Count Down

Count Down

“Ok,” she said, taking another sip of her wine, “What’s your New Year’s resolution?”

He shrugged dismissively. 

“Come on,” she urged. He took a swig of his whiskey.

“I don’t really have one if I’m honest.”

“Oh, really? Your life is so perfect, you’re that satisfied that there’s no room for improvement?”

“Exactly. I’m perfect in every way,” he replied with a sideways grin. She whacked him over the head with a throw pillow.

“Ok, ok. I do have something in mind. But it’s not exactly a resolution.” She nodded for him to continue. “It’s more of a goal. But not really that either. It’s not really something I’m working toward or making plans for or anything like that.”

Finishing off her wine, she pointed her glass at him. “You’re not making any sense.”

This was their second not-exactly-a-date. Their first was a long conversation as complete strangers in the graphic novel aisle of a book store which became dinner at the pizza joint next door and dessert at the café on the opposite side of the parking lot. They discussed their shared passion for all things graphic novel and how their love affairs with the genre began and evolved. By closing time, they knew about as much as they could about each other’s comic histories and relatively nothing about any other aspect of each other’s lives. Tonight was more of a real date, although, instead of having gone out to a formal dinner, or dancing, or to a movie or a play, they ordered Chinese food and watched “Watchmen” at his place. Now, the movie was over, fortunes had been read, and cookies consumed. She was reclining on the couch with her legs stretched the length of it, and he was on the floor leaning against the couch, his head by her knees. 

It was the Saturday night after Christmas.

“Seriously, dude. What the heck are you talking about?”

He sat up and turned toward her, tucking his legs under him crisscross- applesauce. “First of all: ‘dude’?” She chuckled. “Second of all, as I was saying before I was so rudely-” (throwing the pillow back at her for added dramatic effect) “interrupted! It’s not something I’m planning to do, so much as something really important I’m hoping will happen.”

She shifted and, mirroring him, sat upright and folded her legs under her butt.  “Not much clearer, but more intriguing. Continue.” She shoved her empty glass at him, and as he filled it, he did continue.

“Well, if it’s not moving too quickly or being too forward…” He began to un-tuck his shirt. 

“Woa, woa, Sport. If you’re waiting for that to happen, you have a LOT longer to wait!”

“Would you quit it,” he exclaimed. “I just thought I should show you so you know what I’m talking about!”

She raised an eyebrow. “Ok. Just so we’re clear, right?” She wagged a disapproving and cautionary finger at him.

“Right! Jeez! And, by the way, I’m not that easy either!” 

He lifted his shirt up to his chin, revealing a large scar in the middle of his chest. She sat upright, planting her feet on the floor, her jaw dropping just a little. “Ok, not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.”

“Yeah. So, this happened,” he began, “almost exactly a year ago. 50 weeks ago, actually.”

She gestured silently for him to get on with it, and rapidly.

He lowered his shirt and looked at the ceiling. “It was around midnight on the 9^th and I woke up with what I thought was a bad bout of reflux. Chest burning, stomach aching, all the usual signs. Side history: I’ve had issues with reflux and heartburn in the past, but hadn’t been bothered by any of that in a couple years. Still, it didn’t seem out of the realm of possibility to be having a rogue, random relapse. Anyway, I tried drinking water. Didn’t work. Tried eating spinach –“

“Spinach?”

“Yeah, it actually does help with heartburn, believe it or not.”

“Not this time, I’m guessing?”

He pointed with his whiskey, “Not this time. So, about a half hour later, I’m getting to the point where I wanna just, you know, drop to the ground, so, in my infinite wisdom, I decide I should call 911. Oh, and just to sweeten the scene, it had been snowing already for a few hours, which, of course, meant the ambulance took forever to get here. Still, I figured, there’s no way this could be really anything serious, they’ll probably just give me a couple of TUMS and tell me to call the doc in the morning.  Y’know, it's funny just how many things can change in the space of five words.”

“Mmm?” she replied, her glass firmly attached to her lips.

“The paramedic took his tests, and said,” (He held up one hand and counted) “‘You’re’ (one) ‘Having’ (two) ‘A’ (three) ‘Heart’ (four) ‘Attack.’” (five)

“Shit!”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“I bet you did!”

“Not to get dramatic on you-“

“Because having a heart attack during a snowstorm isn’t dramatic, you mean?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Go on.”

“It nearly killed me. Doc actually told me that if I had waited another hour to call, there would have been nothing he could have done for me. As it was, it took an emergency triple bypass to keep me from the morgue.”

“Jesus! That’s insane! And I don’t get it: you’re so young! How the hell does someone our age end up having a massive heart attack like that? And, why for the love of all that’s good and right in the world is someone like you-” (She began beating him over the head with the pillow.)  “eating Chinese food and drinking ?! I mean, honestly? What am I getting myself into with you?”

“Hang on, hang on: it wasn’t my fault! Well, not entirely. Ok, I used to smoke, but not that much, less than a half a pack a day, and I didn’t really eat much in the way of salad. But. But!”  (He tried to deflect the pillow blows.) “As it turns out, it was mostly due to a long-term, undiagnosed issue. The arteries they had to bypass would have collapsed anyway, regardless of my habits.”

She leaned back, less agitated, but clearly still concerned. “Ok, so what does all this mean? And where does the resolution that’s not a resolution or goal come in?”

He pulled his shirt back down. “Well, it means – theoretically – that I should be basically fine for the foreseeable future.”

“Yeah? Like, how long is that?”

“Basically, forever.”

“So, what are you waiting for?”

“I’m waiting for the 9^th. My one-year anniversary. If I can make it to the 9^th with no issues, that’s my litmus test, my big milestone. That’s when I can really start to breathe easy and stop worrying as much. And I’ll be taken off some of my meds.”

“Huh,” she said thoughtfully. “You never really seemed all that worried to me.”

“You mean, in all the time we’ve known each other?”

“Smartass. I mean, I can read people pretty well, get a sense of them, particularly if they’re really present, you know? And that whole time together a couple weeks ago, and all night tonight, I would never have guessed that you had all this weighing down on you. And it’s heavy!”

He chuckled softly and nodded. “Yeah, it’s been a crazy year. But, it’s also been a really great year. I mean, I quit smoking – going on a year now, started eating right – most of the time, lost a bunch of weight. And,” he leaned in toward her, raising his eyebrows suggestively, “I met you!”

Leaning in as if to kiss him, she shoved him back by his forehead, causing him to roll all the way onto the floor. “So, you’re really ok, then?”

“All things considered, yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

“Good,” she replied as she slid down off the couch and lay next to him on the floor. She rested her head in her hand. “Look, I have no idea where we’re going. Clearly, we have a lot – everything really – to learn about each other. But, I’m interested in learning it, so it’s good that you’ll be around for a while.”

“I agree,” he said with a shy grin.

“Two weeks, huh?”

“Uh huh.”

“Want company while you count down the last few hours?”