by Lori L. Otto
I pause, pulling a small square of yellow corduroy out of my pocket and holding it up to show the guests.
“This is the last one.” I hear a few giggles and “ahhh”s from the crowd. I glance at Anna, who smiles at Chris and kisses him. “He kept it in his pocket, hoping to create a reason for them to meet again. He never needed it. They went out for coffee that afternoon, and never went another day without seeing each other or talking to one another.
“And that was the day he called me, the day he met her... the day he realized he had met the woman he would marry. When I had dinner with Chris and Anna a few weeks later, I knew he was right. She was warm and open, honest and sincere... a perfect compliment to his similar personality. They laughed all night together, their smiles were contagious. I couldn’t help but feel happier when I was around them. In Chris’ other relationships, love was hard, love was painful, love was work. But this was effortless. They made loving someone else look easy.
“So, to all of you who didn’t believe in love at first sight, I hope they’ve made believers out of you. Anna, you’re an amazing woman. And, Chris, you’re a lucky man. I couldn’t be happier that you found one another. May you cherish and love each other always.”
I raise my glass and drink, watching the crowd follow my lead. There’s a little bit of clapping as I walk off the stage to shake Chris’ hand.
“Thanks,” Chris says to me.
“You’re welcome,” I return, patting him on the back. “Hey, I think I saw your little sister here– she’s changed a lot since I last saw her.”
“Yeah, Emi’s here. You should say hi,” he says as he and Anna take me in her direction.
“Emi, I’m Jack,” I introduce myself, shaking her soft, delicate hand. “We actually met once at a party in college.”
“Jack, my God!” she says laughing and nodding as the loud chorus of the first song fills the room. “That night was a little fuzzy, but I thought I knew you from somewhere,” she yells in my ear over the noise.
“Well, I recognized you,” I tell her, unable to hide my attraction to her. “You are beautiful.”
“Oh, thanks,” she laughs again, waving her hand as if she always looks like this. “Your toast was great,” she says. “I guess I have to come up with one for the reception. I’m the maid of honor, you know.”
“That’s right, I forgot!” In all honesty, I hadn’t known, but this gives me hope of having many more opportunities to get to know Emi better. “I could give you some pointers for a speech,” I add. “Or if you just need a sounding board, I’d be happy to listen.”
“Thanks, I just might take you up on that. I’m not the best writer... or speaker... and I really don’t like being the center of attention. It scares me.”
“Really?” I ask as I allow my eyes to leave hers briefly to travel the length of her body. I can feel my face get hot as our eyes meet again and I realize she’s noticed me staring. Very classy. I normally have a little more self-control than that. I just can’t help myself. “I’m sorry,” I say, embarrassed.
“No,” she smiles. “I don’t normally dress like this. I was feeling a little daring tonight.”
“Well... Stunning.” Speechless.
“Stop,” she blushes again as the first song dies down.
“Listen, I’m going to get a drink. Would you like something?”
“I’ll go with you,” she says as we walk toward the bar. The bartender looks at Emi first.
“I’d like a glass of pinot noir.”
“Sir?” he asks me.
“Make it two, please.” He pops the cork off of a new bottle and pours two glasses.
I smile, taking a sip, admiring her as she watches the musicians play an upbeat song. She seems restless, her feet tapping the floor with the rhythm. Her sly, seductive smile reemerges and awakens my curiosity.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask, my question snapping her out of a daze and taking her attention away from the band.
“Oh, nothing,” she smiles. “The music is good, huh?”
“It is.” I clear my throat and the question pops out before I have a chance to consider what I’m saying. “Would you like to dance?” The opportunity was there, I had to take it.
She pauses for a brief second, then shrugs with a sideways grin. “Why not?”
As the third song begins, I take her by the hand and lead her to the dance floor. It’s a slow one, so I take one of her hands into mine and put my other hand on her waist. As much as I want to pull her close to me, I’m careful and deliberate about leaving space between us. Her body stiffens as I feel the warm, soft skin of her back under my wandering fingers. With difficulty, I begrudgingly move my hand away.
