That Pit in Your Stomach

Swimming above the asphalt. Bathing in the rain. Blinded by lights that blur in the fog and twinkle in the raindrops. How did you get here?

Your headache is back. The one you woke up with this morning. You swore you’d be fine, but deep down you knew you wouldn’t be. All day your head was throbbing on and off. You should have called in sick, but you don’t like the way you feel when you do. 

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to come in today,” you’d stammer. 

“Damn,” Jan would sigh quietly under her breath, but loud enough to travel to your end of the line. 

She’d tell you to get well soon, but you’d still feel like you let her and everyone else down. The company comes first, after all. You didn’t want to imagine the horror that would ensue if the actuary was urgently needed and nowhere to be found. But as a cold tepid breeze blankets your motionless body, you so desperately wish you could be sleeping your headache off curled up in bed.

Nevertheless, you walked to work as usual, but this time was different. You knew it would rain on your way home, but you didn’t want to borrow your roommate's car when he offered. 

“You sure?” he asked. 

“I’m sure. I prefer my walks,” you said. But you knew the real reason you turned down the car was because you didn’t want to trouble him. Even though he said he didn’t mind being slightly inconvenienced, you couldn’t bear the thought of him having to shift his plans for you, especially on the chance that the forecast was wrong. Walking seemed like a fine idea then. And so you grabbed your satchel and headed out on foot.

You were seated at your desk at nine on the dot click-clacking away. You were finishing up the reserve calculations for this year—earlier than usual. For the umpteenth time this month, you thought about how much you’ve contributed to the company. You’d planned to find Jan at the end of the day and ask her for a raise—a plan you’ve had every day this month but knew for sure that this time you’d ask. You spent the day building up the courage to do so. 

On your lunch break, you took a trip to the cafe across the street. And as you waited in line for a sandwich and a drink, the sight of a familiar figure made your heart jump.

She stood in the waiting area by the service counter. You hadn’t seen her since college. You fancied her your entire final semester, but between all the study sessions and after-class hangouts, you could never muster up the courage to do anything about it. 

“Delilah,” the barista called. She grabbed her coffee and headed towards the door behind you. Time slowed as she neared you. She was but an arm’s length away. You saw your chance so clearly, but when you opened your mouth to call on her, something constricted itself around your voice box. She whisked by you unaware of your presence, and only as she got further away did your restraints begin to loosen.

You imagined when you’d call her name, her face would light up at the sight of yours. She’d greet you with a warm hug and you’d fall into a conversation that takes you back to your college days. And as your lunch break nears an end, you’d have suggested meeting again—after work maybe. After work. You could have been out getting dinner with Delilah, but instead, you’re here.

Feet are beginning to huddle around you. You hear voices and tire screeches, but all the sounds muddle into one hazy noise. You can’t bring yourself to react to any of it. Your thoughts lie only on the events of your day. You couldn’t figure out where you went wrong. All you knew is that you returned to the office with a pit in your stomach that your BLT and frappuccino could never fill.

When your day of number-crunching was over, another opportunity to escape your fate arose. Your coworkers were heading out to a bar nearby, which is something they rarely do—and you were invited. But you didn’t think twice about your decision until you watched them split off from you once you all left the office. And when Jan bid you goodbye while you were heading out, you watched her make her way to the parking lot as you made plans to ask her for a raise tomorrow.

And so you walked home. You shook off the few drops that fell on you at first. But when it quickly began to pour, you clutched your satchel to your chest and widened your steps to deer-sized strides. You should have borrowed his car, you should have borrowed his car…, you thought as you trudged through the flooding streets completely drenched. Just a couple more blocks. You reached an intersection and waited for the little green man to light the way. 

You saw the sedan out of the corner of your eye. You assumed it would stop since it was your turn to go. You assumed the driver saw you amidst the misty air and darkening skies. But by the time you turned to face the headlights that grew incredibly loud, you knew you’d missed any and all chances to escape this fate. And now you’re lying helplessly on the street aching all over from the impact and all you can do is wonder how.

Years of risk-analysis experience and you couldn’t prevent this. You can’t even pinpoint where you went wrong. But you couldn’t have possibly known it would come to this. No one could have. You could have been at a bar, in a parking lot, a diner, your apartment, in your car—hell, a library, a cafe, the gym, one block over, five steps ahead. You had every opportunity to veer off this track, but you stayed on course. Why? Out of fear? Suddenly your reasons for your cowardice feel so unimportant. 

They’ll give you medication for your headache, they’ll fix your broken bones, they’ll put you back together, but you’ll always have that pit in your stomach. 

It takes everything in you to turn your head to stare up at the sky. The sight of raindrops darting heavily toward you is almost scary. A bullet travelling at that speed could kill, but water only washes clean. So you let it take you. And then it all goes dark. All of it. 

You will be left here on this asphalt. They’ll carry me away on this stretcher, not you. And I’ll do everything you didn’t have the courage to do.