The Corridor of Us

I feel your hand in mine as we walk along the long white corridor. I look over as your familiar amber eyes meet mine. Without making a sound, you smile kindly and point to a small window to the right. Peering into the window, our heads nearly touch. Beyond the glass is a scene I could remember very well. Your eyes, still on me, encourage me to keep watching. Focusing on the scene, my heartbeat quickens as James walks into view. We see myself sitting at a table at our favorite steakhouse, watching James return from the bathroom. The waiter walks over to the small table while James settles into his chair. The younger me offers a nervous but sweet smile at James as several other employees join our waiter, his name plate with the word “Sam” catching my eye. Sam places a small piece of cake in front of me as they all begin to sing “Happy Birthday”. Other guests around us began to clap once the song is over and the red on my cheeks stays throughout the night. A warm reminder of James’s love.

I can’t tear my eyes from James’s darling smile, but do not resist when you drag us away. We keep a slow pace forward. Your silence allowing me to keep replaying the scene in my mind until our arrival at the next memory. We watch together as James walks into view, again. My figure appears, leading James to a chair placed in front of the bathroom mirror. I remember having to always squeeze the two of us into the cramped bathroom which somehow always perfectly fit us along with this single chair in front of the vanity. We laugh about a joke James made as he sits on the chair. Eventually, we had bought better lightbulbs so that we didn’t have to go to the bathroom to find the best light, but my heart aches at the nostalgia. I lean his head back, place a kiss on his forehead, and begin the process of shaving off his stubble. It had taken several weeks for me to perfect the technique that it took to shave his face in the way he preferred, and this particular scene was a time when I was still learning. I remember thinking fondly of how patient he was with me during that time.

The shave is almost complete when a sound reaches us from further up the corridor. A woman crying softly, her breath catching at times in the attempt to calm herself. Recognizing the sound, I look to you for reassurance, forgetting the bathroom scene entirely. You nod and begin to head towards the sound, keeping in step with me. The cries start to echo off the walls as we reach the window. You do not try to stop me as I raise my right hand to wipe off a light mist that coated the glass. We peer in through the opening to see the same small bathroom. The chair is gone and the shower is running; steam fogging the mirror. The small cries coming from behind the curtain cut off suddenly as the bathroom door is slammed open and James enters. He yells something causing my ears to ring, blocking out his voice. I back away from the window. “Let’s go to the next one” I say as you look at me with sadness in your eyes. You do not respond but turn your focus back onto the window for a moment until I tighten my grip on your hand and lead us away. The distance between us grows as we walk, yet I cannot bring myself to release your hand and you offer no complaints even as we pass window after window without stopping until the sound of the cries are too quiet to hear.

You stop at a window to our left. “This one?” I ask but you do not respond. James and I are back at the steakhouse. We are sitting at the bar this time, my eyes darting back and forth between the pretty young bartender and James as they laugh together. I did not hear the joke but the smell of the beer on his breath drifts over to me at his side. I take a sip of my own drink and stare at the tv above the bar that is playing a commercial about-

“Not this one” pulling you away, once more. My gaze avoids yours as I try to ignore the drag in your step. Attempting to be generous, I do not walk as far before stopping at a window to our right. We see myself running the cash register at work as James walks into my lane with a bouquet of flowers. We flirt with each other pretending to be strangers as he buys the flowers then slyly hands them to me while I act coy. “How sweet” the lady behind him in line says as he walks away with a wink. The scene replays as I turn to look at your reaction. Noticing the gentle smile on your face but tired eyes. I ponder what my own expression reveals but dare not ask. My right hand reaches for my face, feeling the small, lifted corners of my mouth. “Isn’t he sweet” I say but you know that it is not a question.

Anxiety begins to grow in my gut. The corridor seemingly endless. We share a desperate look and then take off running, offering only a glance at each image as they blur together. James and I at Christmas, wearing matching pajamas. Our sweet corgi that we named Peach, playing at the park. Our five-year anniversary dinner at our steakhouse. The bartender with the dyed hair. Our reflections run by as we pass a small mirror, you plant your feet, causing us to stop abruptly. I look back at you, rather than the mirror, and notice the small scar that sits just below your jawline. You stare at your reflection for a few moments before we continue on.

Your hand leaves mine and for a moment I panic, thinking I had lost you but then see you simply staring into another window. Through the window, I see myself sitting up in bed as James sleeps beside me on his stomach. His phone lay underneath him and a buzzing noise digs into my brain. A sliver of the phone screen lights up and it’s difficult to stop myself from staring at it. A small delicate hand moves towards the light. Turning away from the memory, I back away, begging you to join me. Tears begin to well up in your eyes, tugging at my heart.

“Eve!” our heads turn towards the sound of a name being called. We face each other, having recognized the name and voice. A slight fear showing in your eyes.“He is here for us” I tell you and begin jogging towards James’s call, not turning to see if you are following. Hurried footsteps echo behind me as we reach a big white door at the end of the corridor, your presence appearing at my side. I reach for the door handle with my right hand but you grab it with yours. I wish for you to speak, tell me your thoughts. Your expression is pitiful, the words catch in your throat, unable to escape your lips. “You can stay here, live in this fear of your own making. I take chances for that is who I am. Let me go. You do not know him like I do”

Tears fall from your eyes, drops sliding down my own cheeks. Would I make that same expression if I knew what you knew? James begins to pound on the door causing you to let go of the handle to grab my hand. Neither of us brave enough to face him when he gets angry. I sketch the apology in front of my eyes, letting it rest on the tip of my tongue, before finally opening the door. James is there, not angry but sad. He tells me he’ll give me another chance if I do the same. I nod my head and give him the hand that you held, but when I turn to see your reaction you are walking back the way we came, to the beginning of our corridor, where I’ll see you again. My gaze summons yours, yet it goes unanswered. Would you beg me to stay, if you could?

I turn back to James, a smile on my lips, as he wipes your tears off my face and lays a gentle kiss on the scar under my jawline before guiding us through the door. Perhaps next time I’ll give you a voice, I let the thought drift over to you as if brought by the wind and feel your eyes on my back as confirmation that you’ll try to believe me.