The Space Between Heartbeats

Ba-bum

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Ba-bum.

There’s supposed to be a space between heartbeats. A pause. A reset. Something small and necessary. Mine has always felt longer than it should be. Not enough for anyone to notice or a doctor to care. I had it checked once. Everything came back normal. It doesn’t feel normal. It only happens when things are quiet. When I’m alone. When there’s nothing else to focus on. I notice that quiet stretch where something should be… and isn’t.

I notice it again now as I’m fixing dinner in my apartment. It happens a few times a week. It’s easier to ignore when I’m busy. But when I notice it, that stretch feels just a little too long. I pause mid-slice, knife hovering. It’s that same hollow stretch again. Not pain or panic, just…nothing. I wait for it to pass. I resume my slicing, thinking back on my day. My thoughts resume their trek up the mountainous to-do list I’ve created in my mind. I’ve got some work to finish up after dinner, a shopping list to make, and laundry to start. I rub my hand over my chest absentmindedly. It always feels so hollow and unsettled afterwards.

Growing up in a big city, I’ve always been trained to watch my surroundings carefully. That’s why I don’t understand how I never noticed him before now. The moment I lay eyes on him from across the empty street, I feel an immediate pull to him. Like something settles. Not excitement or nerves. Just…quiet.

Our eyes meet, like he’s been waiting for me to notice him. He begins to cross the street. A sudden warmth spreads through me despite the cold night air. The muscles in my jaw and shoulders loosen instinctively. The tall dark haired stranger stops next to me and I stare up at him, frozen in the middle of the sidewalk.

“You feel it, don’t you?” He says. I nod, unable to speak. “Can I walk you home?”

I should say no. I don’t know this man. He’s a stranger.

But as quickly as those thoughts enter my mind, they flicker and die.

“Yes.” I say, finally finding my voice. The tightness in my chest loosens. The ever present noise in my head goes quiet.

He leaves me at my doorstep with a promise of seeing me again soon. No name, no phone number. I unlock my door in a haze, my emotions rushing in like a dam bursting.

Who is he? Why did I feel so safe and calm?

All I know is this - whatever settled in me when he was present is now gone.

I see him again a couple days later at the corner store. I don’t remember deciding to go in.

“You always stop for a second when it happens.”

“…what?” I ask, unnerved.

“That pause.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You usually don’t.” He smiles as he shrugs.

“Why are you acting like you know me?”

“I don’t.” He pauses. “You notice more than you realize.”

I continue walking down the aisle, picking up things from my list as I roll around what he said in my mind.

“Why are you paying so much attention to me?”

“You’re easier to notice.” He says simply. He follows without being invited, his presence settling against me like pressure easing off a deep bruise.

I continue shopping as we exist together in silence for a time. I reach up and press my hand to my chest without thinking. Steady. Even. Nothing hollow underneath.

I press my hand harder against my chest, waiting. Nothing.

“It won’t do it right now.”

I stop and turn towards him. “Why?”

“Because I’m here.”

My shopping is done before I’m ready. Outside, we stand in the cold for a moment and I realize I never looked at what I bought. The bag feels lighter than it should. I think I forgot something, but when I try to pull up the list in my mind, it’s just…gone. Wiped clean. I frown at the bag.

I still haven’t asked his name. I find I don’t want to. A name would make him real enough to lose.

I’m brushing my teeth when it happens again. That pause. Only this time it doesn’t pass quickly. It stretches longer than I remember it ever feeling. I stop, hand to chest, as I wait. Somehow I seem to notice it more this time. After what feels like a lifetime, it passes. I take a deep breath and finish brushing my teeth as I think through what just happened. Then it hits me like a lead weight.

It didn’t happen when he was with me.

I move through my small apartment, without thought. The bedroom, the kitchen, the living room — like I forgot something. Or someone.

Tension coiling my muscles like a snake ready to attack. I don’t remember deciding to leave. My keys are in my hand as I walk out the door.

