Moment in the Sun

The smell of coffee and pastries is thick as I twiddle my thumbs at my usual table. Any other day, the delicious scent comforts me, but today, it’s the only thing distracting me as I wait. Facing the door, I see many faces enter and leave, enter and leave. Some are alone, some hand-in-hand trading glances and smiles with one another. An ache of longing, hollow and deep, echoes through my stomach, reminding me that I came through the door alone. And with the way things were going in my dating life, I would more than likely leave alone, too.

Gray clouds blot out the sun, threatening to release their payload on the pedestrians outside. Baristas behind the counter construct drinks, unaware of the threat beyond the windows. Their symphony of boiling water and steaming milk dances through the small cafe. Patrons sit and chat, idle conversation about their days, the weather, their weekend plans. It sounds so easy for them, and I wonder how that could be. For me, it is anything but. The pleasant murmur grows to a roar as the minutes tick by. A clap of thunder outside announces the start of the storm. The bell on the door jingles, and there’s no more empty space at the tables or bar for the people pouring in to escape the rain. The emptiness in my gut surges, begs me to end the agony of waiting, to give up and leave. 

But then, the chime of the bells sounds again, cutting through the storm’s rumble. I swallow hard as he waves at me from the threshold, his hair damp with rain. His smile is bright enough to light the stormiest of days. 

His legs are long and tone, and he clears the space between the door and my table in a few strides. I make a note to ask him about his workout routine; with legs like that, he must have one. He sticks his hand out. “Hi, I’m Michael. You must be Melanie.”

I smile and extend my hand to his. “Hi Michael, it’s nice to finally meet you.” I try to hide the waver in my voice, but it’s no use. The forced confidence makes my throat dry and I wrench my hand from his to cover my cough. Each movement is wrong, clumsy, like I’m playing a role instead of being myself.

Michael chuckles and I bristle. Another date, another laugh at my expense; I’ve been here before. I expect him to excuse himself, to fabricate some family emergency rather than be seen with me, but instead he pulls out his phone. “Let me get you a drink. What will it be?”

I tell him my usual— a hot chocolate with whipped cream— and one corner of his mouth curls into a smirk. He types it into his phone and I wonder if his memory is that short, if I’ll have to reintroduce myself when he comes back. Maybe he’ll be confused why he’s holding two drinks instead of one. 

He goes to the counter, a walking ray of warmth and sunshine on this dreary day. I know that I am a rain cloud, that Michael and I are opposites, and that this won’t work. It never works. The deluge on the rooftop drowns out his words to the barista at the register. She smiles at him as he hands her cash for the order. He turns and catches me staring at him. My cheeks go hot, and I whip around to face the door again. My metal chair scrapes loudly across the tile with the force of my movement. I hang my head and the air around me turns frigid. 

Seconds later, he’s back with our drinks and slides gracefully into the chair opposite me. “So…” he says. His voice is smooth, sultry, and sure. I envy his self assuredness.

“So…” I parrot back, my eyes wide with confusion. I’m bad at this. I always have been and always will be.

“Our friend Jessica tells me you’re a doctor. What kind of medicine do you practice?” He takes a sip of his drink, his gaze curious and never breaking from mine.

“Podiatry.”

“That’s feet, right?” 

I nod and sip my hot chocolate. That’s usually where I lose people. No one is interested in podiatry. A blind date once told me it was the most boring field of medicine she could imagine. After that, I sometimes lied about my profession on first dates, which made second, third, seventh dates complicated. People are skeptical if you lie to them about your career. So, I gave up the pretense, and now I go authentically, if a bit plainly, into social situations such as these.

Michael’s eyes light up, curiosity coloring his face. “That’s amazing! How much schooling is that?”

As the storm outside rages, trees bending at odd angles and people splashing through puddles, Michael and I enjoy each other’s company. The cafe is warm and inviting, the hum of other patrons matching our own. He asks questions about my life and dreams. I ask what it’s like to move to a new place for work and find out that he does pilates. For hours, we learn about one another, and I find that maybe I’m not so bad at this after all, the empty pit at my core all but forgotten.

The gray clouds clear and the sun sets to the west. Beautiful purples and pinks paint the horizon, a beacon of hope after a long day of rain. Michael grins at the scene before glancing back at me. “Weather’s cleared up. Why don’t we grab dinner? I know a place.” He stands and holds out his hand for me to join him.

“Sounds wonderful,” and I’m surprised at how cheerful my voice sounds. I grab his hand and we exit the cafe with our fingers interlaced, the bells tinkling quietly behind us. He gives my hand two tight squeezes, quick and sure, as we set off down the street.

###

Snow dusts the path through the park where we first walked hand-in-hand several years ago. The winter sun hangs low, turning each falling snowflake into a prism. The world around us shimmers with magic, possibility. When Michael stops walking and turns to face me, I expect another one of his impromptu dance parties; he's been doing that lately, spinning me in circles whenever the mood strikes. Instead, he drops to one knee, an elegant ring box in hand.

