Omar and Jasper pull into the compound with a smile etched on their faces. Before them, the most magnificent building spread out, nested in the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas, beneath their diamond snow-capped peaks.

It has high, polished wooden walls, the kind you see on an expensive coffee table, huge windows big enough to give any window cleaner PTSD, and a well-manicured lawn green enough to be the envy of any hot dog-eating neighborhood. To say the least, the place was bougie with a capital B, and Omar half-expects to see a Jeff Bezos-type walk through the door and demand that he and Jasper do four hours of yoga on the spot.

They park the car among a sea of white Teslas, black Range Rovers, and, even more troubling, a familiar-looking black Audi, which causes Omar to flashback to how this nightmare began.

“Those damn Audis!” he mumbles and grips the steering wheel.

Jasper just nods.

“Now you’re getting it,” Jasper adds and looks off to the entrance, with a bit of water in his old eyes.

Omar hops out of the car and immediately throws his hands in the air, stretching out the drive. His nostrils widen as he sucks in deep, taking in the piney mountain air while his eyes glance to the dashboard, where Jasper’s brochure lay.

“Alright… Solitude Soul,” Omar mumbles to himself.

He exhales and turns to Jasper.

“You coming?”

But as soon as the words left his mouth, one look at his father confirmed a truth he could sense deep in his heart. That this was his father’s last day on Earth.

Omar’s jaw loosens, then tightens.

He can’t explain it, but something about the way Jasper is sitting there, balancing himself against the doorframe, he knows it’s true. Omar’s eyes trace the sharp angles where his father’s cheeks used to be, then down to his chest, watching it rise and fall—too fast, too shallow—then up to the way he blinks—slow, like even that takes effort. Omar gulps and adjusts his gaze, settling on a Coke in his father’s hand, unopened. He bites his lip.

“You coming?” Omar says again, softer this time.

Jasper squirms in his seat. “Yeah… yeah… just ughhh… just give me a second. I’m catching my air.”

“Sure,” Omar says, turning away to the Audi in an effort to distract himself once more.

No one ever prepares you for how to say goodbye. No one prepares you for the moment you just know. So Omar takes his palm and pushes it down his face. You can only experience someone’s demise, sharp edges and all.

From the car, Jasper tries to steady his hand and takes one more deep breath. He slowly turns to grab the suitcase and reaches halfway for it but pulls back, and swallows. Then with one more deep breath, he exits the car, empty handed.

“Come on… let’s go inside,” says Jasper.

As they make their way up the polished marble staircase towards the entrance, Omar keeps sneaking looks at his father. He’s skinny, skinnier than ever. His face has started to fold on itself, and his lips are chapped, with white scum starting to form. Jasper grips the railing with both hands, pulling himself up one step at a time. His knuckles are white the entire time.

“You want me to grab you a drink?” asks Omar.

Jasper chuckles, low and sad.

“Nah… I’m not feelin’ thirsty today.”

Omar sucks in air.

They make their way through the door, and their heads crane as the interior was just as impressive as the exterior.

Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch out and soak the space in soft, warm sunlight. The walls were white, and the interior was filled with what one would expect at an eastern retreat: little bonsai trees, sand gardens, and enough crystals to make it look like a set from a Stanley Kubrick movie. There was a reason and detail for every piece.

Jasper pauses just inside the doorway, one hand finding the wall. He takes a slow breath, trying to look casual, but Omar notices the way his shoulders hunch forward and the way he tries to conceal the way he rubs his chest.

“You good?” says Omar.

“Yeah… just… got an itch,” Jasper lies.

They venture deeper into the building, leaning up next to each other, one foot after another, until they are greeted by a man standing behind a computer who looks like he has emerged from a 1960s time capsule. He is a hippie-looking guy—the old-fashioned kind, complete with long flowing hair, round eyeglasses, and a white outfit that makes him look incredibly impressive or someone who joined a cult—Omar couldn’t tell which.

Jasper and Omar find each other’s eyes. “Can you believe this shit?” they judge in their own ways. Omar smiles, if only for a moment.

“Greetings, my cosmic brothers!” the man says.

Jasper and Omar glance towards each other.

“My name is Moon Beam, and let me be the first to welcome you to Solitude Soul, where we help your soul find solitude.”

His arms are outstretched as if he was expecting a big group hug.

“I can’t wait to share the magic of this groovy space with you!”