The November air hits sharply against my skin, but I don’t turn back for a coat. My feet follow a familiar path. Past the corner store, the stretch of sidewalk where I first saw him. I slow for a moment then resume walking. I don’t know what I’m looking for. I just know it’s not inside.

“You’re out late.”

I find him as I turn a corner, a few blocks from where I first saw him. He’s leaning against the building, like he’s been waiting on me. I slow as I approach him, the tightness in my chest loosening, my breath deepening as I automatically begin to relax.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I say.

“It’s louder when you’re alone.”

I nod, not knowing how to respond to that. Sometimes it feels like he can see inside my mind. Like he’s already there.

“You seem calmer now.”

“I am.” I realize I believe those words as I speak them. The tension in my shoulders has eased and my mind has gone quiet again.

He watches me for a moment, like he’s waiting for something.

“It’s quieter,” he says.

I nod. “Yeah.”

“You don’t have to hold all of it right now.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“It doesn’t usually stop,” I say. “Even when I’m trying to sleep.”

“I know.”

I glance at him. “How?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

“You’re easier to notice when it gets like that.”

We fall into a quiet that doesn’t feel uncomfortable. I don’t know how long we stand there like that. I check the time without thinking. I frown.

That’s not right.

“How long have we been here?” I ask.

“Does it matter?”

I open my mouth to answer and — nothing comes out. The thought is just…gone.

It’s later than I thought. I know I should go home, but I stay.

I’m back in my apartment the next morning, getting ready for work, when I find myself standing in the middle of my living room with no idea how I got there. I stand there, looking around, trying to pick up a thread that I dropped. But try as I might, the thought won’t come back to me.

How did I get home?

I think through the last memories I have. Walking around, finally finding him, the noise in my mind going quiet…then time got fuzzy.

I think back over our conversation, trying to pick up the missing piece. Finally, I give up, realizing that it’s not coming back. It’s like there’s a part of me missing. I reach up and rub at my chest, just like I do when the gap settles in. I recognize this feeling. It’s that unsettled sensation when the pause takes over.

This doesn’t happen around him.

Or maybe it does and I just don’t notice.

I’m not sure which thought rattles me more. That he may be a cure to my emptiness — or that even if he’s not, I don’t notice the emptiness around him. The only reaction I have when I think of him is relief.

I pick up my phone and text into work without thinking about it. I’m already pulling on my shoes. I find myself walking the same route as I leave my apartment.

I find him a block from my apartment this time. He’s looking at me like he knew I’d seek him out. As soon as our eyes meet, my body starts to relax. The rational part of my brain screams at me. Fear. Worry. Something. But all I can muster is relief and a sense of calm.

“Something feels different.”

He moves to stand next to me. “Some things are heavier than they need to be.”

“I keep forgetting things. It’s like there are,” I pause, “different gaps now.”

“You don’t need all of it,” he quietly affirms.

The logical, controlling side of me, tries to fight against what he says for a moment. I remind myself that I need to press, ask more questions. Find out what’s happening and try to hold onto whatever it is that’s slipping away.

I don’t.

The quiet settles in again, soft and steady.

I let it.

When I finally go home the quiet follows me. Everything feels smaller, further away.

The pause returns. It stretches longer than I ever remember. I stand still and let it stretch, my hand pressed flat against my chest. I wait for the hollowness. Instead I feel it for what it always was. Not empty. Not broken. Just waiting.

I don’t hesitate this time. I barely stop to pull on my shoes before I’m out the door. He’s already crossing the street when I round the corner, like the space between us is closing on its own.

“You came back.”

“I can’t stay away.”

I step into him without thinking. His hand finds my sternum, steady and still, right over the place that always felt wrong.

“You don’t have to carry it all.”

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes. “I know.”

My next heartbeat comes without hesitation.

No pause.

No stretch.

Just quiet, steady…

Ba-bum

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Ba-bum