She anticipated seeing him seconds before she actually did. As her eyes beheld her object a swell of relief amplified throughout her body; he was real and he was waiting for her. Her relief was then overtaken by alarm, what she considered so familiar had suddenly entered the unknown. His eyes weren’t searching her out in a crowd, not today. Today, he held his head in his hands and his diminished body revealed defeat. Her heart raced and her mind trembled. She approached him, and as she did so she broke down the boundaries that defined their non-existence. With every step she made everything real, she created, and as his body got closer she gave whatever they had a name. Serendipity. With every step she could feel the tension shift and she imagined herself as him, watching her shadow cast over his arching shoulders, until he was covered in darkness.
“May I sit down?” She stood right in front of him, her eyes searching for his, hoping that he would lift his head and saturate her soul. Their gaze connected but not for long. His eyes glanced around the room. Empty tables, unoccupied couches, lonely chairs. She clearly had ample choice for a seat, why next to him?
Their eyes met a second time and he replied “Yes…please.” He felt her small body settle on the cushion beside his and already he was comforted. She had consciously placed space between them so as not to overwhelm him, but he could already smell her, feel her warmth. They gradually moved to face one another and they stared for sometime, trying to gauge what the other was thinking. Their curious silence was establishing an understanding. Finally, she spoke.
“I’m Hillary.”
“I know.” He looked surprised as he uttered this admission. She smiled in triumph at his confession. “I’m Matt.”
“I know,” she replied just as surprised, he just as triumphant.
It was too much and too fast. They turned away from one another, blushing and unable to comprehend what had just felt like an hour, but in reality had been thirty seconds.
For the past several weeks the two had watched each other. In what they hoped was secrecy, they had studied their movements and expressions. She was convinced he knew nothing of her glances, and he hoped desperately that she was unaware of his stares. She had caught glimpses of him looking her way, but she thought nothing of it and he did not question her sudden shifts in focus. They shared one class together and he was lucky enough to sit behind her. He memorized the back of her head, felt foolish for doing so, and cherished the moments that she would turn and smile to hand him a worksheet. They never spoke, that was the unwritten rule. They expressed their thoughts silently through their eyes.
Tuesday’s and Thursday’s he attended every class. Their Monday, Wednesday and Friday meetings had started purely by chance. He had seen her walking through the study hall one Monday at precisely three o’clock. He returned on the Wednesday, sat himself at a table and followed her footsteps as she crossed the hall, exactly at three. She had seen him both times and was petrified of tripping up or dropping a book. She wondered at the sense of insecurity a stranger could evoke within her. She wondered if his presence was deliberate. So she returned every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, testing him, and without fail, he would be there, sitting at a table engrossed, or so it seemed, in a textbook.
After a couple of weeks the two of them started to play games. He would position himself at a different table or on a couch, and he would sense her fear as her eyes hurried to find him. She occasionally got him back by watching him from behind a corner as three o’clock slowly slipped by. He would check his watch, tap his pencil against the table and flip through the pages in his books. She wouldn’t tease him for long, it was unbearable for her too, and she would pass through the hall and watch a sigh of relief collapse from his lips. She was certain his presence was deliberate. He was her familiar stranger.
After spending the past three months thinking about what they would say to each other when the time came, the two were unable to utter a word. On this particular Monday they had broken into the unknown and found themselves lost. They realized that they knew so much and also so little about each other. They realized that what they knew were emotions and reactions, sentiments and tones, but they knew nothing of beginnings, desires, passions and plans. She turned to him a second time and spoke softly into his ear. Her voice was just like he had imagined it; melodic, tender and delicate.
“Everything will be okay,” she reassured him with so much confidence that even he could not doubt her. She did not know what had broken her beautiful stranger, that information would come with time, but she was sure she could fix him. Hillary jumped up and stood before him, holding her hand out. He raised his head to look into her face and he was met with sincerity. He placed his hand in hers and she helped him up. As he straightened his back their fingers interlocked and his skin was just like she had imagined it; rough, ridged and a perfect fit. Matt was already smiling and they walked hand in hand through the study hall. As they walked they noticed how they were the exact same height, how their eyes were made of the same green, and upon admitting to these things and looking at the ground in embarrassment they realized they wore the same pair of sneakers.
He did not question until he reached her car: “Where are we going?”
“We’re going to grab some food and we will share our secrets. You like Chinese right?”
They were already a unit. Unconsciously, they had both used the pronoun we. He had not asked “Where are you taking me?” and she had not replied “I’m taking you for dinner.” Their minds wanted them to be connected. They had thought of it, individually, for so long and now that they were together their minds ran wild with possibilities. We, we, we. Oui, Oui, Oui.
