Sunrise

Sunrise

         He couldn’t get to sleep. He had screwed up and let his anxiety lock his brain up at the worst possible time. The moment he had been waiting for, hoping for had finally come, and his brain prematurely activated the flight portion of his response. He was halfway to his apartment before the fog cleared, and he had realized what he had done. Or, in this case, not done. He should have stood his ground and professed his deep feelings for Holly, but he instead he ran out the door. Now, almost three hours later, his head pressed against the large picture window of his apartment, Terry had to fight the urge to smash the glass with his forehead. The cool surface provided a moment of relief, but he could still feel the adrenaline burning just beneath skin. 

         It had started out as a simple night of movies and pizza, a tradition that both had done many times before. The location, movies, and type of food always changed, but the end result always was the same: two people enjoying each other’s company. That was the part that Terry always looked forward to. He never cared what they did, as long as Holly was there, he was content. They had a lot of common interests, many of which caused many late-night conversations, to the philosophical importance of Fraggle Rock to the comedic genius of Red Dwarf. Terry had been familiar with both before he had met Holly, but now he was an expert in both, and much more. After two years, he lived for their moments together. He knew how he felt about her, but the problem of whether she returned his feelings was the question. 

         And he was terrible in reading the signs when it came to this. Unless there was a brick involved, smashing him upside the face, he had no clue what was going on. He was often surprised he could function in the real world with the anxiety being what it was, so he would often push things, and people, away. He was certain that no one ever returned what he was feeling, so he stopped thinking he would ever make thing work with anyone. He started to believe that was the case, then he met Holly.

         It was a series of events that would eventually lead to their meeting, mostly just a series of Terry hitting rock bottom and skidding along the surface. He had lost his place, his job, and had moved into the building they both lived, Holly on the tenth floor, while Terry lived at the halfway point on the fifth floor. It was a simple place to go along with his simply existence of a bed and a bathroom. The stove and tv were just an added bonus as far as he was concerned, but they worked. Later additions of a bookcase, a tv, and a kitchen table that acted more like a computer desk would click everything in place. He could work from home with said computer and be completely content with no complications whatsoever. 

         Until he just happened to be checking his mail downstairs when a tall redhead appear a couple steps from him, checking her mail. Terry guessed she was a grad student from the nearby college with the backpack and the tattered copy of Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein under her arm. Normally, Terry would just nod and move on to the elevator, but, for some reason that day a sense of courage streaked up his backbone. He locked the door of the mail slot and moved towards the girl slowly. The motion caused her to look in his direction, but he noticed that she didn’t take a step back from him, just stood her ground and smiled softly. Terry returned her smile, and then motioned to the book under her arm. 

         “Is that the corrected version,” he started. “Or the original 1818 version?”

         “1818 version,” she answered, a surprised look on her face. “And annotated as well.” She closed her own mail slot and locked it. “Have you read it?”

         “Annotated? No,” he replied. “But I have read the original version before. Both versions, actually. Once in high and then in college.”

         “Let me guess, the more modern version was in high school?” she asked. 

         “Lucky guess,” Terry said, holding his hand out. “Terry.” 

         “Holly,” She replied, taking his hand, and shaking it. “What other classics have you read, Terry?” 

         He liked the way his name sounded when she said it. “Well, obviously Dracula. Can’t read one of the classic Universal monsters without reading the other. The Great Gatsby.” He took a step back, and motion her to the elevator. “And of course, Ray Bradbury.”

         “Nice list,” she said, moving towards the twin doors. “What about recent works, or are you someone who only reads the classics?”

         “Not at all,” he said, “I’m an equal opportunity reader.” 

         “Nice,” She replied, pushing the green button up. “What’s your genre?”

         “I split my time with a little of everything,” he replied, trying not to sound pretentious. “Since it’s close to the fall season, I tend to read a little more in the horror genre.”

         “Seems fitting,” she replied, as the doors opened. 

Terry paused, letting Holly enter the elevator first. He then slid into the small box, standing shoulder to shoulder with her. He reached forward to keypad full of numbers. “Floor?”

“Ten,” she answered. “What floor’s your?” 

“I’m on 5,” he replied. “How are you liking our little building?”

“It’s good,” she replied. “I’m liking my floor so far. Nice and quiet.”

“That’s good. Really, all the floors are pretty quiet,” he paused. “Well, except for floor twelve, but that’s really just on the weekends.”

“Oh? Is that the party floor?” she said, a smiled stretching across her face. 

“You could say that,” Terry returned her smile. “A couple of DJs live on that floor. They usually take turns on which night they perform. Sundays are the official rest day of the whole building, being the lord’s day and all.”

“Nice,” she replied. “Anything else I should know?”

“Uhm,” he paused, mostly for effect. “Don’t feed the strays in the basement. The Super is always an hour late whenever he makes a visit,” He paused again. “Oh, and the Third floor is haunted.”

