The Fourth Sunrise: A Love Story Page 11

  “I pressed my lips together, thinking of what I would say. I wanted it to be without anger, but my heart was breaking so hard that my chest actually ached. I said, ‘It seems like the closer I get to you…circumstances arise that make it harder and harder for us to even have any hope of building a life together.’

  “Christine stared intently into my eyes. ‘It does make it harder because I am pregnant. As you said, the circumstances. Your face is telling me not to go. I need for your face to tell me it’s okay for me to leave.’

  “I stared and did my best to show her everything was okay. It took a few seconds to steady my emotions, but I finally looked at her in a loving, calm way.

  “‘Thank you, Joel. I needed that.’

  “‘Thank you, Christine. It was a perfect night. And a perfect sunrise.’ Then I kissed her lips tenderly and held her body tight. I loosened up to let her go. But she re-gripped my hands and begun to motion her hips.

  “‘What am I thinking? It wouldn’t be perfect unless we slow danced.’ So that is what we did. We slow danced for five minutes, holding one another and not a single person came outside. It was our own private dance floor in the middle of the motel parking lot. I smiled and held her in my arms without any regard for what people driving by might see. To hell with them.

  “I softly sang a song from the last record that we had slow-danced to, the Frank Sinatra hit, ‘Strangers in the Night.’ When I came to the end of the song, we stopped dancing and just held each other. She felt so small and soft in my arms. The breath of the Colorado morning lifted her hair and the moisture in her eyes made my throat tight. I said, ‘There’s no other place in this world I want to be than right here, right now, with you.’

  “Christine inhaled long and deep, as if suddenly coming up for air from the bottom of a lake and was deprived of oxygen. Slowly, she relaxed her body and let go of me, walked to her dad’s truck and opened the truck door. She hopped in, looking small and fragile behind the wheel of her dad’s big old truck. She closed the door and rolled down the squeaky window with the window hand crank. I leaned my head in and kissed her on her forehead. That kiss was my seal of eternal love, my gratitude for the time we’d had together, my prayer for her health and happiness, and my unspoken grief, as she softly slipped away from me, yet again.

  “‘Goodbye, Christine.’

  “‘Goodbye, Joel.’”

  Present Day – Delta, Colorado - Deltarado Days Stage, 3:00 a.m.

  “That was very romantic,” Sharee said, looking up at me as I finished speaking.

  “I wasn’t trying to be. That was the thing with Christine. Every romantic thing I have ever done in my life was either for her or it was because of her.” I sighed and laughed.

  “So, that was in 1982?” Sharee asked.

  “Sure was. You were probably not even born yet.”

  “It’s about the time I was born.”

  “By then, I had felt like I'd had lived a lifetime in heartache being apart from her. And your life hadn’t even begun yet. That is absolutely amazing to me.”

  Sharee paused in deep thought. “How long did it take to see her again?”

  “Fourteen more years.”

  “You two had that kind of night and you didn’t see each other for another fourteen years?”

  “It sounds unbelievable, but we had a buffer this time. We were able to write. Being able to write what I felt was something I desperately needed. And I did it often.”

  “What I want to know is what about anybody else? You must have fallen for someone else along the way during that fourteen-year span?” Sharee asked.

  “Nope. Not even close. I couldn’t open up my heart to anyone else.”

  “You didn’t have any serious girlfriends?”

  “Serious girlfriends? As far as I was concerned, no. But I tried. Comparing anyone to Christine was life’s cruel joke – the joke was, life showed me excellence in Christine, and then expected me to settle for anyone but her. I just couldn’t do that.”

  “You never wanted your own family?” Sharee asked.

  I didn’t anticipate Sharee’s question to sting so harshly, but it did. “If I would have, I would have felt like a fraud.”

  “You would have had a life.”

  “I did have a life. I did amazing things with lots of amazing people. I just didn’t have—”

  “The best part,” Sharee said, finishing my sentence the way she wanted to. I was going to say Christine, but Sharee had the soapbox to finish. “Love is the best part. It is my belief that there is no other greater thing this life has to offer us.”

  “You see, deep, deep down, I believe that, too. I believe true love is the greatest thing we have to give another. I couldn’t give someone secondary love. That is what it would have been.”

  “I’m amazed.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “That someone who has as much depth as you had only gives himself fully to one person and that person never was given a chance to benefit from that.” Sharee was getting herself choked up. I looked around and noticed the cleaning crew working around us. It must be close to two in the morning. We were still sitting on the stage. Our food was long gone, but our conversation wasn’t. She was about the easiest person I had ever talked to besides Christine.

  I thought Sharee and I were about to head back to my truck, but she wasn’t done talking. “So, how did it happen?”

  “The third meeting? The third meeting almost didn’t happen. I did everything I could to prevent it. I guess in the end, I just made it happen all the more. The third meeting was more of an act of desperation than a natural encounter.”

  “Why is that?” Sharee asked.

