Chasing Sunsets Sara Etgen-Baker   © Copyright 2025 by Sara Etgen-Baker

Mike and Sara 1967. Photo of  courtesy of the author

I turned to Mother. “Who is that little boy. I’ve never seen him before.”

She paused from her working on her crossword puzzle, her gaze following the boy's slow but steady progress. “He’s new to the neighborhood, dear. He and his parents moved in last week.”

“Why all those bandages?” I asked, my childhood voice laced with curiosity and a touch of uneasiness.

“Well, that’s a difficult story, darlin’,” Mother sighed, her expression softening with a mixture of pity and sadness. “A few weeks ago, his father careened off the bridge into Dry Line Creek. When the car hit the ground, the boy was thrown through the windshield and knocked unconscious. All those bandages cover the places where the shattered glass was picked from his skin, one piece at a time.”

The image of the accident, the pain, and the fear sent a shiver down my childhood spine.

“How painful!” I whispered, my earlier uneasiness replaced with a childlike sense of empathy. “What’s his name?”

"Mike, I believe. Once the bandages are removed, he’ll start school, probably in a couple of weeks. I think he’s your age and in the same grade as you.”

Suddenly, the boy wrapped in white bandages wasn’t just a stranger. He was a brave neighbor, and I knew I wanted to meet Mike and become his friend.

The next day while playing hopscotch on the sidewalk, I saw Mike walking in my direction. As soon as he got within earshot, he said, “Hi, my name’s Mike,” his voice cheery, his smile effervescent. “I live in that house just three doors down. Do you live here?” he asked, pointing to my house.

I nodded ‘yes,’ sensing an immediate connection. “My name’s Sara.”

“Would you like to walk to the corner store with me,” he asked in an appealing tone, his brown eyes sparkling. “I’m buying a soda for my mom.”

“Sure,” I answered, without thinking of asking permission.

That was the first of many walks Mike and I took together in and around our neighborhood. When Mike’s bandages were removed and he returned to school, we walked to and from school together. During recess we somehow found one another on the massive playground, huddling together beneath the shaded building reading Dr. Seuss books. Weekends were spent building a fort from fallen tree branches, sharing secrets under the pecan tree in my backyard, and riding our bikes for hours. Whenever Mike realized the sun was descending, he’d turn his bike towards the west and say, “Hurry, Sara! Pedal faster. Maybe we can catch the sunset!”

We entered junior high school, still walking to and from school together. We didn’t share the same classes or lunch period, though. During transition time, I frantically searched for Mike, his face often a blur amidst the countless teenagers rushing to their next class. We found one another, though, and Mike would wave at me and shout, “See you after school!”

We graduated from reading Dr. Suess books to reading young adult fiction as well as every Nancy Drew or Hardy Boys book we could get our hands on. After school we sat on my front porch and studied while listening to rock ‘n roll music on Mike’s transistor radio. When either one of us noticed that dusk was approaching, we’d interrupt the other saying, “Chase the sunset!” We leapt off the porch laughing and running together towards the setting sun.

We entered high school, and the activities we shared slowly changed. We joined clubs, developed mutual friendships, and spent Friday nights at the football stadium cheering on our high school team. During our sophomore year, Mike and I discovered we both had a passion for movies and spent most Saturday afternoons at the local movie theater. Afterwards, we usually strolled around the downtown square discussing the movie we’d seen or current affairs. It was the tumultuous 60s, and we became one another’s sounding board as we struggled to make sense of the changing American culture and political landscape.

During one Saturday afternoon movie, Mike was unusually twitchy, nervously tapping his hands on the edge of his seat. Curious, I turned towards him and, quite unexpectedly, his lips touched mine! At that instant, our friendship became something I hadn’t expected.

“Why not?” I wondered as he took my hand in his, holding it securely next to his side throughout the duration of the movie. We left the movie with a cloud of pleasantly awkward silence hovering over us, with neither one of us knowing quite what to say or do. Mike paused, placing both of my hands in his, his eyes meeting mine. “I love chasing sunsets with you,” he said. “Now, though, I want to chase more than sunsets with you.”

His brown eyes were filled with something I’d never seen before, something exciting and uncomfortable at the same time. For the first time since childhood, I noticed the scars on his face, the scars that had brought us together. I remembered his childhood bravery, the same bravery necessary to risk our friendship in order to kiss me.

“I love chasing sunsets with you, too,” I replied, softly kissing him on the lips.

Mike said nothing but longingly looked into my eyes. We embraced one another and hugged for what seemed like blissful eternity. At that moment everything was perfect.

From building forts to sharing secrets under the oak tree in my backyard, our friendship had blossomed into something more—a tender bloom nurtured by years of shared laughter, whispered dreams, fears, desires, and the comforting familiarity of knowing each other inside and out. Junior year, under the bleachers at a football game Mike confessed his feelings. I’d known them too, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to erupt.

Senior year, we were ‘promised’ high school sweethearts, exchanging class rings, a symbol of what we thought was our unwavering bond. Summer after our senior year, Mike and I both received college scholarships but to different universities, universities that were a thousand miles apart. Phone calls became our lifeline. Visits were planned, but a stark reality remained—we were living separate lives, creating new identities. Our lives were subtly shaping us into

different people; the shared history and the ingrained understanding began to feel distant. The certainty of our shared future eventually became a fading echo.

For a couple of years, Mike’s class ring remained on my finger, a bittersweet reminder of our bond and the joy of chasing sunsets with him. Even now when I catch a glimpse of the setting sun, I can hear Mike’s excited voice encouraging me to chase the sunset. At that moment, I’m reminded that our love, though destined not to last forever, will always be a part of me.