time is a pair of high heels and a midnight smoke

[376:03:15]

Love is akin to a midnight smoke.

Pensively, a man stood on the roof of a 15-story hospital, his hands outstretched over the railing and a cigarette in his right hand. For a moment, he wondered how long it would take the cigarette to reach the ground if he let it drop. Then he remembered again his train of thought.

No, no, that can’t be right. Smokes at midnight are, at the same time, warranted and unwarranted. The only traces they leave behind are stains on the parts of your body you cannot see and a ghost of ashes. Sometimes, you wish you had never even started.

There’s a clear difference… right?

Stopping the train at the last station in his mind, he took one last puff then put out his cigarette on the metal bars in front of him. Then, picking up his suitcase, he walked back inside the hospital. The faint glow of the oncology department brought him back to three hours earlier, when his bag had not yet been weighed down by the papers he received earlier and his groggy state of mind.

His fiancée would be mad. It was already 12:02 AM, and his apartment was still ten stops away by subway. He briefly questioned whether the lines were still running at this time of day. Night, actually.

He decided to take a taxi.

As the streets and lights all blurred into one, he visited scenarios that might happen when he reached home.

Fiancée: Why are you home so late?

— Overtime.

Fiancée: But you don’t have overtime. You’re self employed.

— I’m really tired, how about you call my boss and work it out with him?

Fiancée: Again, you’re self employed.

— I love you.

And naturally, the conversation would end at that point. With those words. At least, that’s what the man reasoned, already tired from being awake so long.

As the words in his head became more nonsensical, he had one last thought:

How do I tell her? He paused, reaching a decision. I don’t. I just don’t.

When he arrived at his apartment and creaked the front door open, his fiancée was already asleep.

[108:05:54]

— How do I look?

— Beautiful.

— You flatter me.

— Not enough.

The man and his fiancée were in a boutique; she was trying on clothes and he was sitting on a chair, giving input on the questions like Which color compliments me better? or The flats or the heels?

And whenever he answered back, she would pause in consideration, then go with the choice she had already decided before asking him.

When she paused her internal conflict to briefly talk to the store clerk, the man felt himself zone out, his vision blurring like a camera lens in dire need of refocusing.

— …r? …ear?

But lately, focusing had been hard. That stemmed from all the sleepless nights, where the man felt he might throw up on the cool satin sheets of his bed before taking a sleeping pill to knock himself out. Or was it two pills? One for the sleep and one for the—

— Dear? I’m ready.

In a minuscule movement, the man jolted back to his senses.

— Oh. Oh, yes. Alright.

— I’m getting these heels.

— Just the heels? We spent quite some time here just for some red heels, didn’t we?

Both the man and his fiancée paused, the former realizing how insensitive his sentence sounded after it came out of his mouth. Unable to recover, he laughed lightly, letting his mouth settle into a comfortable smile. His fiancée’s lips pulled down slightly.

— Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’ve just been missing some sleep.

— Ah.

The store clerk was standing awkwardly off to the side, trying to avoid eye contact with both parties. “Are you ready to pay, sir?”

— Oh, of course, yes.

He took out ten twenty-dollar bills in cash from his wallet, setting them on a counter.

— They’re burgundy, by the way.

— Sorry, dear?

— Burgundy. Not red.

The man had a feeling it wasn’t about whether the shoes were red or another shade of red.

In his contemplation, he forgot to take her hand as they walked out the door.

[1825:01:22]

— Want to go outside for a smoke?

[14:17:01]

— I really wish you would quit smoking.

The man looked down at the cigarette hanging limp from his lips and the silver lighter he had positioned under it.

— Weren’t you the one who started me on it?

The man joked, but he still took the smoke out his mouth putting it away in his back pocket.

— Well, we’re not in college anymore. We can’t be carefree forever.

— Come on, one can’t hurt.

— It can lead to all kinds of illnesses. Damage to your lungs. Damage to your heart. Cancer. I see patients like this all day.

— Well then, what’s one more sick person to add to your plate?

— You never take things seriously. Never. Can you just listen to me once?

[1825:01:17]

— Do you think clouds go to sleep too?

A man and his girlfriend sat on a pair of swings— always the set with the red steel frame— at a nearby playground.

It was near midnight, and they shared one cigarette, taking a drag and breathing out the frosty winter air in turns.

— I don’t know. Do you think clouds go to sleep?

— I do, actually. That’s why you never see them around at night.

— There are clouds at night sometimes, you know.

— Are there? I’ve never seen them though.

— Maybe they’re scared of you.

— Maybe. But I like the idea that when we go to sleep, so does the sky.

— … I think everything goes to sleep, eventually.

[14:16:59]

— I understand. I understand. So just take a breath.

He took out the pack of smokes from his back pocket, gently crushing it in his fist, and tossed it in a nearby trash can.

— There. Does that make you happy?

— What do you think?

And without waiting for a reply, she turned and slammed shut the clear sliding door of their apartment as the warm light from inside cast a shadow near the man’s feet.

[00:00:09]

— You leave your things everywhere! Socks, watches, documents— there’s no space for an actual person!

— I can’t deal with you right now. Always picking over the smallest things.

The man had just arrived home from work, and he had not yet taken off one of his shoes when yet again, an argument had bubbled to the surface.

And yet again, they were arguing over things that were never the reason for the argument.

[00:00:07]

— Can we just stop all this arguing?

— When you start having accountability. Over your socks.

The man tossed his brown workbag to the ground in frustration.

— It’s not really about the socks, is it? It’s never about the socks, or the watches, or the documents. Why do you just keep picking fights?

[00:00:05]

— Fine. Fine, if you really want to know, it’s because you’re never honest with me anymore. I can’t talk to you at all.

— About what?

— Nothing! Everything! You come home late, and you’re always silent when we’re together, and I have no idea what’s going wrong!

— You don’t have to know. You really don’t. It’s my own business anyways.

[00:00:02]

It was like a switch went off at that moment. The man’s fiancée went from tense to relaxed, all the anger seemingly dissipating out of her in a matter of seconds.

They went silent for a minute, then she began:

— I always care about you. I always do. And I know you care about me too. So for that, I don’t think that I can do this anymore. I don’t think we can do this anymore.

[00:00:01]

His fiancée— was that term even appropriate in the new situation? — walked past the suitcase on the floor. Walked past their bedroom, where he had stashed his diagnosis documents in the top drawer, where he put all his socks.

She turned the knob of their front door.

[00:00:00]

And there it was.

His time was running out.

His time was running out the door in a pair of burgundy high heels.