  “This is where I introduce ‘the letter.’”

  “The letter?”

  “Yes, the infamous letter.”

  Sharee looked at me with wide eyes. She knew the story was about to get a little more interesting. “Who wrote who the letter?”

  “I wrote her the letter,” I said.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Before I speak about the letter in question,” I said, “I need to tell you how well our system worked post-second night. It took a few months to iron itself out, but once it did, it ran like clockwork. Receiving and writing letters began to be all I could think about.”

  “You must have had a good system,” Sharee agreed. “How did it work?”

  “The system was an anonymous Washington, D.C. post office box!”

  “Washington, D.C.?”

  “It made sense. She used to take a trip once a month by herself to the city. Washington, D.C. was like thirty minutes from where she lived. She wanted to go somewhere that had more than enough P.O. boxes, so her name would get lost in the mix.”

  “Sounds clever.”

  “It was her idea. Her husband never suspected and I just wanted anonymity. I wrote her a letter every week,” I said. “I mailed my letter to the Washington P.O. box.”

  “Why so many letters?”

  “Once a week was barely enough letters. I understood why she could only write me once a month, but I had to write her weekly. Sometimes, I’d leave the letter out and write her as the week went on, as if I was contacting her every day. And once a month, she wrote me a letter that she would write after she read my four letters.”

  “It really does sound romantic.”

  “It was. I mean, how could it not be? Absence making the heart grow fonder was all we knew. Longing for one another was all we had. At least, she led me to believe that.”

  “You don’t think she was sincere?”

  “After tonight, how could I be certain of anything? She never showed up. It had been fourteen years since I’ve seen her. She always showed up. Even after the letter, she showed up. But, for whatever reason, she did not show up tonight.”

  “I’m sorry she didn’t show up,” Sharee said, as sincerely as anyone had ever sounded to me.

  “Well, if she had, I wouldn’t have met you. You seem like a very ge
nuine and good person.”

  “Thank you. I would like to think I am.” Sharee smiled at me. “Still, I’m sure she had a good reason.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Why don’t you tell me about ‘the letter’ and your third meeting?”

  “The letter changed everything.”

  “Why?”

  “Because after I sent the letter, I went for three years without corresponding with her.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “It was what I wrote in the letter.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I poured my heart out.”

  “What did it say?” Sharee pressed.

  “I still have it,” I confessed.

  “Why do you have it?”

  “She mailed it back to me with a simple note that read, ‘It is too painful for me to own this letter.’ So, she mailed it back to me. I have kept it in my glove compartment ever since.”

  “In the truck?”

  “Yes.”

  “The one that is here in Delta that is in the parking lot?”

  “Yes, that is where the letter is.”

  “We have to go get the letter.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because ‘the letter’ is the hook in the story.”

  “It is in my glove compartment, safe and sound.”

  “Do you mind sharing with me what is in that letter?” Sharee asked.

  I looked at Sharee and I had never anticipated a third party ever finding this romance I had with Christine interesting enough to tell. Maybe I was scared to tell it in fear that it would set me back emotionally. Talking about it to Sharee was different. I felt a sense of release in telling her. I was enjoying every minute, although it was hard to keep my mind off the fact that Christine didn’t show up. “I’ll share it with you. Let’s go back to the truck.”

  “I’m dying to know what you wrote.”

  “You are?”

  “Please, let’s go back so I can see it!”

  “Of course we can.”

  With that, we made our way back to my truck.

  We reached my truck which was parked on Third Street, right off of Main, near the Chamber of Commerce. I unlocked the truck on the curb side. Sharee hopped in the passenger side and reached over to unlock my door. I got in and sat in the driver’s seat. I leaned back and said, “It’s in the glove compartment!”

  “May I?” she asked.

  “Of course.”

  Sharee opened my glove box. I knew the letter was on the very top. I had pulled it out a week ago and re-read it for the first time in years. The words in the old letter still held their power today. I might need to paraphrase it at certain parts, but the intent was still there.

  Sharee pulled the old letter that had exchanged through my hands to Christine’s hands, then back to mine again.

  Sharee laid the letter in her lap, treating it as if it were the Declaration of Independence, as if she didn’t even want to put her fingerprints on it.

  “Will you read it out loud?” Sharee asked.

  “No, I would like it if you would read it. I’d like to hear it come off someone else’s lips. I don’t know….maybe it will give me another way of looking at it.”

  Sharee sighed and excitedly found her spot at the letter. “Okay, Joel, here it goes.”

  Then Sharee proceeded to read the infamous letter out loud in the front seat of my truck. There was something quite exhilarating, hearing her start to read a letter that had words that were so dear to my heart. It was amazing to hear the words spoken in a feminine voice.

  She read,

  My Dearest Christine,

  The day I first laid eyes on you was the most amazing most heartbreaking experience of my life. Knowing you have enriched my life in way I never imagined, I cannot conceive of a world that you aren't a part of. But today is my birthday and I am 47 years old. I have quickly become the age I feared the most. I have known you for almost thirty years. That is amazing to me. I have seen the woman of my dreams only twice in my entire life. Because of you, my heart is full each day. But also, because of you, I ache every second of every day that I haven’t been with you.