“So, you’re not married?” Emi asks me, glancing at my left hand, her fingers touching my skin where a ring would be if I were married. I can feel my pulse quicken, positive that I can hear my own heartbeat over the music.
“No,” I smile, taking her left hand into mine. “It appears you’re not either.”
“Not quite,” she says, looking down at her feet and pulling her hand from mine, returning it to my waist.
“That’s surprising,” I tell her, hoping I haven’t made her uncomfortable.
“Well, no one has asked me yet.”
Marry me, Emi. If only it were that easy.
I nod quietly, disbelieving. “Foolish men,” I tell her.
“Maybe someday soon,” she adds.
“Maybe,” I smile, optimistic. She blushes again and laughs, holding my attention with her pale green stare as we continue to dance. She takes my breath away. The familiar sparkle in her eyes gives me hope. Were I not completely entranced by her continuing gaze, I would lean in and kiss her, gently, as she had kissed me that night. But I can’t– I won’t– allow my eyes to leave hers. Literally breathless, I consider the strange exchange between us. I know that there is something there.
“Thank you,” the singer says, the sound of his voice making Emi the first to break away. He exits the stage and barely notices Emi’s brother, who attempts to stop him with compliments to the band. When I look at Emi to speak, her lips part slightly as a look of determination spreads across her face. Her eyes are now firmly affixed on Nate as he continues to walk in our direction. He’s staring back at her, eyes intense.
“Do you know him?” I ask concerned, unsure of her expression.
He glances at me, only briefly, but before she can answer, I recognize the same look of warning I had been given ten years ago. This is the same boy, now a man, the awkwardness of youth leaving no evidence in his self-assured stride.
“He’s my boyfriend,” she says, completely enveloped by his stare.
In disbelief, I watch as an eager smile grows on her face. My stomach churns violently at this revelation. I’ve lost her, again... and I am no match for this man.
When he reaches Emi, Nate touches her face softly and I am finally witness to the kiss that I had dreaded. He takes her by the hand and leads her out of the ballroom. She doesn’t even turn back to say goodbye, not even a wave this time.
Paralyzed, heart racing, I stand staring. The doorway empty. The vision of her gone. Her perfume lingering in the air around me, I breathe deeply, taking in all that remains of her. As her scent dissipates, the crowd around me comes back into focus, and I am alone.
~ * ~
IN THE MIND OF A DYING MAN
NATE
Sound was the first thing to go.
I didn’t care, though, because the last thing I heard was her voice. The last word to escape her lips was my name. Pitch elevated, her expression scared– but still, she spoke my name.
“Nate!” Emi’s eyes were wide as a brief flash lit her face, highlighted all of her beautiful features. Her red hair shone in the spotlight, her green eyes sparkled with fear, but still, my name fell from her soft lips, and that was the final sound I heard.
My name, her voice, echoed in my ears as everything went black. My head felt heavy as diz
zying thoughts swirled tumultuously in my mind. I saw my mother, first crying on the stairs of my boyhood home with my father’s necktie clutched tightly in her hand, then many years later holding a camera, snapping a photo of Emi and me at my college graduation. Another image lingered of Mom, though, from the day last week that I went to her house. Her expression frozen in time, frozen forever, it was the look she gave me when I told her Emi was pregnant. It wasn’t planned, but she expected the news. My mother wasn’t surprised, but she was happy. Happy for us, happy for me, happy that Emi and I had found happiness in each other, at last.
Visions of Emi followed, drifted through my consciousness. The first day I saw her in our high school art class. The first words she ever spoke to me played in my mind like a broken record. “I don’t think they have enough black paint for both of us.” She sat next to me, her head down on her folded arms, completely uninspired, watching as I slathered layers upon layers of the inky pigment on the small canvas mounted on the tabletop easel. Startled by her quiet voice, I took her in for the first time. “I don’t think they have enough black paint for both of us.” She was pale, her hair was messy, clothing wrinkled, and she looked so sad– but she was still the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.
In that first hour together, I learned that her heart was as broken as mine. We instantly connected with our shared stories of anguish. And suddenly, the world was alive again.
