The Unexpected Guest

In a rush and an out-of-body moment, she shut the door and locked it behind her. She leaned over the sink and stared deeply into her own brown eyes through the reflection of the thick, gold-rimmed mirror that hung in the two-person bathroom she found herself in. Her brow furrowed in deep thought, her heartbeat pulsing in a way that made her whole body vibrate. It was the kind of exuberant buzz you feel after a long run or an invigorating workout. The kind that makes you feel like you have left your body and returned again. Where you can feel each heartbeat in every pore of your body.

The images began flashing in her mind, striking like lightning - vibrant, distant, terrifying, and beautiful. They were memories she didn’t realize she’d forgotten and memories she wasn’t sure she wanted to remember.

They began to rain down like a flash flood, drowning her, consuming her; suddenly sweeping her out of this room and into another dimension. Another time, another place, far, far away from here and many years ago. Like video clips in a montage, a scrapbook of memories, she saw everything as if it were recorded in HD - moments spent on the farm, picking berries together, trips into town as she sat passenger in his old, dirty pickup truck, game nights with his family, summer days spent at the lake, window shopping on the small main street drag downtown. She remembered sharing too many ice cream cones with him there. Their fingers sticky and their tongues ravenous as they tried to keep the melting sweetness from covering them, fighting against time in the thick heat of summer.

Visions of the firsts that turned into habits flashed before her like one of those old-school projectors with the film slides. Her teaching him to bake and him teaching her to grill. Them, together, learning how to pitch a tent and start a fire on their first of many camping trips. They loved being surrounded by the redwoods. The soundtrack of fresh water trickling downstream by day and crackling wood from fire by night.

A slight laugh in what feels like a hiccup bubbles to the top of her throat remembering how much of a comical failure that first trip was and how they laughed at and with each other for what felt like hours about it. As soon as she feels this physical reaction, she blasts off again. It didn’t stop.

There was the brightness of his eyes after a morning run, the way he lit up at the mere mention of live music, the sweet smell of him lingering in her room, on her clothes, in her mind. The way her hand fit so perfectly in his. The way he always pulled her in closer, tighter. His ability to see her, to know her, to predict what she needed even when she was unsure. His love for his family, his love for her. The surrender and acceptance and embrace of it all.

He was her world; her everything - until he wasn’t.

She gripped the countertop and took slow, deep breaths to ease the tension in her chest while hoping no one else would need to enter. Her nervousness causing gentle spasms running up her spine at every clinking sound of dishes and glasses that rang throughout the halls just outside.

She tapped her fingers on the countertop as she came back into being. The slow, deep breaths gently guiding her back to earth. She grabbed a tissue from the box near the soap dispenser and wiped beneath her eyes where tears had unbeknownst to her, begun to accumulate.

She couldn’t have been in there for more than a few minutes but it felt as though lifetimes had passed. And in a way they had. But she didn’t have time to ponder or worry or wonder. She took one last breath - the longest, to fill herself with courage. She stood up straight, tugged on her apron and checked the tie to make sure it was tight, out of habit. She turned around and tossed the tissue in the bin next to the door. In what felt like slow motion, she reached out her trembling hand and unlocked the door. The sounds of clinking and chatter amplified as she stepped out the door and made her way down the hall.

One foot in front of the other, she consciously told herself.

She went to the ice well and filled three glasses with water. Feeling more and more grounded with every cold sprinkle of water that hit her skin, she took the glasses into her hands, hoping that her hold would be both enough and not too much. She’d never broken a glass from a hulk-like grip before but she didn’t trust herself at this moment.

In an instant, the sounds around her went silent. Everything around her went slightly greyscale, her vision tunneling in on the destination, about thirty feet in front of her. All she heard was her last deep breath as she stepped out on the floor toward the round wooden table near the end of the room.

As she set each glass down she was unsure which was louder - the glass hitting the wood or each thumping beat of her heart. A glass in front of the woman, a glass in front of the child, and a glass in front of him. They thanked her lazily, their eyes glued to the papers in front of them. She wondered if he would even recognize her, if he would even acknowledge her now, if he remembered those summers so long ago. Lifetimes had passed - dreams realized and abandoned, goals reached, families made. Time carried on as it always does.

And then it happened. His eyes lifted from their focus and drifted to meet hers. And just like that, time stood still as it had so many times before - as if the same carousel of images was barraging both their minds at once. She quickly broke their captured gaze and looked down at the table before redirecting her attention to the woman and the child across from him.

“Good morning,” she managed to get out in a relatively normal sounding tone. Her hand fidgeted in her apron pocket as she tried to locate a pen.

“Welcome in. What can I get started for you today?”