  Sadly, my better judgment stands in pure opposition to my heart, and the analytical part of my brain needs to step in for the betterment of my life.

  I can no longer correspond with you. Although receiving your monthly letters has been the highlight of each and every month over the past thirteen years, I just can't do it anymore. It’s not fair to you. It’s not fair to anyone who has tried loving me over the past thirty years. But mainly, it’s not fair to my heart. My heart has longed for you for too long. It has cried out for you on many lonely nights.

  I have to try to move one. Heck, it’s the 90s.

  Christine, I can’t do it anymore. I am going to try to live a life that isn’t consumed by thoughts of you. I am going to give myself three years without you. I pray I can move on.

  But if I can’t move on, I want you to meet me at Deltarado Days, three years from now, in 1999. I’m not sure if the world is going to end in 2000.

  I hope I don’t see you. I hope one of us doesn’t show up. Honestly, I hope it is me. I hope that I can find the woman of my dreams who would be with me every single day and lie next to me every single night. This is my wish. But there is a chance it won’t happen and I’m asking you to do all it takes to go by yourself to the 1999 Deltarado Days fair on opening night.

  If I still long for you on that day, I will show up. If you are still the love of my life, I will show up. If I still believe life played a cruel joke on me, that the woman who my heart most wanted to share a full life beside went off and married another man, I will show up.

  The bottom line, I will show up if you’re still the one I live for. Again, I pray that I don’t show up.

  For now, this is a goodbye. It is now in destiny’s hands.

  With all my heart,

  Joel Murphy

  When Sharee finished reading the last word, she reached out her hand and held mine so tenderly.

  “You are a beautiful man, Joel Murphy!”

  I didn’t know how to respond to that. So I said, “Would you like to go inside? I completely understand if you have to go home.”

  “No way. I need to find out what happened in the third meeting.”

  “Aw, the third meeting.”

  “So, there was a third meeting?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I didn’t know. That letter was pretty desperate.”

  “That letter was my salvation. It was the first I owned any decisions in regard to Christine.”

  “But you did show up?”

  “Of course I did. Initially, I hoped she wouldn’t show. Then days before the event, it became my biggest fear that she wouldn’t.”

  “She obviously showed.”

  “And I obviously went.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Sharee still sat in passenger seat with the precious letter in her lap. She looked at me and asked, “Did you at least try to find someone else?”

  “I most certainly did. I don't know why, but no one else compared. I tried to let two different women get close to me. I had loved Christine for so long that it was where I took refuge. It was actually a safe place. I knew how to love her. With other women, I didn’t know where to begin. It was so natural, so easy, with Christine. I had to see her one more time. I just was praying she was going to show up.”

  “Did she show up?”

  I was quiet and I just stared forward out the front windshield of my pickup truck. I had a rock hit my windshield on a road near Phoenix a year or two ago from a construction truck, one which left a miniature spider-web crack, smack in the middle of the windshield. It was out of the line of sight for the driver, but while I was worried about that crack, Sharee had asked me a question and I told her the answer: “Let’s go back inside the coffee shop. Of course, we both showed up.” We both got out of my truck and made our way back to the
all night coffee shop.

  We found my usual table and sat down. I ordered us two cups of Joe and continued my yarn.

  July 1999 – Delta, Colorado - Deltarado Days, 8:00 p.m.

  “I got to the fair a day before as I usually did, so I could get settled. In my mind, this time was going to be different. In my bag, I brought the returned letter with me. I owned the letter now because Christine had sent it back to me, a year to the date that I sent it to her. She told me it was too painful to own the letter. She couldn’t help but read it over and over again. And one year later, I looked in my mailbox—there was no return address, no name of who sent me in the letter. But inside was my letter and a little note that simply said, ‘It is just too painful having this in my possession.’

  “I knew in my heart when she sent me back the letter that she would be there at Deltarado Days, but I had still tried to find love somewhere else. It was just impossible when a woman had such a command of the deepest, most passionate parts of my heart.

  “I set the letter on the desk. I stood above it and just stared at the dark beauty of it. It was a love song as well as a love poem. I was pleading with her to let me go. But I still desired her to the point that if I could achieve my goals, I would need to see her. So here I was, and I did not achieve my goal to fall in love with someone else. Not even close.

  “I showered up and stared at newly fifty-year-old body and wasn’t that disappointed aside from some extra poundage in my belly. Every other part of me was the same size that it was in my ball-playing days. The muscles were not as tight, nor as strong.

  “I put on a pair of blue jeans and a white button-down shirt. I had bought some really nice gray shoes that finished the outfit off nicely.

  “It was time to go, so I made sure I had my keys and wallet and yes, I even had a cell phone in 1999.