Death and Romance at 8 Centimeters per Minute

Shayla, whom I was meeting for the first time in-person, didn’t hide her displeasure when I wanted to leave after just one hour. Outside of the restaurant, I helped her put her jacket on, her beautiful hair catching the wind.

“Should we catch a movie? There’s a cinema two streets away from here.”

“Oh, no, no.” I shrugged quickly. “Thanks, but I can’t stand still for too long. Want to go for a walk?”

“It’s kind of cold.” She hugged her shoulders. “I think I’ll get going. But it was great meeting you. Take care!”

Before I managed to reach for a hug or even say a word, she waved, turned her back at me and started walking. Dating apps, eye-roll emoji, I imagined her texting her friends.

I was disappointed, but not surprised. I had tried different approaches; they’d all failed spectacularly. The most notable failure was Janet. She had a great sense of humor and I’ve always loved banter in a relationship. Our first date was a long walk, hot chocolate and pastries, just chatting away. As we were watching the sunset on a picnic blanket in St James Park, I burst, with the overly intense gaze of a man desperate to be understood:

“Look, this will sound mental, but I need to be honest from day one.” Her eyes widened. “When I was 19, I took this deal. A pact. I’d become rich, but, um, forever haunted by some evil magical snail. And once it touches me, just once, it’s done. I’m done.” She blinked several times, bewildered.

“Done, as in...dead?”

“Yeah, dead. Done-zo”, I said in a silly voice, doing the throat-cutting gesture with my hand.

“Wow.”

“It’s crazy, I know, but think about it for a moment. It’s why I’m always moving. And I travel, often. It never gives up so I know it will, um, catch up eventually.”

“So you’re saying you can’t commit to one place.”

“Yeah, I mean I have a whole system now.” I didn’t get to elaborate.

“Wow, you’re a jerk!” She grabbed her purse and rushed towards the park gate. “Do you think I’m stupid? What a misogynistic weirdo move.” I guess that’s a way to look at things.

She wrote a story about me. It’s concerning the extent men would go to justify not committing to a relationship, she was writing. Or their cowardliness to be honest about their intentions. She then described, with what are in my opinion some exaggerated elements, my outrageous excuse. S.S., that was pathetic, the article ended. The Internet got hold of the story and did what the Internet does best: turn it into a meme. There were funny compilations, theories, searches for the word snail spiked and, most regrettably, my initials S.S. became known as short for Snail Shagger.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m still a hopeless romantic, but my situation makes for strange lifestyle choices. Over the years, I became very good at estimating the evil magical snail’s speed and trajectories. Most days, I am sure it is within a couple of hours away, but I stay on the move so I never have to look at it. The worst part about seeing it is that it looks just like some other dumb snail. You’d think that a snail with so much evil power would at least look the part.

Anyway, after Janet there was Ann. We lasted four months. I took a slower approach and told her I had a debilitating phobia of snails. She thought it was a cute quirk. Ann was very open-minded and sometimes I wondered if I’d have had more luck telling her about my snail-made-me-rich-but-wants-to-kill-me situation than I had with Janet. But I was too scared I would screw things up.

One gray autumn day, disaster struck. She had just gotten her pilot license and we were in a celebratory mood. It impressed me she went from fearing heights to flying a plane. “I didn’t want to know there’s this irrational thing holding me back.” Perhaps predictably, she took me to a farm with a room full of snails. I freaked out. Badly. I ran, yelled a bunch of insensitive things, frightened a mother and her kids. Ann broke up with me the next day.

And in short that’s why I’m saying “disappointed, but not surprised” about things not working out with Shayla.

I ordered myself an Uber. At home, the light was still on. My mum had probably dozed off on the sofa.

“So, how did it go? You’re home early.”

“Not early enough for you to not fall asleep in front of the telly, apparently.”

“Now, now. You’re a young man, you should stay up late.” I am 38.

“Is our TV really less entertaining than the one in your era or what’s happening?”

“I was watching White Nights, you know how the beginning is a little slow.”

“I’m sure Dostoevsky would appreciate the criticism.”

“Hmm, I’m starting to get the vibe your date wasn’t too fabulous. You’re not exactly rushing to tell me all about Layla.”

“Shayla. Get the vibe?! And I’m the young one?!”

“Bed rest has given me time to learn about TikTok.”

“Wow - just wow.” Had my mum seen the snail meme?

“And yeah, as you perfectly remarked, we weren’t out for that long.”

“Her loss”, she pat my shoulder. “But maybe message her - don’t jump to conclusions.”

I shrugged. In the background, Nastenka was throwing herself in the arms of her lover. “I’m going to sleep. I swear I’m constantly on the brink of exhaustion”, I add yawning.

“Steve, don’t worry. I’ll wake you.”

