Beth stomped up the wooden stairs to her apartment, skipping the half-gone one with the six-inch splinters. They creaked and rattled with every step, but she jogged up anyway, to escape the cold. And when a gust of wind sent her flying against the railing, she flung herself onto the steps instead, afraid that the rotten wood would finally give way and send her tumbling onto the concrete slab below.
When she finally got into the sheltered corridor that lead to her door, she rummaged through her bag for her keys. Pushing aside half-finished cross-words torn out of various newspapers and slippery gum wrappers, she touched the clammy metal of her cell phone, the rough fabric of her wallet. She heard jingling. At last she pulled out her keys by her plastic Mach-5 key chain.
She jammed the key in the door with one hand, pulled the knob toward her with the other, twisted the key, twisted the knob, and pushed. She flew inward with the door and slammed it shut on the wind. But not the cold, the cold had invaded the apartment.
She shuffled over to the thermostat and squinted at the thermometer. Fifty-eight. Not cold enough to warrant the heat. Not when she only worked fifteen hours this week.
Instead she plopped down on the lumpy sofa and cocooned herself in her fleece blanket. She didn't even bother to kick off her Converse.
Her computer was open on the coffee table. The same blank word document's cursor was blinking at her just as mockingly as it had been before she left for work. She stared at it without seeing it and sat very still for a long time. She waited for the pressure building in her chest to subside.
She had been on a high when she left for the bus this morning. The air had been cold and crisp. She'd breathed it in deeply and felt her lungs and body working and humming. The wind had swirled around her and the world had seemed beautiful. What happened?
Now as she slumped on the couch, she knew she should work, but her brain was empty. She only wanted to sink lower.
Struggling against her tightly wrapped blanket, she dug into the pocket on her coat. Grasping the plastic bag, she extricated it carefully from her warm encasing. She yanked her other arm out and unrolled the bag. The pot smelled good. Like rain and sour milk.
Getting up to get her pipe would be such a drag. Then she noticed the little blue pill Steven had dropped in the bag.
"Try it when you've got a while and you want a real escape," he'd advised.
Normally, Beth would never. She'd never done anything but smoke. At least marijuana was a plant. Not something somebody cooked up in their bathtub. But this afternoon, she just couldn't bring herself to care.
She popped the pill in her mouth and swallowed it dry. Realizing this was a mistake she reached for the mug on the floor and took a swig of the cold morning coffee. She gulped it down, making a face.
I wonder how long this shit takes to kick in, Beth thought. She grabbed the TV clicker and flipped to Law & Order.
By the time the episode had reached Order, she had given up on Steven's wonder drug as a dud. The she realized she wasn't cold. Or hot. Or anything. She didn't feel the cable-knit of her sweater or the springs in the sofa.
Interesting.
The sound went next. Only a faint buzzing remained. Then she dozed off.
When she woke up, everything was black. At first she thought the sun had gone down, but it was darker than that. It wasn't even dark. It was as if she had fallen into some nameless void hidden under one of the couch cushions.
This must still be that fucking shit Steven gave me! Beth began to panic. Just like the first time she got high, the paranoid feeling that this would never end took hold of her. She closed her eyes, to no effect, and breathed deep.
When that wave of nausea ended, another one washed over her. A far more familiar one. Her fear of the dark. Of being alone in the dark.
She held her breath and froze, just like she had done since she was a child. Don't move and they won't see you. Don't look and they won't hurt you. Not that she could look. But that rationale was the same in her mind.
She didn't know how much time had passed, but she couldn't take it any more. She opened one eye a sliver - still black. So she threw caution to the wind and open both lids wide. She stared out into the void and wondered what was staring back at her.
The cold was coming back. Or more likely this was a new cold. The chill that comes with irrational fear.
Slowly, slowly, Beth stood. After she was on her feat, she realized she wasn't sure where she had been before. Had she been laying down? Like a snail, she slid her left foot backward, groping for the couch. Nothing. Cautiously she took a silent step forward and didn't bump into the coffee table. She couldn't tell if she could feel the floor. Maybe she was bumping into stuff and not feeling it. But she knew that wasn't the case. This place was empty.
Empty except for - except for someone. Someone else was there. She could sense them. They were only a few feet away, perhaps inches. They could be almost nose-to-nose. She was afraid.
Beth was afraid, but she raised her right arm, extending it in front of her. The air was so still, it seemed to cling to the hairs on her arm like water drops from a fog. She reached out, her fingers trembling. And a hand took hold of hers. It was sudden, and grasped her fingers tightly. All the muscles she had tensed up in anticipation relaxed and made her feel like she was floating. She didn't need any light to see who the hand belonged to. The soft, but worn skin and firm, reassuring grip was enough.
She didn't say anything. She just let out her breath slowly, through barely parted lips. She knew that it would be him, waiting for her in the dark. Coming to meet her in this empty place. She didn't need anything else when he was there.
He pulled her closer. She laid her head on his chest. She hooked her thumbs in his pockets. The feel of his denim pants and old t-shirt came rushing back to her from months and years ago. She burried her face in his neck and took in his scent.
Beth breathed deep for the third and final time that day and knew how hard it would be to wake up.
Acts of Love
17 years ago
