SIENNA
May 11, 2015
I opened my eyes, rolled onto my side, and tried to make sense of why my mouth felt like I had someone else’s tongue in it. My mouth was dry, I felt like I’d been ran over by a truck, and I could feel my heart beating in my eyes.
I drank way too much wine.
With the room illuminated naturally by the setting sun, I narrowed my eyes and studied my surroundings as if they were unfamiliar. A quarter of a glass of wine sat on my desk beside my monitor, which had the screen saver zooming back and forth across the screen.
Fuck, I must have fallen asleep.
I stretched, walked to the kitchen, and took some Tylenol for my aching head. After finishing my glass of water, I walked to my bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. After a few seconds, I lowered my head into my hands and prayed for it to stop throbbing.
Son-of-a-bitch.
After a considerable amount of time, my head felt good enough to stand, and I walked to my desk. The black screen indicated I had been asleep for long enough that my computer shut down, which happened after fifteen minutes. I rubbed my eyes and stared at the monitor. Although I vaguely remembered writing a review, I didn’t really remember writing all of the reviews I was supposed to write, or exactly where I left off or what happened.
I wiggled the mouse, cleared the screen of the wiggling blurry ball, and stared at the review. It didn’t look familiar in the least. After a moment of staring blankly at the monitor, I refreshed the screen and stared. The review still seemed strange, as if it was written by someone else, but the time stamp at the side left me slightly puzzled.
14 hours, 38 min ago
Fourteen hours ago? How can that be?
I glanced at my watch. 7:22. I stared blankly at my watch, tried to make sense of what was going on, but couldn’t.
If it’s 7:22, the sun wouldn’t be setting. It would be totally sunny.
I walked to the bedroom window, opened it, and peered outside.
Fuck.
I ran to the kitchen and looked at the microwave.
7:21
Fuck. It can’t be.
After a frantic search, I found my purse, got my phone, and looked at the screen.
7:23 AM Mon, May 11
No…no…no, please God, no.
* * *
After repeated calls to his home went unanswered, I finally left a message, which was not at all what I wanted to do. Three hours later, and still having received no phone call from him, I was scared I had disappointed him much more than I expected.
I sat in his driveway frustrated that I had passed out from being drunk and missed dinner. I not only that I had I down Vince, but Anita as well. She took so much pride in her preparation of the meals, arrangement of the table, and found such value in our conversations that my having missed dinner would have disappointed her greatly. I was sure of it.
“Gabriel’s Message,” by Sting played over the stereo as I sat and waited for Vince to return.
I can fix this.
Two and a half complete plays of the CD later, while “Do You Hear What I Hear,” by Whitney Houston played, I hoped Vince would understand, but I had spent enough time playing ideas over and over in my head of how he may react, that I feared he would overreact.
As gentle as he seemed to be, and as kind as he was, his temper was beyond what most would describe as hot tempered. His ability to forgive was minimal, and his ability to forget was nonexistent.
Fuck.
I covered my head in my hands, realizing fully that my actions got me into the predicament I was in, and no matter what his reaction was, I could get through it one way or another.
An hour and a half later, and I had convinced myself that I fucked up and fucked up bad. As I sat in the silent car, I heard the unmistakable sound of his motorcycle coming down the street. A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed my suspicion, and I saw him coming up the street.
Breathe, Sienna, breathe…
His motorcycle slowed, he glanced to the side, and upon what appeared to be his recognition of my car in his driveway, he accelerated past the driveway and up the block.
Oh no you don’t.
I started the engine, shifted the car in reverse, and backed out of the driveway. As the car came to a stop in the street, he was a block away at the intersection at the end of the block.
Think you can outrun this motherfucker?
I shifted the car in drive and stomped the gas pedal to the floor.
Think again, Vince.
The car lunged forward, and the tires began to spin. As the smoke bellowed out from the rear fenders and the car continued to race forward at a very rapid pace, Vince pulled away from the stop sign and crossed through the intersection.
I released the gas pedal, frustrated that he hadn’t waited on me, and slowed down for the stop sign. Upon seeing no cars coming from either direction, I opted to stomp the gas pedal again and run through the intersection without stopping. Within a few seconds, I had caught up with Vince and was following close behind him.
After a slow-paced cat and mouse game that included covering half of the city and consuming no less than another hour of time, it appeared Vince was riding back toward his house. Fifteen minutes later, and I followed him into the driveway and parked the car.
He parked the bike in the middle of the drive, shut it off, and sat on it staring at the garage. Upon realizing he had no intention of walking up to the car and talking to me, not only did I realize that he was angrier than I hoped he would be, but I knew that I was going to have to get out and talk to him about what had happened.
So much for having the comfort of my music and my car.
I pushed the car door open, cleared my throat, and walked alongside his motorcycle. “So, I was doing book reviews and I guess…”
“Save it,” he said flatly.
Still staring at the garage, he held his gaze for a moment. As his eyes shifted down toward the gas tank, he spoke again, and as he did, he closed his eyes.
“Just go,” he said.
Oh shit. He’s really mad.
“Do you want to come over later? Or maybe I could bring some pizza over here, and we could…”
He turned his head to the side and glanced upward. “No, Sienna, I don’t want to come over. You broke a promise. You left me sitting at my mother’s house like a god damned fool, and I had no idea…”
“Wait, I’m sorry, I just fell asleep…”
He raised his left hand in the air and held it between us. “Like I said, save it. I can’t do this.”
“Do what?”
He pointed his finger at me, and then wagged it back and forth between us. “This. You and me. It’s over.”
A lump rose in my throat and I felt hot all over. My throat constricted and I fought to breathe. This couldn’t be happening. As I fought for each choppy breath I was able to eventually take, I was sure he didn’t mean what I felt like he meant.
“Wait. Over? What?” the words came out as if someone else had asked them.
He reached for the handlebars, started the motorcycle, and shook his head.
“Yeah, over. Don’t call, don’t come over, don’t write, don’t fuck with me. You broke a fucking promise, Sienna. I can’t do this again,” he said.
My eyes welled with tears, and as much as I wanted to say, to scream, to grab him, to apologize, to hug him, or just stand and talk, I was paralyzed.
He released the clutch, slowly pulled forward, and turned around in the yard. As I heard the sound of his motorcycle’s exhaust fade down the block, I realized he was gone. I stood in the driveway staring down at my feet and crying, incapable of doing anything else. It seemed like a terrible dream. As I cried and shook from the heartfelt pain, I prayed for answers. Answers never came because I believe there weren’t any; but eventually, through the many tears, it began to make sense.
In Vince’s mind, I was no different than Natalie. To him, the circumstances didn’t matter. The depth or the latitude of the broken promise, as far as he was concerned, was irrelevant. I had unknowingly done the unthinkable. I had broken a promise.
And I had done so to the one man who would probably never be able to forgive me.