Let Go

A vision of me.

And her.

Naked, covered in sweat, fucking like we never mean to stop.

Fuck. What is wrong with me?

It’s clear the customer and manager don’t recognize me, and I thank fuck for that. Because today I’m not Lachlan Marcus. I’m just a guy. I want to be just a guy.

Something in me snapped this morning in my investors meeting. They were fighting about return on investment. How much they could cut wages and eliminate benefits for employees of one of my restaurant chains so they could pad their own already bloated bottom line.

Just how meaningless so much of my life had become rained down on me like shrapnel and I had to leave. I had to get away. Without a word, I walked out and didn’t look back.

The only person I contacted was Beverly, my assistant, who is one of the only people in this world I still trust. Told her no details, just not to expect any contact from me for a while. Couldn’t tell her how long it would be, only to cancel everything on my schedule for at least a week and I’d be in touch.

Her response? No problem. Consider it done.

And that’s why I trust her.

Then, I got on a bus.

A bus, for Christ sake. Not a private jet. Not a limousine. A fucking bus.

Bought a ticket to Chaplain, Maine, because it was the next out-of-state bus leaving the station from New York.

After I bought my ticket, I searched up some info about the little town. Population 4380. Best known for one of the original white wedding chapels in the country. Same day weddings, no waiting period and the original building still stands.

As I looked at the photo online of the small white church-style building, a tightness gathered in my gut. A familiar sensation I couldn’t quite place that left me with an odd feeling of déjà vu. I’ve never thought much about marriage.

No particular reason, just I’ve been so engrossed in the other aspects of my life it hasn’t been a priority. Besides, in my business, being who I am, I have to say I have a jaded attitude toward relationships. I’ve kept myself nearly a monk. For most guys in my situation, they could have as many women in a day as they could handle, but me?

Nah. It’s never been an appeal. If I meet the right one someday, so be it. But it’s hard as hell to trust anybody. I’m just not sure how anyone could love me. Not the image of me or the bank accounts that come with me.

In the hour or so I had before the bus left, I went to a thrift store just a block from the station. Bought an old duffel bag, filled it with jeans, shirts, ball caps and anything I could find that screamed average. Then, I went into a barber shop.

An old guy was sitting there reading the paper, barely looking up when I walked in. Not sure if he knew who I was or not. If he did, he didn’t make a fuss and seemed more than pleased to lop off my long hair and give me a sturdy, very average short cut, which felt strangely right for a change.

Long hair had become my trademark.

And I’m tired of being a trademark.

2

Teah

I’m not sure what just happened.

All I know is I just walked out on my job. My boss. The one guy who gave me a chance when I showed up in Chaplain, Maine with a backpack and a desperate need for a shower.

I barely even gave him an explanation as I ran upstairs to the room my boss rented to me, packed up and practically sprinted out the back door of the restaurant have twenty-six dollars to my name. No credit cards. No friends.

And no way am I calling my parents. No way am I listening to the ‘I told you so’ speech.

My backpack pulls on my shoulders as I make my way down the alley behind the restaurant.

It’s not my situation that has me feeling like I’m walking through a fog. My head is spinning, for sure, but it’s not because I’m dirt poor and homeless. It’s that guy.

God, who was that guy?

He stormed into the restaurant when the customer started going off on me and when I looked at him it felt like someone snatched all the air from the room. He was wearing a ball cap and sunglasses, like some horrible spy character, along with a worn denim shirt with one sleeve rolled up above the elbow and the other one-half way down his forearm.

I wanted to see his eyes. I could feel them behind the glasses, like we knew each other somehow. He felt familiar and shocking at the same time. Besides, he was beyond enormous. He towered over my boss who towers over me.