More images, coming like snapshots in an album, page by page. Our visit to Central Park on my birthday where we first declared our love for one another only a month ago. A fight earlier in the year that almost kept us apart for good. I said horrible things to her, and she threw me out of her apartment. I was so sorry, but thankfully, she was so forgiving. Always.
The sight of her in my bed, in my arms, breathed new life into me. I gasped for air as a tight grip on my leg stirred me to alertness, and I fought my heavy eyelids to see her next to me. Even out of focus, I could see her eyes were red and watering. I studied her intently until the vision of her was clear. I watched her lips form words. “Focus on me, Nate,” she said without sound. I did my best, smiled at the sight of her until I saw a trickle of blood coming from a gash in her forehead.
“Emi,” I tried to say, hoped my lips were producing an audible sound. When she cocked her head and her dimples began to show, I assumed she could still hear me. Her hand touched my face. I wanted to do the same, caress her cheeks, wipe away tears, blood– but I couldn’t move.
I would have panicked, but a sense of calm washed over me. How full of life she still was after what we just went through! I knew in that moment that she would be okay. I inhaled the fragrance of her, mixed with smoke and gasoline. I breathed with more vigor, struggling, trying to differentiate her sweet perfume with the debilitating odor of the accident. Small traces of oxygen continued to fill my lungs, slowly, but eventually, I couldn’t smell her anymore. I couldn’t smell anything.
Feeling I was losing her as I was losing my own sensations, I closed my eyes again as her hand drifted to my hair, as her fingers combed through it. I couldn’t move, but I could still feel her, and that was enough to keep me comfortable; to keep me at ease.
Still more visions. Still more recent ones. Kneeling in front of Emi in her apartment, I had proposed to her holding the pregnancy test in one hand and her delicate ring finger in the other. She was shocked that I asked. I was shocked that she said no. It wasn’t planned, none of it was, but that didn’t change how I felt about her. I loved her from that first moment I met her. I would love her until the day I died.
My eyes still closed, my father came into view, a man I hadn’t seen in nearly twenty years. He looked so young, couldn’t be much older than me. I heard him say my name, the noise jarring and foreign. Why could I hear him and not Emi?
I opened my eyes again to see her fighting against her seatbelt. Behind her, my dad arose with his arms stretched out in front of a blinding light. I winced at the sight; I missed him so much. He was taken from us so abruptly, I never got to say goodbye. I didn’t feel the need to tell him that now, though, for I knew I would be joining him soon.
It was Emi I needed to tell goodbye. How I didn’t want to do that! I couldn’t leave her, not like this, not now.
But I needed to.
I didn’t want to.
I couldn’t.
But I had to.
I knew.
Our lives together had just begun, and we created another life that would need us both. I knew the pain of growing up without a father. It was a legacy I didn’t want to leave behind. This was not a family tradition I wished to pass along.
But I would.
It wasn’t my choice, but I would. I was broken. Irreparable in my silent world, where I couldn’t move. I knew it was dire, but in those moments, just seeing her was enough for me. It took me long enough, but I finally got what I wanted in life. I got her. I got her to love me. It was always the one thing I never thought I’d achieve, but I had, and we were so in love! Two blessed months of such tenderness and devotion and passion, shared between the two of us. Add that to the thirteen years we were best of friends, and it made for quite a full life.
It was okay if this was my life; if this was all it was. Because she was all there ever was. I struggled to open my eyes again. She’d managed to move closer, but her lips were still so far from mine. I knew she was hurt, too, but I knew she would be okay. She was always a fighter, and this time was no different. I could see the determination in her sad eyes. I moistened my lips, tasting blood, her eyes intently focused on my action. Her fingers left my hair, her thumb outlining the curve of my bottom lip. I could feel it, her touch, humming with electricity on my battered skin.
“Stay with me,” she communicated, her request ending with a quiet sob and a forceful sniffle. Little by little, she was making her way to me. She was still too far to kiss, and I longed for that kiss. A tear fell from her eye to my lip. My tongue, dry, sought to reach that teardrop, needing its moisture, its life. It finally did, and the saline was somehow refreshing. I wanted more, even as I wanted her crying to cease.