Moon Beam continues to stand open-armed, waiting for a hug, causing Jasper and Omar to reluctantly step forward, mouths muted. Because how can you expect to hug anyone named Moon Beam? Their faces are grimaced, and they continue to inch forward until they’re in hugging distance. Moon Beam closes the gap.

“Ughhh… Moon Beam? Did your mother name you that?” Jasper asks in short breaths.

“Yes, Mother Moon,” says Moon Beam, while his arms swallow Jasper and Omar.

Jasper’s face is frowning as he turns to Omar.

“What did Father Sun have to say?” Jasper says, struggling for air. He starts coughing.

“Hold on, hold on. On second thought, Omar, I think I might need that Coke.”

Omar grunts, trying to escape the hug, but Moon Beam’s embrace tightens.

“Well, if you wait until after my shift, I know a guy. Coke can be… very liberating.”

Jasper’s eyes go wide.

“Not what I mean, Moon Beam… not what I mean,” says Jasper, trying to pull away, but Moon Beam holds firm.

“Are you sure? It’s locally sourced. Very pure. And comes from a guy named Sunshine who lives in a yurt.”

“I’m… I’m talking about Coca-Cola, Moon… get off of me!” Jasper says, finally breaking free. “America’s drink!” he adds, panting.

Moon Beam’s face falls. “Oh,” he says, looking genuinely disappointed. “I was talking about America’s drug.”

Omar raises an eyebrow.

“Can we… can we just check in?” Jasper asks as he leans over, catching his breath. His hand presses against the desk for support, and Omar can see a slight tremor in his fingers.

“Oh, sorry! Yes, yes… I just love my… love my hugs.” Moon Beam takes a few quick steps back to the computer before adding, “It’s a great way to send energy.”

Jasper sucks in air.

Moon Beam snaps back into host mode. “Right, right. Of course. Of course. Checking in… checking in. Very groovy.” He taps on his computer. “And you two are?”

“Omar and Jasper Watson,” says Omar.

Moon Beam nods and looks up from his computer.

“What brings you cosmic travelers to our sanctuary?”

The muscle in Jasper’s cheek twitches.

“Meditation,” Jasper says flatly.

“Ahh, yes. The journey inward.” Moon Beam nods sagely. “Have you meditated before?”

“I’ve mediated once,” Omar quips.

Jasper chuckles while Moon Beam’s brow furrows.

“Well, close…” Moon Beam says seriously. “But meditation is the awakening of the soul.”

Omar and Jasper exchange another look, searching for recognition.

“Right,” Jasper finally says. “Yeah… well, we’re here for the… for the awakening.”

Moon Beam clasps his hands.

“Excellent. Ex-cel-lent.” Moon Beam takes in a deep, satisfying breath. “And will you need one room or two?”

Omar cuts a sharp glance towards Jasper.

“A room?”

Jasper nods.

“One room,” says Jasper, sliding a credit card to Moon Beam.

Jasper turns to Omar.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry, you’ll make it on time… besides, I need a break from being on the road. My… my back hurts.”

Omar swallows his frown, trying not to think about the word “you’ll.”

“Yeah… yeah,” Omar says quietly and looks away.

Moon Beam then steps between them and holds his arms high, as if he were greeting them for a second time.

“Well, ALLLL RIGHT!” he says, his hands folding, mouth wide.

“Let me give you a quick tour of the place and show you to your room. Then you can be off to your journey of awakening. It starts in an hour, I believe.”

“No, that’s okay,” the Watson men say simultaneously as they throw one finger up in an attempt to wave him off. But Moon Beam, in fact, is the one who waves them off.

“Ohhh, hooey. That’s nonsense. This is the premier spiritual awakening retreat in the United States. You’re getting a tour whether you like it or not.”

Jasper and Omar make eye contact, their mouths twisting.

“This was your idea,” Omar finally manages.

Jasper raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah.”

Moon Beam practically skips, getting a few steps ahead, then turns back.

“At Solitude Soul,” Moon Beam speaks.

Omar rolls his eyes.

“We believe that as people, we enter the world clean, but at some point, we become stained.”

Omar’s eyes furrow, and he starts walking slower. Jasper trails a hand along the wall as they walk, his pace deliberate and careful. Omar tries not to notice.

Moon Beam continues. “Life has a way of… piling on. When we’re young, everything seems so limitless. Men on the Moon. Flying cars. The Jetsons. You can be what you want to be.” Out of the corner of Omar’s eyes, he can faintly make out Jasper watching him, studying him to see if the message sticks in.