I sleep in a glass bedroom with two doors and minuscule ventilation holes until the snail comes. Ever since I moved back into town with my mum, that’s rarely longer than two hours. She wakes me when the snail appears on one of the glass doors. It looks even dumber from that angle. Theoretically, I could sleep while it patrols my bedroom walls. But it’s too big of a risk, it’s an evil magical snail after all. And let me read your mind here - yes, I tried locking up the snail. Twelve years ago, and needless to say it escaped. Sometimes I think it’s even been moving faster since. Could probably win gold medal in several Olympic snail sports. I intuitively understood that anything else I would try to not honor the pact would only worsen its terms.

A week later, Shayla responded to my Would you like to go out again? text and invited me to a book-signing social event. I was grateful to hear from her again, even with a six days delay, but I read between the lines that the author was her friend, so she was hyping up the event. Still, it was a second chance and it couldn’t hurt to support a new writer (unless she had written a horribly racist homophobic book, but let’s not assume the worst here).

The building’s lobby was lush. I showed the valet my ticket and he pointed me to the elevator.

“Excuse me, is there any way I could take the stairs?”

“Stairs? No, sorry sir. The bar is on the 28th floor.”

“That’s fine, I - ..”

“No stairs. Security reasons.”

An elegantly dressed woman came in just then. “Going up?”

“Oh, um - ”, It’s die now maybe versus die later all alone, I guess. “Yeah, 28th, please.” The lift started its smooth ascent.

“So what was going on earlier, do you have some elevator trauma or are you obsessed with fitness?”, she looked at me amused.

“You heard that?! That’s embarrassing for me. But I do have the body of somebody obsessed with fitness, thank you for noticing.”

“I see you now.” She chuckled, pointing her finger up and down. “It’s all part of the plan. Get the woman to ask about it so you can start flirting.”

“I didn’t know that’s what we were doing”, I shrugged. “But let’s please continue.”

“I’m Marissa”, she offered me her hand.

“I’m Ste-“

A violent thud cut me off. The impact pushed her body into mine.

“What was that?!”

“We’re stuck.” She backed away from me slowly. “Are you OK?” Our eyes met. She was gorgeous, with a kind smile and voluminous dark hair. Her cheeks had the cutest flush from the cold.

“Yes, thank you, I’m just a bit claustrophobic.” I wasn’t, but the elevator was disturbingly small. “Consider yourself warned - I might start doing some light panicking.”

“Charming”, she giggled. “Don’t worry”, she grabbed my shoulder lightly. She started pressing the alarm button. Once, twice, again and again. First calm and reassured and then more erratically. “So that’s not doing anything”, she laughed faintly. “You’d think that in a fancy building like this they’d have tech that actually does what it’s supposed to. Fuck.” She gave one hard punch to the button. “I shouldn’t have gotten so worked up. Sorry.”

“We can always start screaming”, I added half-jokingly. “And sorry for what, saying fuck? I’m almost forty. Steve, by the way.”

“How almost forty?”

“Close enough that sometimes I fear there’s something haunting me, and I can outrun it for now, but I know it will catch me eventually. That was my poor attempt at a metaphor for the inevitable passing of time.”

“Phew, you’re an optimistic guy to be stuck in an elevator with.” She had a charming laugh. We chatted for a while. Marissa worked in the building. She had gone for after-work drinks with her coworkers, but decided to secretly return to the office. I’m not saying I want to best anyone, you know. But I like to work hard, so I want to make it to the top. It’s who I am.

I told her I work in wealth management (silent - my own wealth). I love photography, travel, walking, running.

“I love that. When I go running, my music on, it just liberates my mind. It wonders outside of its work-chores-Netflix box, if that makes sense. It remembers there’s also another box called hopes and dreams.”

“Interesting way of compartmentalizing”, I tease.

Shit. Slimy shit.

“Why are you all crunched up in the corner like that?!”

Oh, that. My hopes and dreams were just crushed by a translucent thing crawling out of the air vent, which can only mean the snail is coming. And with it death. A slimy death.

“Come on, let’s get you thinking about something else. What are your parents like?” We speak for a while longer. She’s sweet and smart, and my stomach aches with the embarrassing possibility of dying in front of her. Putting her through that.

“This job was never my dream, you know. But it seemed the most logical option. This was my parents’ number one thing, first sort yourself a nice life, and then you’ll have time to chase other stuff.

“So your plan is to work hard for a few more years, and then make a big change?”

“Something like that. I always said I’d like to have my own pottery studio. Sometimes I fear I’ve lost sight of that over the years.” She sighed, lost in thought. “Now I’m the one who’s too somber. What kind of photography do you do?”

I tell her some of my anecdotes, the snail gliding away on the wall behind her. One of my favorite photography trips was to Georgia. I also did a few weddings, although I found them too stressful. “It taught me a lot about what I don’t want in a wedding. Some couples have horribly tacky tastes.”

“So you see yourself getting married?”