My whole body vibrates with a feeling I haven’t felt before— a knowing, a certainty that this life I am building with him will allow me to be the best version of myself. I know that giving Michael my heart is dangerous. It gives him power to destroy me, to tear me into tiny pieces, never to be made whole again.

I am vulnerable.

I am glass.

But he is gentle and kind, and will take care of my fragile heart. And if it shatters, I think it will have been worth it for this moment in the sun with him.

Beams of golden daylight thaw our icy cheeks. Tears, happy and silent, fall from my eyes as I whisper the word “yes” over and over again. He laughs and pulls me into an embrace. The warm, solid cocoon of him engulfs me like it always does.

His arms are home.

I am home.

Michael plants a kiss on the top of my head, his lips soft and sure on my scalp. The niggling feeling of inadequacy that has been with me through my entire life fizzles away to nothing, and I am floating higher and higher. Light radiates through my body, dispersing the dark shadows that have always lived in the darkest corners of my mind. If I am worthy in the eyes of this man, then I must be worthy in my own. The rumble of his laugh shakes through us as he picks me up and we spin in circles together.

It is dizzying. 

It is everything.

He sets me down, releasing me from his strong, secure grip and his smile crinkles his eyes. In this moment, with snowflakes catching in his lashes, he has never looked more beautiful. His hand cups my cheek and I nuzzle into it, unafraid of life’s many uncertainties. His eyes search my face before he tucks his chin to rest his forehead on mine. Our hands interlock, cold from the snow but warm with each other’s glow. He squeezes my fingers twice, tight and quick. I kiss his lips gently and return the pleasant pressure. 

###

The umbrella casts waterfalls around me. How very typical that it’s raining on a day like today. People are huddled close for warmth, clad in black woolen coats and hats, but I stand alone. Some cry quietly, others are numb, stone-faced as they watch the casket lower into the hole in the ground.

An anguish, familiar but long-forgotten, rises in my stomach. Emptiness, longing, loneliness. I am hollow. Michael banished all those things from my life. He helped me make myself whole, filling the gaps within me with joy and wonder. And now, there is no more joy and wonder, only pain. The void grows inside me, threatening to swallow me whole as I watch his body sink into the earth.

The illness took him quickly. Weeks after his diagnosis, he is gone, and I’m grateful for it. No one deserves to suffer, but Michael least of all. His radiance cannot be dulled by the beeps of hospital machinery and the pinch of needles. He is passion and illumination and now he’s gone. 

Thunder booms overhead and I fear that I will never see the sun again. A sob threatens to rip from my chest as they remove the contraption around the casket. The service is over, Michael is buried, and there is nothing left to me. Petrichor chokes my senses as the priest finishes his sermon over the open grave. I hear none of his words, but I know that I wouldn’t find comfort in any of them.

The crowd starts to thin, friends, acquaintances, coworkers, all seeking refuge from the barrage of rain and misery. I exhale and my breath turns to fine mist in front of me. The only figure with me now is Michael’s mother. Her shoulders shake as she blows her nose into a crumpled tissue. 

Michael was my anchor, a safe harbor in the gloomy tempests that followed me. But now I am lost at sea with no harbor to go back to, no way to weather the storm.

I am untethered, I am lost, and I am not likely to be found again.

Forcing my feet forward, I stand next to his mother at the lip of his resting place. She hands me an unused tissue and I take it, though none of my tears have fallen. She turns, her hat flopping lightly in the breeze. “He really cared for you,” she whispers, barely audible over the rain.

I nod my head and the shards of my heart rattle in my chest. “I know. I miss him already.”

She turns to me and new tears spill from her eyes, tracing the tracks through the makeup on her face. She has his eyes, and she’s beautiful even in her grief.

I am undone.

I use the tissue to dab at the torrent of my tears, but the paper soaks through, unable to contain all that I’ve lost. How can one person ever be whole again when their being was spread across two? Half of who I am is gone. Next to the grave, the ground squelches under my weight and I hope it will consume me. I grip my umbrella tighter, willing my hands to stop shaking.

His mother scoops my free hand into hers and searches my face. I cannot handle those eyes, his eyes, looking at me. I squeeze mine shut and thick tears escape the corners. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I whimper.

Silence stretches between us, the rumble of thunder and ricochet of rain the only sounds in the cemetery. When I open my eyes, Michael’s mother smiles at me. “You keep going.” She pats my shoulder and turns to leave.

I peer into the pit, her words echoing in my mind. 

Maybe he isn’t really gone. 

Maybe his body is, but maybe the memory of him isn’t. Michael touched the life of every single person here today. Each of us connected to him in some way, each different and each meaningful. Maybe the memory, the time we did have, was better than no time at all. Opening up to him, to anyone, is a risk. There is always a chance that tragedy will strike and you will be torn apart from one another. 

But he helped me become better than I ever thought I could be. That mark cannot be buried. Those moments in the sun will always be worth every piece of my splintered heart. My fingers tighten around the umbrella and two phantom squeezes envelop my hand. “I know,” I whisper. 

Through the clouds, a ray of sunshine catches the falling raindrops, turning them to diamonds. It is not enough to eliminate the chill, but for a moment, I remember what warmth feels like.