“But when you get older, for many people, the spark is gone out of your day.”

“Hmm…” Omar mouths.

“Many people, they live their day on repeat. Wake up. Work. Home. TV. Bed. And they do that for years. YEARS! No wonder they’re not happy—because their soul isn’t alive.”

Moon Beam continues to march forward, pushing through a breezeway where a greenhouse blooms with orchids and marigolds dripping over the railing. The air here is thick with humidity and the scent of jasmine. Small stone fountains trickle in the corners, and wind chimes made of copper hang from the rafters, catching the afternoon light. Through the glass walls, Omar can see the Sierra Nevadas rising in the distance, casting its gaze on the men below.

Moon Beam gestures to a meditation labyrinth etched into the stone floor beneath a skylight. “This is where we do our walking meditations. The path winds inward, then back out—symbolizing the journey to your center and your return to the world.”

Omar raises his eyebrows and starts rubbing his fingers. Jasper stops too, leaning against a wooden post wrapped in ivy. His breathing is heavier than it should be from just walking.

“So when people come to Solitude Soul,” Moon Beam says, now facing the Watson men, “our goal is to help you feel alive.”

Jasper and Omar make quick eye contact before falling back to Moon Beam.

Moon Beam leads them through a doorway into a circular room with cushions arranged in a circle around a small fountain.

“Whether you need spiritual guidance, religion, someone to talk to about your life’s purpose, or even just a walk in nature, the point of our mission is to help you discover your mission.” Moon Beam turns and bends down, walks to a flower, picks it up, and smells it.

“You must never forget that while life can pile on—you can release it,” Moon Beam says, releasing the flower. “You’re allowed to let go,” Moon Beam adds.

Jasper shifts his weight, steadying himself against the doorframe. Omar sees it—the way his father’s jaw tightens, the way he forces his shoulders back, trying to stand taller than his body will allow.

Moon Beam then turns to Omar. “All it takes is faith that the seeds you plant today will grow into trees tomorrow.”

With that, Moon Beam reaches in his back pocket and pulls out two room keys.

“So welcome to Solitude Soul. Your rooms are right over there. Get settled in. You’re in for a treat,” Moon Beam says, motioning to his right where a row of rooms lay. He walks off, turning a corner. Jasper and Omar just stand there, mouths muted, before making eye contact.

“What’d you think about him?” says Omar, shaking his head.

Jasper’s eyebrows scrunch. “He’s a hippie…”

Omar starts to smile. “I think he got a lobotomy, and—”

Jasper cuts him off. “But I agree with him… life can pile on, and you gotta… gotta let it go,” he says solemnly.

Jasper takes a few steps forward, then stops. His hand goes to his chest—just for a moment, a quick press—before dropping to his side and moving forward around a corner.

Omar squints at Jasper walking off, sighs, and turns around, taking in the view, when out of the corner of Omar’s eye, he sees something that makes his world stand still.

He first notices her long brown hair and how it effortlessly pours onto her shoulders like curly slides. He then sees her emerald-green eyes and heart-shaped face, the same one he once loved. After a moment that felt like several eternities, he realizes one thing. He was standing in the presence of his ex-fiancée. He turns to look for his father, but he’s gone from sight. The only two people in the world right now are Monica and Omar, and he feels a sizzle race up his spine.

“What… what’s she doing here?” he mumbles and subconsciously dusts himself off. His eyes find the nearest glass, and he quickly straightens his hair. For a moment, she hasn’t seen him yet. She’s doing yoga alone, on stained wood in a room tucked away.

Omar wipes his nose and balls his fist. Behind him, he could go to his room and meet up with his father, avoiding her altogether. But in front of him was his past. He looks down at his shoes, then up towards her, and can feel his body leaning forward. There’s nowhere left to run, and he’d done enough running already, so with heavy feet and a reluctant smile, he places one foot in front of the other.

From a distance, Jasper peeks his head around a corner and smiles before turning away just out of earshot.
As Omar gets closer, he can feel his mind begin to race.

He remembers the first time he saw her — how his body froze, and how all he managed were wide eyes and a dumb smile. He steps forward.

Then the night he dropped to one knee. The world had stopped spinning; and he’d blacked out, only coming back when she said, “I do.”

Another step.

The carnival. The water guns. Her laugh cutting through the noise, when the balloon popped.  His cheeks soften into a smile at the memory.

But the closer he gets, the heavier his chest feels. His heart is pounding so loud he’s sure she can hear it. His pace slows. He closes his eyes, and the good memories give way to the hard ones.

