She has no idea how often I perform and how natural it feels to me now. It’s almost as natural as breathing. I haven’t been nervous about taking the stage since the first time I took it five years ago.
Until now, anyway.
I lean in closer and look her directly in the eyes. “Not all of them. Just one of them.”
Our faces are so incredibly close right now; it would be so easy to do it. Just a couple more inches and I could taste her. Her smile fades and she bites her bottom lip as her gaze slowly drops to my mouth again. I can tell by the look in her eyes that she wants me to kiss her just as much. The unfamiliar nerves that have occupied my stomach have now multiplied and I’m quickly losing my self-control. As soon as I start to lean in, she clasps her hands under her chin and resumes her plea.
“Don’t make me beg.”
For a moment, I had forgotten she even asked me to perform. I pull back and laugh. “You already are.”
She doesn’t pull her hands away from her chin and she’s looking up at me with the most adorable expression. An expression I already know I’ll never be able to say no to. “All right, all right,” I say, easily giving in. “But I’m warning you, you asked.”
I pull my wallet out of my pocket and take the money out, holding it up in the air. “I’m in!”
When the emcee recognizes me, I slide out of the booth and begin making my way to the stage. I’m not prepared for this at all. Why did I not think she would ask me to perform? I should have written something new. I’ll just do my “go-to” piece about teaching. It’s easy enough. Besides, I don’t even think I’ve discussed my profession with her; this might be a fun way to do it.
I reach the stage and adjust the microphone, then look out over the audience. When we lock eyes, she perches her elbows on the table and rests her chin in her hands. She waves her flirty wave at me as her smile spreads across her face. The way she looks at me sends a pang of guilt straight to my heart. She’s looking at me right now in the same way that I’ve been looking at her.
With hope.
It hits me with that look that I shouldn’t waste this opportunity on a poem about my profession. This is my opportunity to put it all out there . . . to use my performance as a way to let her know who I really am. If her feelings for me are half what mine already are for her, then she deserves to know what she may be getting herself into.
“What’s the name of your piece tonight, Will?”
Without breaking our gaze, I look straight into her eyes from up on the stage and reply, “Death.”
The emcee exits the stage and I take a deep breath, preparing to say the words that will either make or break the possibility of a future with her.
Death. The only thing inevitable in life.
People don’t like to talk about death because
it makes them sad.
They don’t want to imagine how life will go on without them,
all the people they love will briefly grieve
but continue to breathe.
They don’t want to imagine how life will go on without them,
Their children will still grow
Get married
Get old . . .
They don’t want to imagine how life will continue to go on without them,
Their material things will be sold
Their medical files stamped “closed”
Their name becoming a memory to everyone they know.
They don’t want to imagine how life will go on without them, so instead of accepting it head-on, they avoid the subject altogether,
hoping and praying it will somehow . . .
pass them by.
Forget about them,
moving on to the next one in line.
No, they didn’t want to imagine how life would continue to go on . . .
without them.
But death
didn’t
forget.
Instead they were met head-on by death,
disguised as an eighteen-wheeler
behind a cloud of fog.
No.
Death didn’t forget about them.
If they only had been prepared, accepted the inevitable, laid out their plans, understood that it wasn’t just their lives at hand.
I may have legally been considered an adult at the age of nineteen, but I still felt very much
all
of just nineteen.
Unprepared
and overwhelmed
to suddenly have the entire life of a seven-year-old
In my realm.
Death. The only thing inevitable in life.
I TAKE A step away from the microphone, feeling even more nervous than when I began. I completely laid it all out there. My whole life, condensed into a one-minute poem.
When I step off the stage and make my way to our booth, she’s wiping tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. I’m not sure what she’s thinking, so I walk slowly in order to give her a moment to absorb my words.
When I slide into the booth she looks sad, so I smile at her and try to break the tension. “I warned you,” I say as I reach for my drink. She doesn’t respond, so I’m not sure what to say at this point. I become uncomfortable, thinking maybe this wasn’t the best way to go about telling her my life story. I guess I sort of put her on the spot, too. I certainly hope she doesn’t feel like she has to tell me how sorry she feels for me. I hate pity more than anything.
Just when I start to regret my choice in performance, she reaches out and takes my free hand in hers. She touches me so gently—it’s like she’s telling me what she’s thinking without even speaking. I set my drink down on the table and turn to face her. When I look into her eyes, it’s not pity I see at all.
She’s still looking at me with hope in her eyes.
