by S. Walden
She took a shower and got dressed. She had an important meeting today and took special care to wear her most serious-looking business suit. She was going to make a lot of money, and the thought steadied her nerves.
Money. She made it her focus. And she was good at making it her focus. She was good at making it. She looked around her bathroom sink at the pricey creams, hair products and make-up, the expensive decorative marble. She looked at her image in the mirror and saw the silky expense of her designer suit. She blinked and her image changed. Now she was standing in front of the mirror wearing a tattered blue hoodie. She stared at herself for a moment thinking about the softness of the fleece lining. Then she remembered herself, blinking deliberately until her image returned to the present and she was again swathed in her fancy suit.
“Leave me alone,” she said to her reflection, and she saw him in the distance, deep within the mirror, smiling at her.
She was ready to go hours before she needed to leave and sat at the kitchen counter staring at the clock. The time ticked slowly, and she could do nothing but wait. She played with her engagement ring, twisting the five-carat diamond out of sight, and then bringing it back around her finger. Mother would be so proud, she thought cynically. She checked the clock again. The hands hadn’t moved. She looked back down at her ring and spun the diamond out of sight. That’s better, she thought, and waited.
***
She walked right by him, consumed with her own thoughts. She was running the important points of her presentation through her head, making sure she had the language perfect. She heard him call.
“Emma? That you?”
She turned around, sure that she heard her name, sure she recognized that voice.
He stood feet away from her, holding a small brown bag, wearing a familiar hoodie—faded with time, she thought—but still the same.
“Oh my God, it is you!” he said.
“Anton?” She walked towards him, her heart beating wildly. It had been, what? Ten years?
Anton wanted to hug her, but he was uncertain. She hung back just out of reach, stiff and uneasy. She wore a tailored grey suit. Her hair was shorter now. It rested just above her shoulders. She had straightened it; it was smooth and glossy. Her heels gave her more height, but she was still the munchkin he remembered, he thought smiling. She looked powerful nevertheless, and he was afraid to touch her. He noticed a familiar necklace hidden beneath the collar of her shirt, a few pearls exposed.
“This is crazy,” he said. “Ten years or somethin’ like that. How you been?”
“I’ve been well,” she replied. “Very busy.”
“You look it. Where you off to now?” he asked.
“Oh, I have a meeting in a little while,” she replied. Her eyes kept falling to the emblem on his chest—the familiar symbol on a familiar piece of clothing that long ago graced her body. She saw herself wearing it in a tiny room that housed the memories of a past love, and the sweat broke out on her hands.
“Yeah? What you doin’ now?” he asked.
“I’m a pharmaceutical sales rep,” she said, surreptitiously wiping her hands on her skirt.
He let out a low whistle. “That sound important.”
She shrugged. “It’s a job. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like it, but I’m busy all the time.”
“Too busy for a personal life?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” She wanted to change the subject. “What do you have there?” she asked, pointing to the bag in his hand.
“Bagels. We love us some bagels at our house,” he said. “I’m just droppin’ ‘em off before I go to work. I’m still workin’ at UPS after all these years. I love it. Full time now. Got great benefits. And I’m finishing up a certification to do taxes. You believe that? I’m’ll be a CPA on the side.”
“That’s great,” she said. She didn’t know what else to say.
“You married?” he asked suddenly. He needed to know.
“Yes, three years,” she replied. She did not want to ask it, but she knew she had to. “What about you?”
“Yeah. I been married almost eight years. You believe that?” he asked.
She managed a smile.
He searched her face. He could tell that she was uncomfortable, and it bothered him. He knew it was silly to expect to have an easy conversation, but this was Emma.
“You got kids?” he went on.
“No kids,” she replied.
“I thought all women want babies,” he said.
“Me too.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. She passed a hand over her belly and thought about telling him. It would be the cruelest thing she could ever do, and wondered why she entertained the idea. It was only for a second. But she entertained it.
“What about you?” Emma finally asked. She knew it was the right thing to do to ask however much she didn’t want to know. “Do you have kids?”
“I got one. A little boy. His name Jamal. He so funny, Emma. You should see him. That boy make me laugh all the time,” Anton said, his face lighting up at the mention of his son. “He two now, and he talkin’. God, I thought I was gonna go to pieces when he said ‘Daddy’ for the first time. I know that make me sound like a big softie.”
“That’s sweet,” Emma said quietly.
“Jordan say I’m a big cry baby all the time. She say every time he do somethin’ new, I lose it,” Anton said, chuckling.
Emma could not bear it. She did not want to hear about his wife or know anything about his son. She knew it was foolish and immature, but the pain. She could not comprehend the pain she felt, making her chest tight, making it hard to breathe. She was certain that if she stood there much longer, her heart would fail her. How, after so many years, could she still feel the ripeness of a past pain? Like it had only just happened yesterday and not ten years ago? She felt like an unfaithful wife, a cowardly woman who hid her weakness behind expensive things. As long as she kept thinking of money, she was safe. But she couldn’t think of money right now, not with him standing there looking at her. What had she learned in ten years, she thought?
“Man, there just seem like so much to talk about,” Anton continued. “But you gotta go to work. I gotta go to work.”
She nodded but said nothing.
He pulled a cell phone out of his pants pocket. “What’s yo’ number?”
She rummaged around in her purse for her business cards. “Here,” she said, handing him one.
He smiled at her.
“You always got it all together,” he said amused. “Girl, you ain’t change a bit.”
She prayed he would never call her. She was certain he wouldn’t. What could they really share with one another after ten years? How does one recount a decade? They didn’t want to know the details of each other’s lives. At least she didn’t want to know. How could it mean anything to either of them? The stories wouldn’t be theirs, not together. Just separate stories with a similar refrain playing in the background: what if. She was shocked by her reaction at seeing him—so changed by his circumstances, yet still the same boy she vowed to love forever. She was embarrassed.
