I was working hard—my arms and back ached after every day of work, only to be worked harder at rehearsal.
I was doing everything right.
And still, the other ache was there. The emptiness.
I watched the sun rise from my loveseat, and remembered my favorite poem by Sylvia Plath, “Mad Girl’s Love Song.” I wasn’t much of a book-reader; the long blocks of text couldn’t hold my attention. I loved songs. Lyrics. Poems. Where a writer has the entirety of the English language to choose from and she picks only a handful of words.
I was the Mad Girl. Lying on my couch that morning, I closed my eyes and made the world vanish.
I haven’t seen Sawyer in two weeks.
“I think I made you up inside my head,” I murmured.
My hands tried to remember his skin, and crept down my thighs, brushing the edges of my underwear. A tingle of electricity shot through me, and I bolted off the couch.
“No, that’s cheating.”
I balled my hands into fists and sucked in several deep breaths. I couldn’t cool my heated blood, I always ran hot. My only cure was to set fire to the passion, to feed it until it burnt out. But I still had hours until rehearsal where I could channel my restless want into dance.
I threw on jogging shorts—green with white stripes along the edges—a white T, and my running shoes, socks pulled to my knees. I grabbed my phone, ear buds, water bottle, and headed out.
Two blocks north of the Victorian was a park with large expanses of green grass, surrounded by more beautiful old houses. A path ran around the perimeter and I set out to do laps.
At only nine in the morning, it was already warm. From all I’d heard of San Francisco, this heat wave wasn’t just rare, it was unheard of. The city dwellers were taking advantage. There were already couples and families gathered, enjoying the sun. Some people were alone, stretched out on the grass, an open book acting as a sun shield while they read.
I did a loop around the perimeter of the park, Madonna’s “Open Your Heart” playing in my ears. On my second pass, I saw Sawyer.
He stood about twenty yards away from the jogging path in jeans, a dark blue t-shirt and a Giants baseball cap on backwards. Olivia’s stroller was beside him; I could just see her little feet kicking to get out.
I slowed to watch Sawyer lay out a blanket, then extricate his daughter from her stroller. She immediately started to toddle away. My heart felt too big for my chest as Sawyer laughingly scooped her up and planted her on the blanket, then gave her a snack to keep her occupied while he finished setting u
p. A zwieback biscuit.
My feet wanted to turn in their direction, as if my inner compass was pulling to Sawyer’s magnetic north. I kept on the path, running faster.
On my next loop, Sawyer was playing catch with Olivia as best as one could play catch with a one-year-old. Olivia, dressed in pink overalls, held her biscuit in one hand and spastically chucked a small yellow ball in Sawyer’s general vicinity. He laughed and bent to retrieve it, then rolled it across the grass toward her.
My head was craning to keep watching, and I turned my attention forward before I crashed headfirst into someone. I felt like a stalker, spying on them, and had to remind myself I was there first, taking a jog and minding my own business.
Working on me.
On my third lap, two young women were with Sawyer. One was laughing way too hard at something he said, while the other was kneeling at eye-level with Olivia, smiling and talking to her. A crazed urge to run straight at the women and tackle them both to the grass came over me.
I wrenched my gaze away just as a stitch in my side stopped me short and bent me double. I wheezed for breath, hands on my knees. I hadn’t realized how fast I’d been running but my face was covered with sweat and the pain in my side was like a little knife stabbing me.
When I was able to stand straight I sucked in deep breaths, and glanced over at Sawyer. My breath stuck all over again.
Sawyer was looking right at me, his expression unreadable from this distance, though I thought I caught a glimpse of a small smile on his lips.
I watched, rooted to the spot, as he picked up Olivia and headed toward me without so much as a word to the two women. They watched him walk away, twin expressions of confusion and disappointment morphing to disdain on their faces before they gave up.
“Are you being chased?” Sawyer asked with a small smile. On his hip, Olivia beamed and bounced to see me.
“Ha ha, no,” I huffed. God, I must’ve looked like a mess. My face felt red and puffy from running so hard and sweat made my shirt stick to my skin. “I got confused for a second and thought I was Usain Bolt.”
Olivia reached her little hand out to me.
“Hi, sweet pea,” I said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “Are you being good?”