The Taste of Sun

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”— Ernest Hemingway

—

Bells rang. It was time.

I tightened my grip on the bouquet, took a deep breath, and closed my eyes. Canon in D began to play from the sanctuary. About thirty people were inside, waiting for me.

My hands were cold, slightly shaky. I glanced at Johnny on my left and my mother on my right. They both beamed at me. My heart felt full, overflowing with joy. Yet, he came to my mind. I knew he couldn’t be here. The moment I told him about my engagement, I knew I had to grieve about this. Or maybe — I wanted the idea of him being here, but not the actual him. It’s a long story. But how much of our yearning is for the people themselves, and how much is for the idea of them?

“Ready?” Johnny asked, his eyes full of encouragement.

“Ready.” I affirmed, though not so sure.

I remembered when he taught me to ride a bike. We would go to the running track at my elementary school, where he would grab the back of my seat and run behind me as I pedaled. I learned slowly, I think. I was scared and told him never to let go—I would fall. He promised he wouldn’t.

I pedaled, surprised at how smooth and balanced I felt. I was excited! Halfway through the track, I saw him standing across the field. He wasn’t holding onto my seat at all. I hadn’t even noticed when he let go. A moment of panic surged through me before I tumbled to the ground. I sat on the track, looking up at the sky. The sun was in my eyes, my face slick with sweat. My sweat tasted like the sun—salty, but warm and familiar. I felt safe.

Now, the light was behind me, its gentle heat warming the back of my neck. That same fuzzy, sweet warmth, as if he were still holding onto my bike seat.

My cheeks flushed, my heart pounded. My whole body trembled.

In front of me, the grand wooden doors slowly swung open. First, I saw Matt standing in the middle of the hall, smiling. Then, I saw Zach. He looked stunned, beaming at me. Our eyes locked. Our souls whispered. Our hearts leaped.

Canon in D filled the room, each note soaring like a phoenix in flight, golden and angelic. Sunlight streamed through the doors, making a radiant statement, filling the hall with light and love.

My mother and Johnny stepped closer, each taking my arm.

It was time.

I moved forward, my steps in sync with the music. The notes guided me, pushed me forward. But I wished his hand was still on my back, gently propelling me, as I took each slow, deliberate step.

A few years before my parents separated, he used to take me swimming several times a week. I would sit on the back seat of his bike, and we would ride together. One time, it was pouring rain. He tucked me under his yellow raincoat. We must have looked like a camel, my small frame forming a hump behind him. I couldn’t see anything but yellow all around me. I felt anxious, yet it was one of the few times I felt truly close to him. My arms wrapped around his small belly, my toes soaked from the rain, but inside the jacket, it was warm. Cozy. Safe.

C.S. Lewis said, “Grief isn't just in your heart—it lives in your gut.”

Grief was a physical sensation. A pull. I couldn’t help but glance back, searching for his hand, wanting to feel his presence on this special day. When I turned, my eyes met Johnny’s. He frowned slightly, confused, and followed my gaze. Embarrassed, I quickly turned back. I felt like a child caught sneaking candy.

The phoenix of the music still soared, its melody filling the hall. But was it only in my ears that it carried a note of sorrow?

I knew he understood. He knew he couldn’t be here today. Perhaps he grieved about this too.

“Ready?” The idea of him asked.

“Ready,” I whispered. It was time. I came to a stop.

The warmth from behind me vanished. He had let go. He had to. And now, my mother and brother had to as well. A flicker of panic rose within me before I noticed the warmth had shifted. It was now in Zach’s hands, clasping mine.

Sunlight streamed through the glass roof. I looked up at the sky. The sun was in my eyes, my face streaked with tears. My tears tasted like the sun—salty, but warm and familiar.

I felt safe.