He’s mad at himself — for not being himself. He was never being fully honest with her because he’d never been fully honest with himself. He inhales, and for a second he swears he can smell the vanilla lotion she used to wear. The rainy car ride flashes through his mind. He shakes it off and keeps moving.

And then, strangely, something shifts.

After a beat, a rare peace settles over him. Not joy. Not pain. Just quiet. Like maybe it doesn’t all have to mean something anymore. He can’t explain it, but he feels ready to try.

He takes a deeper breath and straightens, picking up his pace. Every instinct in his body tells him to turn around, and his stomach flips harder than it did the night he drank the milk. But his eyes stay locked on Monica — half hoping she notices him, half praying she doesn’t.

Inhale. Exhale.

Each step feels like a mile until he’s standing in front of her.

When Monica finally notices Omar, her head jerks up, and she takes a step back, falling out of her pose. She immediately grabs her hair, placing it between her fingers, and runs her hands down it.

“Oh…” is all she says as the color leaves her face.

Omar’s mouth flashes a smile but gets caught hanging open.

“Oh… Oma… OMAR.”

Monica stops playing with her hair and crosses her legs. Her eyes are wide, and her smile is nervous. She slows down, breathes out, and attempts to relax, but her smile falters, and her hand darts around desperately, trying to smooth a nonexistent wrinkle on her shirt as she tries to gain some resemblance of control.

“Mahh… Monica?” says Omar, his eyes squinting, a dimple popping in his cheek.

“Wha…”

“What are you doing here?” they say at the same time.

They stand in front of each other, really seeing each other for what feels like the first time.

Sweat beads on Omar’s forehead and he forces a smile, but it feels foreign on his lips. He doesn’t know what to say. Because what do you say in these moments? What do you say to a fire that once burned so bright that you still feel the heat?

Monica’s shoulders slump as his response was taking too long, and the moment began to feel more awkward than it already was. All they could hear was the rattle of the air conditioner, adding a soft hum to the silence.

“I ughhh…” Omar starts as his hand finds its way to the back of his neck. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here… or… or… ever, ha… ha…” Omar manages, his voice trailing off.

A soft laugh escapes Monica’s lips. “Me either…” Her eyes are wide, and her head is tilted. Omar quickly shakes his head and regains his composure.

“I’m just, umm, I’m with my dad.”

“YOUR DAD?” Monica blurts.

Omar sighs and lightly laughs.

“…Yeah… my dad—it’s ughhh… it’s a uh… a long story.” Omar swallows. “But yeah, my dad took me here. Ummm… I’m actually moving out to L.A., and my dad really wanted to check this place out, I… I don’t know.”

Omar’s nostrils flare, then release, studying Monica. He straightens up and stands taller, his nerves somewhat wearing out.

“L.A.?” Monica says curiously, taking a step forward.

Omar nods.

“Yeah… L.A. I ughhh… I got a new job.”

Monica crosses her arms, her eyes lowering.

“You told me you hated L.A. You thought it was fake and full of shallow people who only wanted attention.”

Omar twists his lips and scrunches his face.

“Yeah… yeah, I did…” He looks down at the ground, then back to Monica. “I guess… I was afraid of change at the time,” he says earnestly. “And probably a little too judgmental.”

A soft, genuine smile flickers on Monica’s face, and her shoulders drop. Omar continues.

“Yeah… so… What, what are you doing here?” It comes out slow, then quick.

The smile vanishes from Monica’s face, and her eyes open as she looks away.

“I’m… I’m just umm… ummm, here with my… here my new boyfriend.” She says it like it was a question, then turns as if to shield herself from Omar’s look. “He’s a yogi.”

A puff of air escapes Omar’s mouth. He takes a step back and breathes in deep, then takes his tongue and pushes it against the inside of his cheek. His eyes flare and soften, and he looks at her one more time, his gaze trying to focus.

“…Yeah…” is all he can manage.

Monica practically does a double take.

“Is that… is that all you have to say?”

Omar raises his eyebrows and sighs.

“Yeah… yeah, I think so.”

Monica scoffs, her head shaking.

“You… you never change.” It comes out harsher than expected. “What… what are you doing here? Are you following me?” Monica turns her shoulder and takes a few steps towards the exit while Omar’s jaw hangs open.

“Wait… WAIT… look,” Omar begins, taking a step forward, and Monica stops, back still turned. “I… I really wasn’t expecting to see you here. I really wasn’t, but now that we are here, I just want to say—”

Monica’s body shakes.