He settled himself in the passenger seat and wondered what it would all mean in the end. He silently spoke her name, feeling his tongue brush against his palate with each double “ll”. Hillary, Hillary, Hillary. He watched her as she drove; her concentration was unbreakable and her beauty undeniable.
She settled herself behind the wheel and gripped on tightly to the leather. What was she doing? She had never been so bold in her life. She wondered what would be left of them by tomorrow. She knew his eyes were fixed on her; he was not hiding behind a book this time. She desperately wanted to look over at him but she knew she would never want to look back, so she focused on the car’s lights ahead of her. After fifteen minutes of driving she pulled into a deserted strip mall and she turned off the engine. The restaurant looked closed but the sign in the corner of the window told them otherwise. They got out of the car and met at the sidewalk, their fingers once again interlocked. She pushed through the door and a small bell rang above their heads, signalling their arrival. The two of them were ushered to a corner booth and menus were propped before their faces. They selected dishes that they agreed upon, folded their menus, and took cautious sips of their steaming tea so as not to burn their tongues.
“I’ll begin,” she said.”Who knows how much time we have together.”
“My parents were married in 1987 and my mother wore a lovely short dress. There’s a beautiful picture of them stepping into a tiny car and the confetti falls around them, matching the colour of her outfit. Pristine white. My father wore huge glasses, the plastic frames were faux-wood. His eyes are closed in the picture but in a very serene sense, as if the camera caught him dreaming rather then blinking. I was born two years later and I cried whenever I left my mother’s arms.
My family is defined by unyielding and stubborn women, all of whom have outlived their husbands, and so I was named after one of them. I am fearful that I do not live up to their expectations. I try ever so hard to be strong and sturdy, but my heart is always breaking. I fail them. I am also fearful of dying alone. I fear that my body shares their resilience and I will continue to exist long after my other has departed. I refuse to be left behind. I can’t be left behind. I’m already sick of people walking out of my life. I will not be left behind.”
The food arrived at the perfect time, interrupting her outburst. She had gotten a little carried away. They placed spoonfuls of the food into the bowls in front of them and Matt asked her to continue. So she forged ahead, between each mouthful, and she told more of her life. She was thoughtful and she meditated over her past before speaking, so as not to forget any details. “The first house we ever lived in was on a potholed old street. It was the street I learned to ride my first bicycle on and I made a game of avoiding the fractures. My bedroom faced out onto the street and a lamp post stood right outside my window, flooding my room with orange light. Our front garden had a line of red roses and our back garden was full of rhododendrons. Our steep concrete driveway had grass and weeds growing through the cracks and the split pavement that led to our front door knocked together with each step. I learned to spell the word throughout in primary school and I used it in a book report for English class…”
And so this is how they sat, Matt and Hillary, for five hours, until all the food had been cleared from the table and their tea replenished innumerable times. The restaurant hadn’t gotten busy during the time and she had been able to talk in peace. She leaned back against the cushion of the booth and gave out a great sigh of relief. Deflated. She looked across at him and he grinned at her. So that is how she was brought to him. Everything had fallen into place, perfectly, so that they might be seated across from each other, here at this very moment. He wondered if anything had gone differently might she be sitting next to someone else, instead of him.
They shuffled out of the booth, interlocked fingers, paid, separated at the sidewalk and got into the car again.
“I suppose I should take you home,” she uttered. She realized she had been defeated. It was the end. Her heart was breaking again, broken by his indubitable departure.
“Wait! I don’t think we’re finished. I still have my story to tell.”
And so, without any hesitation, she reversed out of the parking space, and drove another fifteen minutes to her home, where they made more tea and sat on the couch. It was his turn to speak and his story unravelled.
“In 1986 I was unwanted. I had been unplanned, my parents unmarried, and my future unknown…” He spoke for five hours too and during that time they repositioned themselves to better comfort each other. She held a pillow during the scary parts, cried during the sad parts, and laughed at the embarrassing parts. He reached the moment that had left him ruined on a Monday at three o’clock, and although she was crushed by his pain, she rejoiced at their fortune. Her eyes beheld her object and the events of his life had brought him to her. After a short while, Matt fell into a peaceful sleep and Hillary covered him with a blanket. She placed a kiss, their first kiss, softly upon his lips, and she went to her own bed and fell asleep, her head buzzing with happiness.
He awoke the next morning and brought his fingers to his lips, he felt her presence. He pulled the blanket away from him and walked into the next room. He found her sleeping between the sheets with the sunlight scattered across her bed. He leaned over her and returned her kiss, and she smiled before opening her eyes. That Tuesday morning they entered the classroom together, sat beside each other and held hands under the desk. Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday she approached his table in the study hall and he always searched her out in the crowd, without fail.
They had no secrets between them, but they made their own with each day. He never left her and she would not die alone.
