Eternal Seconds

A broken pipe dripped onto the unforgiving concrete floor nearby. I hoped the echo would somehow mask my labored breathing. That the cavernous building would capture the sounds of old pipes, innocent breaths of wind, scurries of hidden rats, before it would project my nervous shuffling. He must not hear, I must stay quiet. I swallowed nonexistent saliva. 

My back ached from crouching behind the rusted boiler. The dirt and dust from years of neglect coated the insides of my nose like hot, suffocating cotton. The gash above my left eyebrow bled freely, trickling down past my eye and over cracked and parted lips, giving the repugnant taste of copper. 

For how large he was, he moved with a stealthy expertise that made my palms sweat. I clutched a large shard of glass so tightly that it drew blood, which fell unnoticed to the floor in shining spheres.

I did not know what the warehouse had been used for, but I did know it had not been used for some time. Every window was shattered, half the roof had fallen in and Mother Nature was slowly taking back what was once hers with creeping vines and resilient weeds. I wondered if she could reclaim me, too.

I took a careful step back, staying low. My sneaker crackled over a smattering of broken glass. 

I held my breath as my heart hammered relentlessly. My wound pulsed with each agonizingly loud heart beat. Surely he could not hear this betrayal in my chest. Surely, this heart that had kept me alive this long would not be the ironic end to me.

A quiet hiss of laughter came from somewhere close by. A sound like frostbitten fingers on the back of my neck, his mirthless laugh was more like a sigh on the stale air. He did not need to speak for my bones to quiver, outing me as a coward, a frightened child.

“I do enjoy a classic game of cat and mouse,” the words slithered from his lips ever so softly, as if he were speaking to the sick or dying at their bedside. I took another step back. He was on the other side of the boiler.

“But I never thought you would play such easy prey.”

The front door wasn’t far, but he knew where I was now. Twenty four hours ago I may have been able to outrun him to the door, to escape, but today my muscles trembled, I was dangerously dehydrated, and I hadn’t eaten in days. I slipped the glass into my pocket and stood as he rounded the skeletons of abandoned machinery.

He had the eyes of someone who had once been kind but the world had turned cold. The ghost of who he was hovered just beneath the surface, defeated and morose. He stared at me with a pretentious evil, knowing he had won. What did I look like to him now, what did he see behind my eyes? Was it fear, or was the girl I once was still there somewhere. The glass felt heavy in my pocket.

I closed my eyes. It was at that moment that I found eternity. In that moment, I found you once again. 

I was not in that warehouse anymore, but on your front porch, in the morning. It was the first day that spring felt real after a long and brutal winter. The sunlight dappled the porch in a pattern of hazy shapes, painted by the ancient oak in the front yard. We weren’t talking much. Your sorrow was a tangible thunderclap, emanating through thick air, a force silent and daring as can be. 

Mint tea sat cold on the table. The string of the teabag fluttered halfheartedly in a breeze so sweet it carried all the tenderness of a lover’s kiss.

There was a lovely scent on the forgiving air; something in bloom, calling nature’s residents to come and taste the nectar. I looked to you with that scent clinging to my dewy soul, took your face in my hands and kissed you softly. It was as gentle and fleeting as a butterfly's wings.

Your eyes were as deep as everlasting rain puddles. I knew then that you would always love me, because that was the moment I knew I would always love you. Those infinite seconds of unspoken understanding that told us both sorrow comes, but love prevails.

I knew you could never fix me, but you made me believe that where I was broken was also where I was the strongest. You knew that you were strong for so long that learning how to become soft again was a welcome rebirth. We could become naive as children again, as the oak loses her leaves to bloom afresh each spring.

The calmest electricity, eye contact. I could taste your breath even before you leaned in to kiss me again with a gentle passion I would never taste again. 

The teacup shattered when you leaned in to return the kiss. 

When I came back to where I was he was grinning maliciously. I realized that, very soon, I would find out what happens next. If love continues after we are gone. He raised the gun and took a step forward. 

“It is a shame, really,” he said. “I never wanted it to come to this.”

I was not sure I believed him.

“And if it had to, I’d hoped you would put up more of a fight.”

I stared, my body having given everything it could, ready and at peace for the next step. 

It’s true, actually. Those pieces of your life come back to you before you die. Minutes from what seemed like a previous life came to me and I was reminded that I was painstakingly human. Finding love, meeting evil, believing in good. I could feel every nerve in my body, hear every neuron firing, the workings of a body that I had taken for granted all my life.

I realized then what mattered. People. People, matter. Extraneous, cosmic puzzle pieces come into our lives to distract us, complicate things, but at the end of the day people are simple. The human existence we share with others colors life and when we close our eyes at night it’s those we chose to love, to believe in, that bring ease to our hearts.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

He stopped grinning and I swore, the person inside him peered out for just a moment. The barrel of the gun dropped, almost imperceptibly. He blinked. 

But then it was gone. The shimmer of who he was disappeared, and he raised the gun.

I tasted your lips again.