“Wait,” she interrupts, then turns to face Omar, causing him to take a step back.

“I’m… I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I’m so, so sorry.” Her voice cracks as she looks him in the eyes pleadingly. “I… I can’t stop thinking about how we ended things.”

Omar groans and crosses his arms.

“No,” Omar begins and steps forward.

“I’M THE ONE who’s sorry.” Omar continues. He looks away, his eyes finding a random bulb to focus on and sucks in air. “I wasn’t the best version of myself when I met you, and certainly not when I… you… we separated.” Omar exhales, his eyes sad. “And I’m sorry for that. I actually am. But it’s not an excuse.” Omar uncrosses his arms, then continues. “But it happened, and I want you to know there was… there is so much I’d do differently.”

Monica’s face has gone red, and tears fall down her face.

“…But…” he continues, his gaze unwavering, “it doesn’t change how much it hurt. It doesn’t change… how you just… disappeared.” He pauses, letting the unspoken accusation hang between them.

“We had our life planned together, Monica. Our lives! And I needed closure,” he admits, a hint of his old pain seeping through. “I would never have gone up and left you without telling you why. I would never put that hurt on someone. I would have never left you a question you couldn’t possibly have answered.” Omar sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, hoping it will stop him from shaking. “But I guess, in a way, I have it now.” He sucks in the suffocating air with a deep breath and blows out clarity. Monica starts crying, her hands clasping her face. “Seeing you is enough… that’s… that’s all I have to say.”

Monica’s breath comes up in gasps as she shrinks to a ball, standing on her feet.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” she manages.

Omar frowns.

“I’m sorry too.”

Omar’s voice shifts—steadier now, almost calm. “But I guess people move in different directions all the time. It’s okay. It’s a part of life, I suppose.” He offers a small, sad smile. “And honestly? Because of it, I’m good. I think I’m right where… right where I need to be.” His words surprise even him.

Across the floor, Monica’s eyes are red and tired, and she turns away, trying to collect herself.

“I…” she starts, her voice trembling. There were a million more apologies she wanted to offer, a million explanations, but none of them seemed to add up. None of them could ever change the past.

Omar cuts her off gently. “Look,” he says, “there’s no point dwelling on the past. We can’t change it, even if we wanted to. I… guess… I… I truly wish you happiness, Monica. For real.” He meant it. Seeing her here, settled, had somehow freed him from the pains of the past. He dropped his baggage.

“But,” he continues, his gaze unwavering, “I can’t stay here and pretend everything’s okay. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us. But I can accept where you’re at, where I’m at, and try to move on.”

Monica opens her mouth to protest, but no words come out. Shame and regret choke her silent.

“I gotta get back to my dad,” Omar finishes, his voice strong. “There are no hard feelings, Monica. I’ll get over it. Once a friend, always a friend, right?”

The last sentence hung in the air, like a song singing its way to their past. He wasn’t the same lovesick boy she’d left behind. He’d grown, found his strength, and was ready to move on.

With a final glance at the tear-streaked figure in yoga spandex, Omar turns and walks out the door, this time seeing Jasper where Moon Beam left him. There was a lightness in his step, a sense of closure that had been missing for far too long, and he approaches his father.

“Man, what the hell happened?” Jasper asks eagerly, the moment winding back the years as he stands on his toes to get a look at the girl tearing up in the distance.

Omar shakes his head.

“Nothing, it’s all good,” Omar smiles. “I dropped my damn baggage.”

A long, slow smile appears on Jasper’s face.

“That’s my boy,” says Jasper pridefully.

Omar nods, then turns to Jasper, looking him in the eye.

“But you gotta tell me… did you… did you know she was gonna be here?”

Jasper looks away off through the glass towards the mountains, then back to Omar.

“No… but the road code did,” Jasper lies.

Omar shakes his head and takes a few steps forward.

“Fuckin’ road code…”

“Fuckin’ road code,” Jasper replies, adjusting the phone in his pocket.

They take a few steps forward, then Jasper turns to Omar.

“I’m proud of you, son. Truly.”

Omar can feel a tear form on his face. He wipes it quickly.

“Go grab my things from the car,” Jasper says, nodding toward the parking lot. “I’ll meet you in the room in a few minutes. I got something I need to drop too.”

 

 

Please like, comment, share and tell me what you think! This is from my book – just sharing for feedback. As always, thank you for reading, and everything will make more sense when everything is released in order.

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