It was four am. Dark, except for the glow from the lamppost outside my bedroom window. He was already wearing his jeans, fancy-stitched black cowboy boots and black Tommy Bahama Royal Bermuda shirt. Kneeling on the floor beside my bed, right up next to my face, he woke me by stroking my left cheek, which was peeking out from the duvet pulled up to my chin.
A natural time for a goodbye kiss. I expected just a peck, a leaving-for-work, don’t-want- to-wake-you-all-the-way-up, see-ya-next-time kind of kiss. Instead, I got the longest, sweetest kiss filled with love and longing on both sides.
I joked, worrying about my bad morning breath; he laughed and waved his hands, “Pish.” And kissed me harder.
Later that day I texted him photos of the Halloween decorations in my neighborhood—cobwebs, witches, and ghouls. No response. That’s weird. Well, maybe he’s just exceptionally busy on that job. He preferred texts because he could not talk in the middle of a job. Whenever we did talk on the phone, I had always looked forward to the way he ended calls: “Want you, love you, need you.” That phrase now seems so practiced; maybe he said that to everyone.
Next day I texted. No response. He wouldn’t just ghost me. Or would he? I’ve only known him a couple of months. Only two dinner dates. Maybe he’s finished. But that kiss; you can’t fake that.
After three days of calling and texting with no response, I started thinking I didn’t really know him. I had never met any of his friends or family, had only seen him about twice a month. Just two dinner dates. I’ve never been to his home some fifty miles away. We have not had the define the relationship talk. When we first met, he had asked me if I was ‘seeing’ anyone. I hadn’t asked him the same thing.
My thoughts stirred up anger at him—and at myself for not asking him if he were seeing anyone. Maybe this is time for me to date other men.
And then I got a phone call from his brother that explained everything. “I found your contact and texts on Jackson’s phone, but wanted to inform all of Jackson’s family members before contacting you.” Oh, God.
Through the roar of blood rushing in my ears, I heard him say, “Jackson died three days ago in a machinery accident at that job at Lake Davis. The time he spent with you meant a lot to him. He’d want you to come to the funeral, I’ll call you with the location later.”
Such a whirlwind of feelings. Stabbed in the heart sad. Happy that he died doing what he loved—working. Crushed for his family, especially his kids. And deep regret that I had blamed him for not responding to me when the poor guy was lying at the bottom of Lake Davis.
You never know, do you, when a last kiss will happen.