My eyes fluttered closed again until I felt both of her hands on my cheeks. Immediately alert, I stared into her green eyes, hoping the smile I felt in my chest had somehow reached my face. Steadily and carefully, she lowered herself to me, and her soft lips touched mine. As we kissed, the salty flavor of her tears intermingled with her cherry lip gloss. I savored the taste of her as her lips moved against mine. I consumed every last bit of her essence until I could taste no more. I could still feel her, but my mouth was dry and deficient. I tried to swallow, but couldn’t.
“Stay,” she mouthed softly as she pulled back for a breath.
I would as long as I could, but I knew I didn’t have long. I blinked twice, feeling a tear begin its slow journey down my cheek– or maybe it was blood. Emi shifted again, wincing in pain, and I wished I could help her or stop her from causing herself any more pain. I knew any movements could put her own body in more danger, and she had two lives to worry about now.
“Stop,” I pleaded, feeling the vibrations of sound in my parched throat and hoping she could hear me. With only my eyes, I tried to convey my own worry for her and our baby. “Emi, stop,” I commanded once again as she moved closer still.
“No,” she answered as I read her lips, quietly first, then with more vitality, the lines in her forehead defined and determined. “No, Nate! No! Don’t leave me.” Her body fell to mine in a fit of sobs, but she felt weightless on my chest. I could only imagine my arms around her, could only pretend to comfort her. Her respiration deep and punctuated with tears, she wept, and I could feel her trembles throughout my entire body.
She shifted her head until her ear rested on my chest. Her right hand grasped my arm and held it tightly, then shifted to my wrist. She was trying to feel my pulse. She was trying to hear my heartbeat. I wanted it to be strong for her. I didn’t want her to worry about me. There was nothing she could do now
but save herself.
I watched her as she pushed herself up laboriously, just wishing she would stay still. Tears were streaming down her face now, mixing with her blood.
“Do you feel pain?” I read her lips again, those lips that brought me so much enjoyment over the years. Conversations flowed from them until early mornings. Smiles brightened my day every time I saw them, and fortunately, I had seen thousands over the years. And her kisses, so soft and all-consuming. Those lips. She shook me gently as I looked into her eyes, and I remembered her question.
“No.”
“Do you feel me?” I did. Strangely, I did. It didn’t make sense in these final moments that I would feel her and not pain, but who really knew how dying was supposed to feel? It was peaceful. I wasn’t afraid to go, but I was afraid for her. I knew we would both be fine. In our own ways. In our own spaces. I was sad, but only for her. I knew how bound we were to one another in life. I knew that a part of her would always be with me, and I was happy that a part of me would always be with her, too. Our child, created in the confines of the purest love two people could share, would bring her comfort. Maybe not today, or next week, but someday. She would see my smile, my eyes staring back at her– someday. And that brought me peace.
“Yes.” I answered her. “I feel you.” I watched her closely, saw the smile one last time before her beautiful features blended into the bright light. I fought to find her form again, squinted my eyes, opened them wide, but I couldn’t see beyond the luminescence that took over my entire field of vision.
My father appeared again. Wait, I pleaded with him. Just one more glimpse of her, please!
I felt her fingers hover over my eyelashes, then her sweet breath quietly announced the arrival of her lips. She kissed my left eyelid, then my right, her tears still falling on my skin. She kissed my forehead, her thumbs caressing each of my earlobes. Her cheek touched mine, and she held her face next to mine for so long. I could hear my heartbeat slowly begin to lose its rhythm. I wondered, with her close proximity, if she could hear it, too. When her body began to shudder again, I knew she could. I knew she was crying for me. I could feel tremors in my own chest, mimicking hers. The weight of her body left mine, and at this, the last moment, I wished I could hold her close to me. I wasn’t ready for her to leave. I wanted my arm to soothe her in a warm embrace, my hand to hold on to hers tightly. Just one last time.
