The Scars of Runaway Bay

The summer sun was just beginning to set as I finished the last of my makeup. Rays of diminishing sunlight were finally giving up and the air began to cool. The anxiousness of preparing myself took a moment to settle within me. I hadn’t felt that way in years. The feeling was coupled with an inherited sadness and caution. I recalled the times when my now ex-husband used to make me feel this way. I summoned the will to forget that for the time being and decided to take back the moment.

My phone rang and it was my oldest daughter, Mona. I had no doubt that she was calling to rush me along. I answered the phone with the words at the forefront of my tongue.

“I’m almost done, Mona. Give me some time,” I said, imitating her former teen voice.

“Could you hurry up? You’re driving me crazy!” Mona replied in her best rendition of me.

We both laughed at our performances. Her energy was bright and contagious. “Let me see!” Mona shouted, trying to get a good look at my work. I set aside my perfectionism and lifted the phone to show her my face. The gasp startled me more than I was prepared for. “What? What is it?” I blurted. Mona placed her hand over her mouth. The tear that shined on her face told me all I needed to know. “You look amazing, mom.” The words were muffled behind her hand, but I could make them out just fine. I simply smiled at Mona, but the warmth inside almost undid my work.

Suddenly my phone chimed, and a notification came up telling me my ride was almost at the house. After a brief goodbye from Mona, I took one final look at myself in the mirror. To my surprise, I was actually quite pleased with the reflection. I hadn’t seen myself dressed up for many years. I grabbed the small purse I set aside the night before and headed out to the front porch. The car was nicer than I expected. “Mona, you’re too much,” I said under my breath. The driver got out of the vehicle. He completely missed me telling him that he didn’t have to get out and opened the rear passenger door for me. I smiled and got in, combining my perfume with the scent of charred cinnamon that permeated throughout the vehicle.

The ride was calm and uneventful. Mona instructed the driver to not say much as she knows I’m not one to small talk. I was able to notice more of the area than I had before. The town was more vibrant than I picked up on before. I couldn’t help but imagine where she was having me driven to, but I tried not to linger on it much.

After what felt like a bit of a journey, we eventually pulled into an empty restaurant parking lot. I looked around for anyone else, but no one was there. “Are you sure this is the right place, sir?” I asked the driver. He double-checked the instructions on his phone and glanced up at the numbers on the building. “Yep,” he said. “This is it.” I tried again to spot anyone as the driver opened my door to let me out of the car.

The restaurant was one of the nicer ones I had seen around. It was too expensive for my taste, but I had always thought of trying it out one day. The driver pulled out of the lot, and I made my way inside the building. The light jazz music in the background let me know things had been planned out in some way. I just couldn’t tell how. Until I saw him.

“Hey, Shia,” Marcus said, standing up to greet me. A gasp projected from me as I took a step back. “Wow. Is that how you feel?” Marcus said through his signature laugh. “Marcus,” I murmured. I couldn’t find the words I wanted to say. “You remember my name!” he said. I ran to him, and we wrapped our arms around each other in a way I haven’t felt since the day we met at the bay. After a while, we peeled apart and stared into each other’s eyes. He had aged well. His scruffy beard had streaks of gray that seemed just right for him. His large metallic glasses made him look more intelligent and distinguished. The smile on his face made me forget what was going on.

“Please, sit,” he said, extending his arm out to the booth next to us. I took off the shawl I had wrapped around me and slid into the plush booth. The smell of the large slice of chocolate cake rose to meet me. “I got us a piece of cake,” Marcus said. His smile entangled me once more. It was hard to focus on anything else.

“What’s going on, Marcus? How did you find me?” I asked.

“The kids found you. They did all this,” he replied.

“How? It’s been so long.”

“My son shared a story online about his dad meeting a girl when he was younger and never seeing her again. Got a lot of likes, apparently. Your daughter saw it and I guess they’ve been planning this out for some time now. What’s her name? Moni?”

“Mona,” I said, smiling.

She had been asking more about the young man I met at Runaway Bay when I was 15. She always liked the story so I didn’t think much of it at the time, but it all makes sense now. “Kids are pretty slick these days,” I said. Marcus nodded. We went on about our current lives. He told me about his wife’s death, and I told him about my divorce. We learned about each other’s kids and our jobs and things that I felt odd having to share with someone that was supposed to have seen it all already.

Marcus’ smile eventually straightened itself out. “What happened?” he asked. His voice quivered as the question came out. The display of emotion seemed to embarrass him. I struggled with what to say without crying.

“I came back, Marcus. I came back to find you,” I said.

“You came back?” he asked.

“Yes, I promise.”

The words began to choke me. The thought of him thinking I left him soaked into my bones. The pain he endured all these years thinking I was like the ones we were running from when we met. I began to weep. Or more accurately, the young 15-year-old girl within me that I had buried for all these years began to weep. Marcus’ heated touch made me look up at him. “I’m sorry,” I said. The apology felt like it was him and me. I had felt so despicable for so many years, but I refused to make it seen in my life. I had done everything to bury the pain I felt. “It’s not your fault,” he said over and over again. His words coated me.

Marcus held my hand in his until I gained my composure. “After my parents divorced, my dad sold the house and moved us out east. We bounced around a lot,” I explained. His tears ran down his face and seeped into his black and gray beard. I reached over and wiped his face with the sleeve of my shirt. “If you were gone, that means you never got the letters I wrote. I should have just given you my address too” Marcus said. I shook my head. “Your parents would have killed you,” I replied. He seemed to search for a reply but couldn’t find one.

I related a lot to the story he told me at the bay. It’s like we spoke the same language that day. We were both running to find just a moment of peace. My parents had been fighting for a while, but I didn’t know things were as bad as they were. Marcus was going through something similar, but his parents seemed less willing to hide what was going on. I remember feeling like I had finally found someone to blend with. Someone else who had felt trapped in an existence they didn’t ask for. The awkward kiss we shared was the first for both of us. It had been etched in my heart ever since. I gave Marcus my address so he could write to me after his family’s nearby reunion was over. But when I went back home, my parents were in the worst fight I had ever seen. The next morning, my stuff had been packed and my dad had us in the car headed the opposite direction.

As soon as I was old enough to come back on my own, I went to see if there was any sign of Marcus. I found nothing but the shadow of his memory. I worked part-time jobs to save up and come out again and again, but I could never find the wonderful boy who put color in my life on that lonely gray day. Eventually, I convinced myself that I didn’t deserve him and that he was better off with someone else who was good enough for such a gentle soul. How selfish I felt sitting across from the man I helped hurt.

Hours passed by like minutes. Marcus and I talked about everything that came into our hearts. We laughed, cried, then laughed and cried some more until the midnight moon was above us. Marcus was in the middle of telling me about his grandson as I leaned over the table and kissed him. Our lips touching was an electrical current that completed itself within us. My fingers cradling around his neck, running through his soft coiled hair, took me back to the moment when the young boy at Runaway Bay kissed me and changed my life forever.

I pulled away but our eyes locked into each other in a way I haven’t felt with anyone else. We seemed to share the same breath. The same heartbeat. The same energy. “So, what now?” Marcus asked. His eyes were dazed and hopeful. I looked at him and absorbed every bit I could. My words were new but sure. “We can finally stop running.”