The Thing

There was this one time this one Thing happened, at this one Place with this one Person with this one Idea…

Idea. I guess you could call it a dream, but that word seems sort of childish to me. Dreams are for places like Disneyland, and Disneyland is fake. I don’t know. Am I a pessimist? Yes.

Anyway. She had ideas. Dreams – whatever you want to call them; I guess it doesn’t really matter. She was confident in them, and in herself. She had plans, man. She had things she wanted to do, places she wanted to go. She had a life to live. 

Person. Her name was Mary and she was a year younger than me and she was the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on. My dumb ass somehow had the nerve to ask her out, but only because I figured she would be the same as all the other pretty girls – just pretty. I could humor myself for a little while and go on a nice date and brag a bit to my friends and that would be that. I wasn’t a relationship type of guy. Girls knew it, and I knew that they knew it. They could just tell. Sometimes you can just tell. 

Somehow we ended up going on another date. And then another. And then another. And on that third another I kissed her. Well, actually she kissed me, and I kissed her back. And then I drove her home, and then I drove myself home and I laid awake the entire night, wondering how on earth any of it had been real. 

Place. We were inside a restaurant. It was New Year’s Eve – the night that held the hefty weight of being a symbol for everybody’s new beginnings. She was wearing this dress, this black cocktail dress with lace embroidered on the edges and a high neckline that accentuated her collarbone, and her hair was long and glossy at her shoulders, and her eyes, dark and rich as they were, were even shinier, so shiny I could see my reflection. That’s why I tried not to make too much eye contact, but it was hard. She had really beautiful eyes. 

She ordered a cheeseburger, even though we were at a fancy restaurant with things like calamari and filet mignon and French things I couldn’t pronounce that were too small to really be considered true entrees, but, oh well, that’s the French for you. She didn’t say it out loud, but I knew she got the cheeseburger because she didn’t want me to spend a lot of money on her. I knew this because she was one of those people. Nice. But genuinely, though. She did pretty well at hiding the fact that she wanted some crab legs instead, not letting her gaze linger on passing waiters for too long. I got a cheeseburger, too, because I was just one of those guys. And because the wafting smell of fish was nauseating me. 

Thing. This was it. This was The Night. The Big Moment. The One you wait your entire life for – the One that signifies that you have done it, man, you have done the Thing, you have found your person for Life. I didn’t think I was ever, and I mean, ever, going to get to that moment. I mean, look at me. I’m not half as handsome as she is pretty – I mean, I take care of myself, I’ve got to be in shape, but I’m not smart or funny or anything special, really. My eyes are actually the same shade as hers, dark, deep brown, but the thing is they’re not the same – and this is the most important Thing. Hers are dark simply because that’s how they are. Hers are an item of beauty. Of depth. Dimension. I could go on. But mine? 

See, I’m a survivor. I’m a guy who just gets by, and I’m okay with that, I’m used to it. But she, she’s a girl who lives. A girl who lives can’t be with a guy who survives. It just doesn’t work like that. It’s simple, really, and I’m a simple guy. 

So there we were, New Year’s Eve, after a year of dating – real dating, like boyfriend-girlfriend type crap, like serious. And there she was, sitting across from me, waiting. The Love of My Life, right there across from me. Right there. I’d never had one of those before, but I knew it. Sometimes you just know. 

And then there I was. Sitting there across from her, my foot tapping rapidly against the ground. I was nervous, and she could tell. I knew she could tell. My hand kept drifting unintentionally to my pocket. Every time she would stop chewing for a second and watch me, and my hand would snap back up to the table, and I would smile weakly and try to shove some of my burger down my throat. There was something in my pocket, but… 

Not a ring.

A letter. 

An eight-page letter, handwritten by yours truly. Inside were all my excuses, all my reasoning, my logic, my thoughts – whatever you wanted to call it. I didn’t really know. But that letter was practically a piece of my soul. Once I started writing it I could barely stop. It had everything in it, not just apologies; I tried to explain, I really did. I tried to tell her why she shouldn’t wear my ring.  

Sometimes you just know. 

Time. It went something like this. We went out to the dance floor after we were done eating. The burger was making my stomach hurt, so I feigned a smile and said I would eat something different later. Of course they started to play slow-couple-dance music right as we arrived, which didn’t help, because then she was all pressed up against me and we were swaying and the music was really, really pretty and almost relaxing and I forgot a little bit of my queasiness and, man, it was pretty close to a perfect moment. Pretty damn close. 

There was this great big grandfather clock hulking over everybody in the front of the restaurant, and when midnight struck, it struck loudly, and the response was even louder, shouts and cheers and wine splashing out of glasses and hearty laughter and merriness, everywhere. But all I could hear was my heartbeat. We kissed, because you had to, and fireworks went off – no, but literally they did – but I thought they were gunshots, because of course I did, and I pulled away and she just looked at me in that way she did whenever I got like this, and she held on to me tighter and I wanted to die. I had never thought that before. I mean, hell. A guy with my past and my career and it had never even crossed my mind. I mean, I guess I never really had the opposite thought either, and strangely enough, that one also hit at that exact moment. 

I want to live.

She pulled her head away from me and cupped my cheek with her palm. I looked down into her eyes – mistake – and my hands started to grow sweaty around her waist. And then my heart started to do this weird pitter-patter thing where it was beating but really fast and really loud, and I felt like one of those cartoon characters where their heart is literally pounding out of their chest – 

Oh shit. 

I had a plan, damn it! I was going to take her out for a nice last date and let her down easy. I was going to excuse myself to the bathroom while she was on the dance floor and drop the letter onto our table while she thought I was peeing, and then I would leave and then that would be that. She would be sad, probably, but surely not too much, and she would get over me and live her life like she was supposed to. I wasn’t supposed to be having second thoughts, not like this.

Well, I ended up following the plan. 

Sort of.

I did go to the bathroom. I threw up for a few minutes and then sat by the toilet inhaling the scent of curdled burger and American cheese and thought long and hard. Then I snuck back to our table and placed the letter on her side of it. It took a million years to hunt down a waiter who didn’t snap at me rudely when I asked very politely if I could borrow their pen for a few seconds, but I found one, some earnest kid who barely looked like he’d finished high school. I opened the letter and flipped to the last paragraph of the last page. I added exactly four words at the very bottom before folding it back up. I slipped Nice Waiter ten bucks and told him to make sure Mary picked up the letter. Then I drove back to my place, where I threw up some more and wondered if I was lactose intolerant. 

She came over barely thirty minutes later, black marks running down her cheeks and her eyes glowing and her arms folded, heels in her hands, and I was barefoot, too, my tie loosened and my collar undone and my jacket hanging off of my shoulders. I had never quivered as hard as I did in that moment. She stormed into the house and exploded, calling me an idiot and a jackass and lots of other very-not-nice names, saying that I should never have left like that and I should have eaten more of my dinner because if I didn’t eat I would get sick – ohhh – especially if I was going to dance after, it didn’t matter that it was a slow-couple-dance thing because an empty stomach is an empty stomach – 

Suddenly she shut her mouth and sat down, her back facing me. I walked over slowly. I couldn’t read her expression. I said quietly, “So…?” And I had more to say, but then she looked at me, and my jaw froze. She was crying again, tears lighting up her face. Her eyes were deep and dark and – shining. 

My heart rose, just a little bit. I could see my face in her eyes, and it looked like I was shining, too.

I’ll bet you’ll never guess what those four words were.