Goodbye, Sunshine

It was a busy night at Bing’s Booze Den. The air smelled of sweat and piss, and Sunny was nowhere to be found in the crush of bodies. The last I saw of her was in some corner of the bar, smushed up against a stranger. My mai tai dripped down my palm in consolation. The noise was truly breathtaking, as if the entirety of Noah’s Ark had been released inside a pinball arcade. A tuneless mixture of Halloween sound effects and sultry wails showered us from the speakers above. A hypnotic ambience. An impossible mood to replicate.

Sunny was my third ex-girlfriend. I met her at a Thai restaurant in a strip mall. The kind of local joint with faux-wood countertops and frosted polycarbonate cups. We both waited tables there, and the first time we interacted I was caught stealing from our tip jar. My hand was still inside the glass clutching a wad of bills when she asked for my name. The fuck do you think you’re doing? She scolded me relentlessly for the rest of the day, berating me all the way to my car. I thought about quitting right then and there, but I really needed the job, so I stayed.

The next morning she stormed up to me. I braced myself for the continuation of her verbal assault. Instead she grabbed my wrist, shoved into my hand a crumpled up receipt, then walked away. I unfolded it. Inside was her number, scribbled in red ink.

We got to know each other over months of bussing tables and scrubbing floors. The afternoons melted away with our chatter. Thai soap operas droned on wall-mounted televisions. Sunny idly painted her nails in the sticky heat during our breaks, drying them with a plastic mini fan by the cash register. She never finished. I’d watch her work the remainder of her shift with only three fingers painted crimson, the rest naked, as her palm wiped across dishes and held out change. Sunny did most things the way she painted her nails.

After a while I could sense there was something out of sync with her demeanor. It was apparent that she went to great lengths to construct a defensive wall where no one was allowed inside. She carefully guarded something innocent at her interior, like a dam holding back a precious, silent lake. That was precisely why we got along. While our appearances depicted far different versions of ourselves, what we contained inside was exactly the same. I’d never felt so connected to someone. It was a secret of sorts that we shared, behind closed doors. Polar opposites magnetized by something unseen.

On paper, we didn’t make sense as a couple. We’d often get looks as we held hands on the street. She was an aggressive, go-getter type of girl. Despite her being shorter than most people, including me, she stood her ground, and wasn’t afraid to argue to get her way. She wore these yellow sunglasses everywhere we went, even at night. Large, thick frames with impenetrable lenses. The aura she possessed was intimidating, and she was outspoken about everything she felt. We contrasted sharply with each other – I was quiet and approachable, with a soft complexion that made people think I was younger than I really was. I could easily conceal my emotions. We fit into each other like yin and yang. Our two years together flew by.

Then, we broke up in a park. It was winter. The memory is blurry now, neatly tucked away under the layers of years. I can remember everything except the image. The chill of the morning air on my skin. The shy murmuring of the stream that flowed off to our side. The lack of emotion in her voice when she whispered, You’re a bad person, Adrienne. Tears dotting tiny pinpricks in the ice. The lavender perfume wafting off her scarf as she crunched away in the snow, naked elm trees our only audience. We didn’t speak for a long time. The last remnants of whatever we shared dripped away, until I could only remember her name, but no picture of her face would arrive. Like mist hanging in midair, then vanishing.

The years dwindled on as I took various jobs and moved to various cities. Nothing important to recount, I assure you. But I suddenly got the urge to see Sunny after a wildfire burned down my childhood home. This was four years after she left me. It was a terrible fire, and any reasonable person would have been more concerned with the possessions that were lost. But for some reason – and I don’t know what it was about the flames that made me think this – in that moment I recalled the remnants of my relationships, the parts of me I had given away, forfeited to women I would never see again. It suddenly became very important for me to find Sunny. This was for no reason in particular, I just knew I had to see her, or else I would never be able to live with myself. At least, that’s what I repeated in my head. Perhaps in that moment I needed some form of reassurance for my existence. An anchor to grasp on to.

---

I deleted her number when we broke up, so I spent an entire week asking all of our mutual friends where she was now. They hadn’t heard from her in years. The most information I received was that she was living somewhere new. Was it Flagstaff? Or Jacksonville? They would say. She even changed her number, so any messages sent wouldn’t be delivered. It was pretty peculiar, now that I think about it. It’s always strange when someone goes to such lengths to disappear. Every morning I would check my leads on Sunny’s whereabouts. A few emails here, a couple texts there. I would diligently jot down my findings in a notebook, like I was tracing a map to find hidden treasure.