         “Is it?” she stifled a small laugh. “Is it really?”

         “I don’t know,” Terry said. “I don’t go up there.”

         “Does anyone live on the floor?”

         “Don’t know,” Terry repeated. “I don’t go up there.”

         “Scared?” 

         “You better believe it,” Terry smile. “I’ve read enough horror stories to know when not to press my luck.”

         “Hmm,” she returned his smile. “Interesting.”

         “I just like for all my insides to remain where they are supposed to be.” he said, as the small ding sounded above them, and the doors slide open. “This appears to be my stop.” He moved through to the hallway and then turned back towards her. “It was nice meeting you, Holly.”

         She reached her hand out and stopped the door from closing. “Nice to meet you too,” she replied. “I’ll see you around, I’m sure.”

         “Of course,” he said. “I’m always around. Apartment seven.”

         She reached into her inside coat pocket and produced a small card, giving it to him. “If you’re ever online, look me up. My email and messenger handle is on there.”

         “Fancy,” Terry said, taking the card. “For work?” He asked, motioning the card towards her. 

         “All part of being a grad student,” she said. “Have a good night.”

         “You too,” he said, watching the doors shut. He then turned down the hallway, towards his apartment, not taking his eyes off the card. “Better make sure everything is up to date on the old computer.” He stopped at this door and slide his key into the keyhole. With a slight jingle, he pushed the door open and then closed it absent mindedly behind him.

         To this day, Terry has never forgotten that image of the image of Holly on that day. Every moment together, every disagreement over whatever movie, book, or tv show they shared, and there were quite a lot of those, Terry’s memory always came back to that image of the redhead checking her mail in that shadowy lobby. In moments like these, she almost haunted him. He had spent many a night just like tonight, either staring at the ceiling or looking out his window in the late hours of the morning, wondering why he could not tell her what was happening to his insides whenever he talked her. 

         He felt like he had been punched, not because of the sudden, and quite unexpected, words that came out of her mouth this evening. Words that were, now, swallowed by the overwhelming anxiety that caused his rapid heartbeat to override his brain and go quickly out the door before he knew what was happening. Did he black out? 

         He must have blacked out. The word dropped out of her mouth, and the next thing he knew, when all the blackness behind his eyes cleared away to reveal the inside of the dull silver of the elevator walls. He could see the realization come across his face, but he still wasn’t in control. That didn’t happen until he was standing in front of the very window he was standing in front of now. 

He didn’t understand what was happening. He couldn’t remember walking out of her apartment, much less why he would do that. Especially after she had made the simple comment to his exclamation that it was getting late. 

They had watched both movies, and it was late. 

“Maybe you should spend the night,” Holly said. 

Her voice echoed through his brain. Had she said that? The one thing that he knew he had always wanted to her say ever since they met, and he had just walked away. He didn’t even know if he had said anything in return. The memory was not there. As if someone had erased that portion of brain, like an old VHS tape violated by a large magnet. It was just gone, and now, he had spent the rest of the evening staring out his window, waiting for the first shards of the early sunlight. The red sunlight shining around the edges just before it began to change to the brighter shade of yellow. 

“What is wrong,” Terry mumbled, to the night air. “What went wrong?” He stepped closer to the window, staring at the reflection in the window. “What is wrong,” he muttered, raising his hand, and touching the reflection that was the center of his forehead. 

There was a faint knock at his front door. Terry had barely heard it, being lost in his own mind, his own missed opportunity that ended an otherwise great evening. The second knock, slightly more forceful, fully snapped him out of thoughts and brought him back to the here and now. He turned towards the door, still uncertain what he was hearing was real, and slowly made his way to it. He could feel his heart in his chest start to increase, as he leaned towards the small peephole.

Staring back at him, looking beautiful in her weariness, Holly stood wrapped in a heavy robe. She looked cold, with her shaking visible in the faint light of the hallway. Her brilliant red hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. Terry was transfixed for a couple seconds, the cold metal of the ancient door handle snapping him out of his stupor. As the hinge clicked open, Terry’s mind fully snapped back to reality. On the other side, Holly tired eyes stared through him. 

“You left,” she said, pushing him back, as she entered the apartment. “without saying a word.”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I don’t know what…”

“Shh,” she said, placing her hand on his cheek. She let the door shut behind her, pulling him close. He tried to speak again, but again, she stopped him, placing her other hand on his face, cradling his face. “No more words.” she whispered to him. 

Both stood in the apartment, looking at each other in the slowly growing morning light. Slowly, Terry moved forward, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulled her close to him. He could feel her shaking begin to slow, as they both warmed each other. As the light lit the room, he leaned in and kissed her, her hands sliding off his check and around his neck. 

Moments passed by, as the sun rose off in the distance.