now Aunt Sue just brings it out to wherever it is I’m working and demands I take a break. I don’t know where I’d be without her. Probably wilting away under a tree somewhere, dying of starvation and thirst.
My ass is dead tired and I’m barely hanging on. It’s not a good combination for a rancher to be tired and running heavy machinery, but someone has to get the job done... and done right. Jeremiah has his own responsibilities and after I let one crew go last week, I can’t afford any more mess-ups. When I do make it to my house, I’m out cold, almost falling asleep in the shower most nights. Even the ringing telephone ain’t enough to get me to open my eyes and roll out of bed. I tried, it wasn’t gonna happen.
Bobby and I haven’t really spoken about my upcoming plans to go to Paris. I don’t know if he doesn’t want me to go because of the ranch or because he wants me to leave Savannah alone. He hasn’t said and I’m not asking. The way I see it, it’s my life and I need to know whether to move on or wait. If Savvy tells me to wait, I will because I love her and I know she needs to find herself. But if she tells me to move on, so be it. I can do that and respect the fact that she’s asking me to. It’s this limbo shit that I can’t deal with.
Savannah and I should’ve resolved everything before she left, but we’re young and naïve, thinking we have the whole world and nothing but time ahead of us. Truth is, we do, but we may not be together. I have to know, either way.
Back in the barn, I’m inspecting the stalls, making sure they’re cleaned and the horses have fresh hay. The tack room is cleaned and everything put back in place. Bobby hired a young girl who’s home for the summer to take care of the horses since Savannah is gone. I think he expected her to be here, just as I did.
It’s late and I need to pack, although I know I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb with my cowboy hat and shit kickers. As soon as I step into my house, the AC cools me down but not enough. The shower will take care of the rest. I check the answering machine – no calls. I didn’t really expect her call, but had hoped to hear from her. My gut is telling me that she’s forgotten about me, moved on. If she has, I’ll have my answer. It’ll hurt, but I’ve been down that road before.
Jeremiah is taking me to the airport. I’m leaving on a red-eye flight and am downright nervous. I’ve never flown before and a few of the townspeople suggested I fly somewhere small before getting on a transatlantic flight, but I’ve never had a reason to leave. All the traveling I have to do is done by truck: Auctions, cattle runs, horse swaps. Can’t really take a horse on a plane.
The cold water runs through my hair and down my back. Aunt Sue bought me a loofa to use to make sure I’m spic‘n span clean when I go to see Savannah. I told her Savannah ain’t going to care. She’s used to me like this, but Aunt Sue wouldn’t hear of it. She even bought me liquid soap that smells like a man, or so she says. I have to admit, after using the loofa, my skin feels pretty good. Not that I’d admit that to anyone else.
I’m packed and pacing the floor, waiting for Jeremiah to get here. I should’ve driven myself, but instead I listened to Della when she said parking at the airport is a bitch. I hate depending on other people and knowing Jeremiah, he’s been out hooking up and has completely forgotten.
I realize he hasn’t when I see headlights shining through my window, almost blinding me. Of course, he would have his high beams on just to annoy me. I grab my bag and the present Aunt Sue has for Savannah, making sure my ticket is in my back pocket along with my passport, and head out the door. The fear that’s bubbling in my gut is about to drive me crazy. I’ll be hurt if she doesn’t want me, but it won’t be the end of the world. It’s not like I haven’t lost her before.
At the last minute, I decide to leave my cowboy hat at home and just take my baseball cap. If I’m going to win her back, or convince her to come home, I need to try and remind her about the good things she’s missing, not the things that annoy her. Besides, I don’t imagine there are many cowboys in Paris, but you never know.
Once I was on the plane I knew I was out of my element. Aside from the lack of legroom, the seats are compact, the elderly lady sitting next to me is knitting and asking me if she can use me to measure because I’m just like her grandson, and the flight attendants don’t speak English. I’m utterly tired and confused.
