And the Clock Struck Three

Arabella sits up straight on the edge of a chair at her dining table- she checks the time, 2:49 pm. 

Matthew- should he have gotten her letter- should appear at the door no later than 3 pm sharp. 

I pray he received that letter, she thinks to herself, letting out a huff of air through her teeth. 

She checks her watch again- 2:50. 

Restlessly, she gets up and paces back and forth between the tall cabinets on the east and west walls of the kitchen. Her front door faces north- oh, how she wishes this house had a large window facing either the sunrise or the sunset, how beautiful that could be. The dreamhouse she’s conjured in her mind has exactly that: large windows that overlook either water or a rolling field of grass and wildflowers with the sun’s movements in the background. How wonderful it would be to get out of her parent’s house, and to find anything else to do with herself. 

If only Matthew…

In the midst of what was really only four or five lengths of the kitchen paced, Arabella is paying no attention to how much time has passed and checks her watch again- 2:52. 

My mind is just playing tricks on me at this point… she mumbles aloud. Time feels infinite when you’re waiting to see if your long-lost lover will come back to you. 

Matthew and Arabella were forbidden lovers in secondary school, and their families were so adamant and intentional about keeping them apart that Matthew was sent off to live with family in an entirely different state when they were just sixteen years old. Arabella hasn’t seen his family since, but she knows they still live in this small town. She hasn’t been able to forgive her parents or his for what they did. 

And she was never given a solid reason for not being allowed to see Matthew- no matter how much she begged, or how hard she cried. For a good year or so, Arabella’s parents tried setting her up with several other nice, young guys- but she refused every single one of them. 

Eventually, her mother screamed at her about how she was going to end up alone if she didn’t get over Matthew, and that’s when the parents gave up on trying to find someone to care for their daughter. Now, her days consist of secretary work at their church just to get out of the house. 

Not long ago, Arabella was told by a friend that Matthew had just moved back here to live with some friends- the very same town where Arabella is praying to get away from, along with her parents.

Arabella froze at the sheer mention of Matthew. Her friend asked if Arabella wanted her to find an address or a phone number, and Arabella chose the former, preferring to send him a letter instead of making a potentially awkward phone call. 

No, this way, by having sent him a letter inviting him to come over at 3 pm sharp on Saturday, August the 2nd, she was giving him the choice. She knows what her last five years have looked like- but what about his? She has no way of knowing unless they see each other… 

Upon reflecting on all of these bittersweet memories, Arabella stops pacing and checks again- 2:53. She sits back down in her chair, facing the entryway in order to see the door. 

Perhaps, unlike herself, Matthew has changed and moved on. After five years, the two of them being 21 years old (of course she remembers his birthday, she even lights a candle for herself every year on it), there’s no telling if he’s a completely different person. And- God forbid- what if there’s another woman? 

Would Matthew reach out if there was? Or would he ignore her? Would seeing Arabella bring back unwanted, complicated feelings? 

Or maybe, most disappointedly, he’s forgotten all about her and all their memories and all of the ways they used to make each other feel. 

Suddenly feeling sick at the fear of being replaced or forgotten, Arabella put a hand on her now-upset stomach, resisting the urge to check her watch for the thousandth time- for all she knows, it’ll only make her go more mad. 

If there’s a new lady, what does she look like? 

Does he have a type? Does she look like me? 

Is she smart? Fortunate enough to be educated like he probably is? 

Does he…love her? Does he love her more than he once…loved me? 

Question after question flooded her mind and Arabella began to spiral, thinking about all of the possible answers to these questions- answers that she didn’t know if she could handle hearing. 

Arabella stood up from her seat at once and began making her way through the entryway and to the mirror hanging at the end of the hallway. She could see the front door on her left in the reflection. 

Looking at herself in the same reflection, she’s seeing her light blue, flowered dress and her frazzled long, brown hair. She glances at her watch again, feeling the anxiety and rushed-ness leave her body, instead filling her veins with hopelessness, disappointment, and despair- realizing that the more she hoped, the more she started to feel the opposite, feeling as if she’d been let down. 2:57. 

Turning away from the mirror and ascending the spiral staircase that led upstairs to the bedrooms, she made her way to her room to sit at the vanity desk to run a brush through her hair: one stroke on the left, one down the middle, one on the right, repeat three or four times. 

Making it back down to the bottom of the stairs at 2:59, she slowly kept going until sitting back down in her chair. She began to count. 

One, two, three…

Eleven, twelve, thirteen… 

Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six… 

Thirty-nine, forty, forty-one…

Forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine…

Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty- 

3 pm. Nothing. Not a knock, not a ring of the doorbell. 

Arabella takes a deep breath and counts again. 

One, two, three…

…fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty. 

3:01. 

She can’t give up yet… So she began counting again. 

3:02. 

And again. 

3:03. 

And again. 

3:04. 

Arabella let out a breath she wasn’t aware she was holding and stood, smoothing out her dress. 

He’s not coming, she tells herself. 

Maybe he got the day wrong, though that would be disastrous. Arabella picked Saturday the 2nd at 3 pm sharp specifically to avoid her parents being home, seeing him. 

He didn’t get the letter. 

But Arabella went herself to his house on Mulberry Lane on a rainy day, using her long raincoat and a large umbrella to hide her face and body, and put the hand-written letter addressed to Matthew Broden into the mailbox numbered 792. 

3:05. 

Arabella accepts what’s happening, now- her defeat. Resigning from her efforts, she floats towards the stairs, unable to feel a thing. 

Yet- she’s halfway up the stairs when the front door bursts open- and Arabella grips the silver handrail as she whips her head back to look at the intruder: 

Matthew stares up at her, his hand gripping the gold doorknob. 

“Matthew…I thought you weren’t coming…” With her voice so quiet, she didn’t know if he could even hear her. 

“I’ve waited a lonely five years to get back to you, Ary, I only waited five minutes more outside your front door, praying that you really wanted me to be here. I also had to decide whether I should knock…but I couldn’t take it anymore and had to walk in myself-” he walks, now, to the bottom of the staircase, holding out his hand to Arabella. 

“You waited alone?” the first question out of her mouth. She moves down a few stairs to meet him, but doesn’t take his hand- not yet. 

“Alone,” he says. “I waited alone because I was waiting for you- because it’s always been just you, my most dearest Arabella.” 

“And it’s always been you, Matthew.” she whispers at last, finally taking his hand, descending the rest of the way to meet him. 

Her lover came back, just like deep down, she always knew he would.