“Well, nobody in my life at the moment, but it’s something for the hopes and dreams department.” Funny topic to cover minutes before dying. Also funny that I was not too consumed by the thought of death to mention that I’m single. Our gazes had been avoiding for a while. But now our eyes found each other and a warm feeling overcame me. I saw us going to the bar next door. Laughing and sharing and giving each other goofy eyes. We’d agree on a real date, technically our second and officially our first. That’s how she would remember it for our anniversaries. But just as I allowed myself to get carried away by the idea of Marissa, there it was, on the floor, closing in on my shoe.

“Are you OK? You look like you just saw the future and we’re about to crush into the ground or something.”

I started slamming the alarm button, kicking at the door, my fists crushed in pain by the lift’s metal frame.

“Whoa, calm down, you’re freaking me out.”

“I’m sorry, I just - “. I’m barely holding back tears. I had never been this close to the snail. I didn’t want things to end like this. Not now, not yet. Is that what everybody feels upon death? Can’t be. An immense rage was growing inside my chest. I knew better than to get into an elevator! Fuck! How could I be so reckless! So stupid!

“Oh my God, you’re crying!” She leaned in and hugged me, her comforting scent washing over me. I closed my eyes and for a moment I felt safe. I opened them to see the snail on the ground, now ten centimeters from its final destination. Maybe the damn snail was exhausted too. An entire existence dedicated to chasing Steve from South London. Maybe it just wanted to be a normal snail, with a snail family and a snail pension scheme. At least the fucking evil magical snail gets to have a family! What am I even saying…

My throat clamped. “Marissa, you’re very likely to be the last person I’ll ever speak to. You see that on the ground - “ A pitch shriek when she saw it.

“No!” I yell. “Please, please, please don’t touch it.“

“How did that get in here?!”

“It follows me. All the time. Doesn’t sleep, doesn’t eat, doesn’t die. If it touches me, I die. It’s crazy, I know, but please - ” I blurted the words out between gasps.

“Oh. My. God. You’re the Snail Shagger!!! I can see why you’d think that’d be a good deal. Until now.”

“Thank you for keeping my imminent death a light topic of conversation.” My whole body is shaking violently as I inch away from my clammy executioner. Her face was everything. She believed me.

“This is not going to be comfortable.” She turned and pressed back against me, then stepped onto my shoes, bracing herself like a human shield. She took off her jacket and threw it on the ground, right in front of the snail. “You can’t touch it to change its trajectory”, I yelled.

“‘Oh, God, it does get worse”, she scoffed. “Don’t panic”, she added quickly. “Speaking of touching, this whole elevator situation, minus the snail, this almost feels like a romcom.”

The thought sent shivers through my body. It was hard to come to terms with the end of my life when it felt that a part of it was just beginning.

“Wow, what a crazy thought. Are you just saying that because I’m dying?”

The snail was now climbing on her left shoe.

“I’ve never wanted to kick a snail as much as I want to right now. Jesus, I’ve never wanted to kick a snail until now.”

I was too gutted to speak. The smell of her hair was intoxicating. Even though we’ll never get to live the fairytale I was starting to hope for in our two hours of entrapment, the simple fact that I had these hours of mystery and excitement was filling me with joy. They didn’t make up for everything else, but they didn’t need to. It’s like the ending of White Nights - “Isn’t such a moment sufficient for the whole of a man’s life?”

She leaped on the other side of the elevator. The whole maneuver must have bought me a minute. I cherished it.

“Look, I don’t want you to worry about anything. I’ve put all my affairs in order a long time ago.” The snail was making its glorious slimy comeback from across the lift. “And I deserve whatever happens next.”

“That’s the most nonsensical thing you’ve said.” She shielded my body with hers once more. My heart was pounding out of my chest. I felt happy, terrified.

“No-one would ever believe me. Not unless they were my mum, or extremely high or drunk.”

“Oh, I’m definitely calling up your mum after this to corroborate your story.” She jumps away from me, then back against me. Far, close, far, close. My trembling knees felt ready to give out. Far, close, far, close. I leap into unconsciousness with a sweet feeling. Marissa believed my story. She was saving my life.

I wake up coughing, my back against a cold wall. A man in a paramedic suit is shining a flashlight in my face.

“Don’t let him stay so close to the elevator’s door! Move!” A woman screams rushing me away from the wall.

“I’m fine, let’s get out of here”. Marissa seems agitated, uncomfortable. “There was a fire”, she fills me in.

A crushing sadness overcomes me. The flirt, the fantasy, they were over. She must be starting to come to her senses, realizing I was insane. My soul feels heavy enough to drag me to the ground. I could just lay there, wait for the snail to walk all over me.

“What a crazy day”, she says as we exit the building. “Should we grab a quick dinner? There’s a French bistro not too far from here. No escargot, I promise.”

My soul leaps all the way to cloud nine.