Once we’ve landed, I can’t help but think this is all a mistake and I should’ve just called her and made her have the conversation on the phone instead of coming over here. I’m lost and following the crowd out of the airport. Per Della’s suggestion, I brought a carryon. I packed what I could in this suitcase, borrowed from her, so I wouldn’t have to wait for my luggage. I’ll have to kiss her when I get home as a thank you. I’m grateful for her advice.
Tour buses, taxicabs and black cars line the parking area in front of the airport. I haven’t a clue as to where I’m going, aside from having Savannah’s address on a piece of paper, and I’m not sure how to get there. I fear I’m quickly going to lose it and all I want to do right now is turn around and get on the plane back home. This place isn’t for me. I should’ve spent the last week learning French instead of working until my fingers bled.
Somehow I thought there would be subtitles, but I don’t know why. It’s not like English has ever been the official language of France, so why should they cater to us Americans? They shouldn’t. It’s me who has to adapt, but I’m an idiot. I need to wear a sign on my shirt that says, “Stupid American looking for his girlfriend,” and maybe someone would be gracious enough to help me.
“You need help?” I turn at the sound of a man voice behind me. His English is broken, but it’s enough for me to understand.
“Yes, please.” Pulling out the paper that has Savannah’s address on it, I hand it over and he smiles. I take that as a sign that he can help me. He nods toward the taxicab and tells the driver where to take me. All I know to do is to shake his hand and tell him thank you.
I’m holding on for dear life. I think this driver took lessons from Jeremiah. Taxi drivers give new meaning to tailgating. I’m not sure how drivers can cope when someone is right up your ass, honking their horn. After a while he pulls over, stopping in front of a hat shop – perfect. He points to the meter and I count out what I hope is enough money. The lady at the airport was nice enough to give me a quick lesson on Euros as she was exchanging my money
before I left. I just hope it’s enough. He doesn’t say anything as I get out and pulls away before I even have the door completely shut.
It’s just my suitcase and me standing at the door that should hopefully be Savannah’s. I open the door and climb the stairs, quickly realizing there are multiple apartments at the top. I find her door and knock. Then I knock again and wait.
She’s not home, that much is clear. I don’t have anywhere to go and I’m not that eager to leave. With my back pressed against the wall, I slide down and pull my knees to my chest. Now I just have to wait.
Savannah
I don’t know how much time passes before I get up and head toward the trail. Zach is nowhere to be found. I should be worried he hasn’t come back, but I’m not. I deserve to be left here. If I had been honest from the beginning he could’ve been on the rest of his vacation instead of staying in Paris to hang out with me. Instead, the selfish Savannah played her cards, and it’s coming back to bite her in the ass. Someday I’ll learn. At least I hope so.
This is another reason I miss Tyler. He’d call me out on my bullshit before I get in so deep that I hurt someone else. I really need to speak with him. I need to hear his voice to fill the void that I’m feeling. I don’t know what to say except I’m sorry. He’s the last person I want to hurt and my radio silence is doing just that.
I pass a few people... lovers... along the path. The sight of them, arm in arm, sends pains to my heart. She’s twirling a flower, one he likely picked for her along the way. Given the chance, Tyler would be like this. He’s a pure southern gentleman- opening doors, pulling out stools and helping me mount my horse. I just want him doing those things in a city where we can thrive and really become a couple. Staying on the ranch is boring and mundane. Cleaning horse stalls every day and heading into town at the end of the day or eating with Aunt Sue and Uncle Bobby isn’t how I want to live my life.
When I reach the bottom of the trail, Zach is there, leaning up against one of the logs with his ankles crossed. From where I’m standing, he looks peaceful. He looks like any other tourist in France, happy to be here. My approach is slow and I walk toward him head on so he can tell me to stop or move away from me. He doesn’t, and I take that as a sign to sit next to him.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Sighing heavily, I try to think of something that would make sense. Truth is, nothing does. “I don’t know. We were having fun and I like hanging out with you. I figured once you leave that would be it ya know? You’d have some great memories of France to take with you and we’d never see each other again.”
“You’ve had wine with dinner.”