Plane

The doorbell rings while I am sitting in bed, wondering if I was wrong for wanting anything to happen. And something does happen. I am confused as it is already 10:23 on the clock. Late at night and someone is at the door. A little scared, too, because I am not expecting anyone. I push the covers off me and slip out of bed slowly. My feet finally touch the floor, as cold as my skin. My heart is strangely steady and it pounds a dull rhythm against my chest. I turn off the airconditioning, just in case my visitor wants to stay a little bit longer. The electric bill was terrible last month; no point in a repeat performance.

My steps are timid and soundless against the planks of weathered wood. It’s so quiet that I can hear my breathing: irregular and shallow. I make my way down the steps in total darkness, then flick the switch to the light on. My eyes adjust to the brightness that floods the room. The doorbell rings again, not from impatience, but just as a reminder. I lick my lips, trying to save the cracked skin, then I move forward.

The living room is still. Everything is still, except for my heart, which by now is racing against my chest. I can’t seem to move. My eyes are locked on the door that is the only thing keeping me from whoever it is waiting to see me. With a sharp breath, I reach out to grasp the knob and turn it quickly. No turning back now. I open the door.

And he is there.

He tries to appear as though it was a mistake. “I was just passing by,” he offers pitifully but he knows that I know better. I smile to make it better, to ease the pain of his humility. He smiles back. “It’s so late, I should get going.”

“Okay,” I say. Then he rakes his fingers through his hair and coughs with awkward precision. “I love you,” he says quickly, like an afterthought. I know him so well and I’ve waited for this so long that I find it easy to forgive him.

I look at him, my heart aching so badly that it feels like it could burst. I know I look ridiculous in my oversize pajamas with enormous yellow ducks but he is looking at me like I am the queen of the universe. His eyes are full of tears that I know he is willing not to shed. “Sorry, I’m an idiot,” he says. “I should go.”

He makes a motion as if to leave, but he doesn’t.

I realize that this is the perfect time, the only time. “Thank you,” is all I can say as I slip my arms around him. He understands perfectly; knows that what I really meant to say is “I love you too” and possibly even “I love you more.”

He holds me for as long as he can, then his arms go slack and he lets go of me. He steps back to look at me and then he smiles, a sad sort of smile. “Bye.”

I nod, my lips trembling, my entire body shaking. “Bye,” I reply. My voice is broken, and so is my heart.

He takes my hand and presses it to his chest, never taking his eyes off me. “Don’t forget me,” he says. With that, he lets go.

Then, he is gone.