This girl just became privy to everything I’ve been scared to tell her about my life. The death of my parents, the anger I held toward them, the amount of responsibility I now face, the fact that I’m all Caulder has—and she’s still looking at me with hope in her tear-filled eyes. I reach to her face and wipe away a tear, then lightly trace my thumb across the wet trail running down her cheek. She places her hand on top of mine and slowly pulls it to her mouth. She presses her lips into the center of my palm without breaking her gaze from mine, causing my heart to catch in my throat. She just somehow managed to convey every single thought and emotion she’s feeling through this one simple gesture.
I suddenly don’t care where we are or who might be watching us. I have to kiss her. I have to.
I take her face in my hands and lean in closer, ignoring the part of my conscience that is screaming for me to wait. She closes her eyes, inviting me in. I hesitate, but as soon as I feel her breath fall on my lips, I can’t hold back. I close the gap between us, lightly pressing my lips against her bottom lip. It’s even softer than it looks. Somehow the background noise has completely faded and all I can hear is the sound of my own heartbeat, pulsating throughout my entire body. I slowly move my lips up to her top lip, but as soon as I feel her mouth begin to part, I reluctantly pull away. As much as I want to kiss her with everything I’ve got, I’m also vaguely aware that we’re in public, and I’ve got at least two students here tonight. I decide to save the better kiss for later, because if we do this right now, I know I won’t want to stop.
“Patience,” I whisper, mustering up all the self-control I’ve got. I stroke her cheek with my thumb and she smiles at me in understanding. Still holding her face in my hands, I close my eyes again and press my lips against her cheek. She sucks in a breath as I release my hold and slide my hands down her arms, trying to remember how to breathe again. I’m unable to pull away from her, so I press my forehead against hers and open my eyes. It’s in this moment that I know she’s feeling exactly what I’m feeling. I can see it in her eyes.
“Wow,” she exhales.
“Yeah,” I agree. “Wow.”
We hold each other’s stare for a few more seconds. When the emcee begins announcing the qualifiers for round two I’m quickly brought back to reality. There is no way I can sit here any longer without pulling her onto my lap and kissing the hell out of her. I figure in order to avoid that; my best course of action would be to just leave.
“Let’s go,” I whisper. I take her hand as we slide out of the booth and I lead her to the exit.
“You don’t want to stay?” she says after we walk outside.
“Lake, you’ve been moving and unpacking for days. You need sleep.”
As soon as I say it, she yawns. “Sleep does sound good.”
When we reach the car I open the door for her, but before she gets in, I wrap my arms around her and pull her to me. It’s a movement that occurs so quickly, I don’t even think about it beforehand. Why does she have that effect on me? It’s like my conscience just goes out the window when she’s around.
As much as I know I should let go before it gets awkward, I can’t. She returns my embrace, then rests her head against my chest and sighs. We stand there, neither one of us speaking or moving, for several minutes. There’s not a single kiss passed between us, not a single graze of my hand across her skin, not a single word spoken . . . yet somehow, this is the most intimate moment I’ve ever shared with anyone.
Ever.
I don’t want to let go, but as soon as I look up and see Gavin and Eddie exiting the club, I pull back and motion for her to climb inside. Now is not the time for an Eddie introduction.
As we’re pulling out of the parking lot, she leans her head against the window and sighs.
“Will? Thank you for this.”
I reach over and take her hand in mine. All I really want to do is thank her, but I don’t respond. I had a lot of hope for tonight, but she far exceeded my expectations. She’s exhausted and I can tell she’s about to fall asleep. She closes her eyes and I drive home in silence and let her sleep.
When I pull into her driveway, I expect her to wake up, but she doesn’t. I kill the engine and reach over to shake her awake, but the peacefulness in her features stops me. I watch her sleep as I try to sift through everything I’ve been feeling. How can I possibly feel like I care about someone after only knowing her a matter of days?
I loved Vaughn, but I can honestly say we never connected this way. On this sort of emotional level, anyway. I can’t remember feeling this way since . . . well, ever. It’s new. It’s scary. It’s exciting. It’s nerve-racking. It’s calming. It’s every single emotion I’ve ever felt balled up into an intense urge to grab hold of her and never let go.
I lean closer and press my lips against her forehead while she sleeps. “Thank you for this,” I whisper.
When I walk around and open her door, she wakes up. I help her out of the car and we’re both silent as we make our way to her front door, hand in hand. Before she goes inside, I pull her to me again. She rests her head against my chest and we resume the same embrace from outside the club. I can’t help but wonder if this feels as natural to her as it does to me.
“Just think,” she says. “You’ll be gone three whole days. That’s the same length of time I’ve known you.”
I laugh and squeeze her tighter. “This will be the longest three days of my life.” We continue to hold on to each other, neither of us wanting to let go, because maybe we realize it really will be the longest three days of our lives.