Eventually I came across someone who had spoken to her recently. It had nothing to do with my efforts. It was by pure coincidence on a flight back home, from a Brazilian guy named Marco. He worked as a club promoter in Vegas. His job was to wrangle in pretty, eager girls to stock his venues. Maybe he saw some kind of opportunity in me. He wore a Hawaiian shirt drenched in lurid colors, and I couldn’t think properly from the scent of his thick cologne filling up my head. His broad shoulders pressed into mine as we sat side by side on the plane.

We struck up a conversation when the hostess came by our row, and he offered to buy me a drink. I reluctantly accepted. He picked out a white wine for me, and a tiny bottle appeared on my tray table. Our exchange somehow steered in the direction of Sunny. At the mention of her name, his face lit up. Sunny, my friend!

It turns out they worked in similar circles. Marco showed me a group photo of them at some nightlife event. The venue in the photo was luxurious in an erotic, sensationalist kind of way. Sunny was posing with a group of people dressed in black. Her coworkers, I think. Apparently she had gone to Vegas to become a bartender. She helped run a popular dive bar, and was good at her job.

I sipped the wine he bought me. He had a gin and tonic.

– Why do you want to find your Sunny so bad? Do you miss her?

His accent was thick, and it took me a moment to decipher what he said.

– I don’t know, really. It’s been so long either way. I just feel like I have to see her.

– I understand. I had someone like that once.

– What was she like?

– I would prefer not to talk about it.

– Sorry. Forget I asked.

– I just hope you are not expecting to find the same girl that you knew.

I stayed quiet, mindlessly swirling my glass. The seatbelt sign flashed. The pilot told us to buckle up over the intercom. A baby cried out somewhere. Marco’s brows furrowed.

– Saudade.

– Sorry?

– Saudade. That is what you have.

I finished my wine in one big gulp.

– I don’t know the word.

– It is Portuguese. A kind of profound longing. Clarice Lispector would write about it.

– The novelist?

– Yes, her. I hope I can remember what she said.

He paused for a moment, tapping a finger to his temple in contemplation. The aircraft hummed in the background. He recited the words with the cadence of an incantation.

Saudade is a little like hunger. It only goes away when the presence is eaten. Yet sometimes the saudade is so profound that the presence is not enough: the will is to absorb the whole of the other person. This desire to be the other for an entire unification is one of the most urgent feelings you can have in life.

He gave me Sunny’s new number when we got off the plane. Ah, you should come out sometime, bring your friends, he said. I texted her while in the taxi to my apartment. I thought about how my bed would be empty tonight. It might be empty for the rest of my life.

---

The packed bar swirled dizzyingly around me. The air grew feverish. My mai tai was running concerningly low, and I didn’t have enough cash to buy another. Worse still, I couldn’t find Sunny. She was preoccupied earlier with her hands running under a stranger’s Deftones shirt, but now she seemed to have run off. I scanned the room. Great, I thought. Now I’m stuck in some dingy bar run by a Cantonese man of dubious origin, looking for the girl I came here for.

I pushed my way through the crowd to the outdoor patio of the bar. It was surprisingly brisk, so it wasn’t busy. I leaned against the rail at the furthest end, watching the line of the bar grow increasingly long as it drew closer to midnight, like an endless serpent trailing into the dark. I bristled at the cold metal of the rail biting my skin, and placed a cigarette between my chapped lips. I rummaged through my purse for a lighter, flicking it open to reveal the timid flame within.

– You smoke? Since when?

I nearly fumbled the lighter to the ground. It was Sunny. She looked different.

– You know that stuff’s gonna kill you, right?

– You’re one to talk.

– Nah, I quit years ago.

She buried her head into the soft worn leather of my jacket.

– Where’s your new date? Couldn’t say hi to me first?

– Got boring. I left them.

– I came here to see you, you know.

– Well, it’s my day off. I’m allowed to have fun. And we’re talking now, aren’t we?

Her voice came through muffled and warm into my shoulder.

– Fine. But don’t run off again. I don’t have much time.

– Okay.

The inside of the bar radiated with indulgent fury. Strangers brushed lips.