“I better get going then,” Emma said.
“A’ight. I call you sometime so we can sit down and really catch up,” Anton said. He watched the uncertainty on her face.
“Okay,” she replied.
She was visibly unsettled, and she was careful to make no move towards him, but he hugged her anyway. It was gentle and encouraging. And it lingered past the point of appropriateness. Her heart died then, she was sure, as she took in the familiar scent of him, the strong arms holding her. She was aware of nothing around her; the sounds of the city had stopped when he touched her. She felt herself falling into the memory of him, a dangerous place she buried long ago. He released her, and she breathed relief. He saw her exhale, knowing she was holding her breath the whole time he held her. He didn’t know why she did that, and it made him sad.
She walked away not looking back.
Her destination was a few blocks ahead. She burst through the front door of the office building and headed straight for the ladies room. She willed herself to hold back the tears until she was in the safety of the bathroom. It was empty, and she quietly thanked God. She closed herself in the last stall, dropping her expensive bags on the floor, and sinking down on the toilet. She did not bother to look if it was clean.
She cried then, letting the raw emotions overtake her. She cried for the loss of her youth that bled out on a bathroom floor many years ago. She cried for the fairytale shattered by an exploding gun. She cried for all of the things she could not tell him, the regret, the fear of a future marked by desperation for things she could never have. She cried for the babies she would never bear.
She pleaded for God to take away her memories of him, but they came one by one, spilling into the forefront of her mind, vivid as the moment they had just happened. And she was seventeen all over again, lying beside him in his warm bed, and had just loved him, was drunk with the love he had poured into her.
“You gonna marry me?” he asked.
“What? Now?” she replied.
“No! Not now. In the future. You gonna marry me in the future?” he asked, absent-mindedly twirling a strand of her hair around his finger. He loved her hair, so soft and shiny.
“If you want,” she said quietly.
“What kinda response is that? You know I want you to marry me. Don’t even be tryin’ to act all nonchalant about it.”
She looked at him.
“Yeah, I know words like ‘nonchalant’,” he said, and she laughed.
“I want to marry you,” she said, looking at his face in all seriousness.
“Good,” he replied, and pulled her close to him wrapping his arms around her naked back. “You gonna give me babies?”
“What?”
“You heard me. You gonna have my babies? ‘Cause I want babies. The world need more good things in it, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know if I want kids,” she said honestly.
“Girl, you crazy. You havin’ my babies and that’s that,” he said, squeezing her until she squealed. “Say you will,” he demanded, not letting her go until she agreed.
“Okay, okay! I’ll have your babies,” she said.
“Good,” he said, relaxing his grip and kissing the top of her head.
He rolled her over onto her back and she protested.
“I’m’ll be gentle,” he promised. “I know you tired and sore, but I gotta have you again.” He looked at her imploringly.
She nodded, and he took her, enveloped her in his arms, kissed her tenderly on the lips as he filled her completely. And he kept his promise. He was gentle.
Emma wiped at her face. She felt empty, drained of everything. Slowly she returned to the familiar shell—the shell of a woman who filled her life with unimportant things because she could not have the only thing that mattered to her. She was robbed of it a long time ago, learning in that moment that the world was nothing but an awful, scary place.
It felt good returning to her normalcy. It was what she became accustomed to. It was a safe feeling, a safe way to be. She drew in a long breath and exited the bathroom stall. She stood at the bathroom sink and began the task of fixing her make-up, making sure she got every detail perfect. She regained control of herself, straightening her suit jacket and smoothing her hair. She lingered in front of the mirror just a moment longer, checking that everything was in its right place. And she recognized herself again. Her face was blank, her blue eyes vacant as though she never had a struggle in her life. As though she never had a feeling. As though she never knew the pain of a broken heart. She liked what she saw and left the bathroom for her meeting.
Far away, on the other side of town, a young man walked through the front door of his house, picked up his little boy, cradled him closely, and wept.
About the Author
When I was younger, I wanted to be a singer. That was until I got stage fright right around the age of 14 (which has never gone away) and decided my only option was to consider other career paths. So I started writing at 14 instead and discovered that I really liked it. Maybe it was partly because writing was a solitary hobby for me and a therapeutic one, too.
I never stopped writing during my short career as an English teacher, but I did find that I had little time to devote to it. So maybe it was providential that after I completed graduate school, there were no teaching jobs available. When there are virtually no doors opened to you, it makes decisions much easier. And my decision was to make writing my new full-time gig.
Right now I’m really into writing Mature Young Adult fiction probably because my own high school experiences and part of college were pretty unremarkable. I like to write love stories because who doesn’t like to read them? And realistic fiction is by far my favorite to read and write. I like to drop my characters into raw, gritty stories that involve sensitive themes. And I like my characters to have both redeeming and ugly qualities—all the things that make up who we are as humans. One dimensional is boring, and it’s also unrealistic. Everyone bleeds goodness and wickedness, and my characters are no exception.
I was a teenager in the 90’s but didn’t get into bands like The Smashing Pumpkins until a few years ago. I was listening to Yes and Genesis and other progressive rock bands thanks to the musical tastes of my father. I did, however, represent the 90’s grunge movement by wearing flannel. I have an affinity for Ireland and was lucky enough to visit as a college student. I could eat cake for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if I weren’t into a low-carb lifestyle. I don’t know what I think about small children, so I have two Westies instead. I’m married to a man who doesn’t read fiction and can’t understand why my main characters have to have personality flaws. I live in Georgia where the earth is red. Good for planting, but very messy when it rains.
You can follow me at http://swaldenauthor.blogspot.com and connect with other Hoodie fans at www.facebook.com/Hoodiebook.