– Are you seeing anyone new?

– No. Are you?

– I’m not.

It was too bright to see any stars, but I knew they were there, watching us. It was silent for a moment.

– I’m not going back, if that’s what you’re here to ask me.

– What?

– I’m not getting back together with you.

Sunny played with the zipper of my jacket. It got stuck. I felt it tug on the fabric.

– I wasn’t going to ask you to get back together.

– Oh. Then what did you want to talk about?

– I don’t know. I just wanted to see you. That’s all I’ve been thinking about for months.

– Is that so?

She grinned at me. Her cheeks were flushed with the chill of the night air.

– Haven’t forgotten me after all this time?

– Don’t let it get to your head.

– Then why’d you come see me?

– It’s hard to explain. I knew I had to do something. I had to find out where you were, what you were doing. Otherwise, I was going to regret it for the rest of my life. Don’t you get thoughts like that?

– Sure, I guess.

I ashed the cigarette out on the railing.

I wanted to tell Sunny that I’ve been having the same recurring dream, about once a month, ever since she left. We’re at her place, sitting at the dining table. It’s just the two of us facing across from each other. It’s dark. We’re illuminated by a single lamp hanging above the table. Her arm stretches out across the expanse of the oak tabletop, clutching a silver utensil. She’s spooning heaps of something into my mouth. It’s warm, and tasteless, but I can’t identify what it is. I swallow it whole. It goes down smooth, just in time for her to give me another. Sunny keeps feeding me, and feeding me, but I’m not hungry. I was never hungry. Sunny, that’s enough. I’m full, I tell her. But she doesn’t seem to hear me. Her right arm reaches out, while her left delicately hovers below my chin to catch anything that falls, but nothing ever does. I part my lips over and over to receive. No more, please Sunny, I beg between spoonfuls. She still has no response. I feel it, whatever it is, spreading around my insides. It grows warmer until I feel like a wildfire is burning inside my belly. Sunny, no more, I manage to whisper. I feel the world closing in on me. The last thing I remember is a cold shape pressing down on my tongue. Then I wake up.

– I know we won’t date again. I’m not here for that.

Sunny took one side of my jacket and draped it over her. We were like kids in a pillow fort. She stepped on my toes. I felt homesick for a place I’d never been before.

– You don’t have to say anything. I get it.

Sunny’s mom used to make us sinigang every time I came over. I don’t think she understood that Sunny and I were dating. We’d go to church together every Sunday. I remember all of us, crammed into their worn Toyota with her siblings. Her dad drove. We’d fit four to the back, so Sunny would sit on my lap. Her head would graze the top of the car when we hit bumps in the road. They always had the same Boyfriends cassette playing Dahil Mahal Kita on repeat as we tumbled down 280. I’d be sweating by the time we arrived. Sunny would wait until everyone left the car before planting a kiss on the top of my head. Thanks for coming, she’d whisper.

We stood without speaking for a while. Sunny’s body was warm pressed against mine. I felt like I was missing some important point. There was a joke everyone was in on, except for me.

– It’s not fun ending up alone.

Sunny laughed softly. Her breath grazed the tip of my nose. It smelled like beer.

– Yeah, it sucks, doesn’t it?

– If it was up to me, I would make the whole world mouth your name forever.

She smacked the top of my head. I rubbed the spot she hit with a hurt face.

– You’re so clueless sometimes.

– What was that for?

– As long as the weather exists, they’ll say my name.

A few raindrops padded onto my cheek. It began to lightly drizzle. Sunny huddled closer to me. People rushed into the bar to avoid getting wet. Soon, it was just us outside.

Sunny loved the rain, contrary to her name. We shared a calendar where we’d try to predict when it would rain next; the rainy days were circled in blue. She always left the news channel on to watch the week’s forecast. I can still remember her yell echoing down the hallway in excitement. It’s raining on Thursday! She’d count down the days until it came. Finally, when the moment arrived, she would lay on the couch, eyes closed, listening carefully to the crescendo of drops like notes in a hidden melody. Then without warning, Sunny would race to my room to grab me by the hand, and we’d fling ourselves out into the street, embracing the downpour with open arms. We hardly noticed the time slipping through our fingers as the rain drenched us to our skin. We spun around and around in endless puddles. Booming thunderclaps rang out in applause to our performance. Sunny laughed louder than any storm.