Countdown

A relationship slowly deteriorates

10…9…8…7...6…5. I watched their faces grow tight with anticipation and their fingers cling to the starched tuxedo of their partners, causing the fabric to wrinkle. Nobody cared about looking smart, as they had walked in earlier with shimmering skin and polished to perfection shoes; after a long and annoying argument with Seth. He slammed the door and went cursing down the hallway. 

I was certain he was just blowing off some steam and would be back maybe in half an hour, the usual time. I started to grow worried when an hour past and the knob wouldn't turn. I decided to go to the party anyway, for those tickets cost my mom a bundle.

“4…3” hearts were racing now and lips were being licked with the hope of a kiss that would judge the continuation of love. Some of these kisses would be first, second and familiar kisses. Others have grown old with the hope of re-kindling the fire. “Bang!” the whole building went dark, anxious gasps filled the room and rested comfortably in the air. I heard whimpering, sobs and whispers gradually grew louder until the room sounded like a beehive.

 I smiled a little to myself, grateful that I would not have to endure the awkwardness and suffocate under lip locking and eye closing sessions. I would be able to leave freely and not be bombarded by elbows sticking out, threatening to puncture my face if I dared move.

That did not happen. I was hoping it did, but they kept counting “2…1” some barely finished and were already squeezing the breath out of their partners. The sparkles on my dress fell off at every contact of giddy couples. Some lifted up for air and cheered, mainly women, while men grinned sheepishly.

 Others stood quietly at the wall, afraid to look at each other and relive the mind blowing experience. I knew those were first kisses. A few stood a slight distance away from each other, constantly wiping the awful experience, while staring at those able to maintain eye contact and go in for another round. These were old kisses, with old lives who would never love each other again, which made me wonder about Seth.

I met him the first morning of college. It was five years ago and while trying to look sexy on the first day, I wore the tightest jeans possible. I bent to pick up my pen and the slight rip I heard played in my ear for the rest of the semester. It was because every human sitting on the lawn saw as my butt in the black thong was exposed to world. It wasn't the rip that I noticed, but the cool air that went by. I was probably frozen for a minute, with my face feeling as though it couldn't move. I just stood there halfway to the ground while others passed.

 The polite ones muffled their grins, while others raucously threw their heads back and rolled around. It wasn't even that funny. It was the warm hand that I felt around my waist that brought me back to reality. The fingers brushed against my skin peeking over the jeans, and carefully tied a fabric around my waist with sympathy and genuine care, not just politeness.

I finally stood up and cleared my throat, ignoring the cause of my first day pen on the ground. Purposely stepping on my demise and speed walked to my dorm. I didn't even look back at my helper or even said thanks. I just kept hearing the rip and the suffocating laughter that made me froze. That night I sat on the cool bench under the dull buzzing light and relived the experience to my sister, who barely uttered a word, as she was giggling helplessly. It was contagious and we were both laughing.

“See ya better now” the voice was deep and very southern. The eyes were green and very glossy, almost like green grape juice. He was tall and his body screamed “gym freak’. His arms bulged under the hoodie and the jeans seemed built for him. The odd thing was that he seemed familiar and with my never absent attitude. I asked “who are you?”

 He laughed “where’s ma sweater” I flushed with embarrassment. I smiled and apologized, but he didn't reply. He only looked thoughtfully at me, as I hurried my apologies and excused myself, urging him to wait while I fetched the sweater that saved my life. He stood under the light, staring at the bench and laughing. I left my phone on the bench. I didn't even turn, so embarrassed I walked quickly to my room. 

The sweater was hung over the chair, soiled with mustard and ketchup. I wasn't even sure if it belonged there.  Pressed for time. I grabbed the grey oversized piece of clothing. I was tempted to use my spit to disguise the stains I caused on the kind stranger’s clothes, but resisted. He was standing the same way I left him. I bundled the sweater and handed it to him. He opened it up and giggled. He noticed the stains.

“Want me to wash that” I offered, he half turned and handed it back to me

“Sure”

“Come back for it tomorrow?” it sounded like a question, and I smiled and shook my head in approval.

“Room 28”. I shouted as he walked away. He didn't look back only shook his head and I could just see the amusement on his face.

He was early the next day, but I was earlier. I lead him to the laundry room, we walked in silence. He smelt of sweat and perfume, as though he had been in the gym. His steps were heavy as he walked behind me. In my mind I played a little game, pretending he was about to step on me.

“What’s the rush?”

“Oh nothing” I said, suddenly wondering what setting the dryer was on. As I guessed, it was too hot. I slowly stopped it and pulled out the sweater. It was small enough for a twelve year old. I sighed hard and he laughed, so loud that I jumped.  I fixed the sweater, with the help of YouTube. He came back the next day and I proudly handed it to him.

“ Ma name’s Seth” he handed me his outstretched hand. They were soft and gripped mine with a comfortable tightness.

“Amy” I said, which actually sounded like a whisper. I discovered that I liked Seth, which wasn't outlined in my college plans.

“Pretty name” he said and walked away. Seth became my friend. He would come to my dorm room every morning at five for our morning run, which resulted in me out of breath and dragging myself. Seth would laugh and pull me or carry me on his back.

 He was smart, and would stay up with me in the cold library, helping me to study for my finals. He helped me to make friends, and I learnt to socialize without stuttering. He was the first person who got me drunk and carried me to my room the next morning, screeching Michael Jackson I'm bad in his ear. He put me down and I muttered to him if he could read me a story.

Seth changed me, and I did the same to him. He said I made him laugh. I didn't like Seth any more. I loved him, more like my brother, a little bit as a lover. The end of 2010, he was my first real kiss. It was my birthday and we went to the New Years Eve party together; before they hit one, he held on to me and kissed me. I could hear his heavy breathing and felt his soft hands on my back. We stood a little away from each other, and then we laughed.

We became a couple after that. We moved in together after college and lived in bliss. Seth began to hate his job, but I never really understood the intensity of the hate. It was the New Years Eve party of 2012 that he screamed all this hate to me, and I understood finally, but he didn't allow me to console him. We were already fighting and losing the touch we had in college. 

That night I kept hearing the door slam as I headed to the party alone. I staggered early the next morning, knowing I wouldn't have anyone to open the champagne with and fall asleep on his chest. I opened the door and the dark felt so scary and empty. I switched on the light. All his stuff was gone. The closet was half empty and the drawers were tossed about. I knew it felt final when he slammed the door, but I didn't want to believe it.

 I sat on the bed unable to cry or feel anything. I could only look at my destroyed self in the mirror with sprinkles all about me like a child experimenting. I didn't plan to make the year end and begin this way. I went to a party and felt like a chaperone to teenagers kissing and enjoying each other. 

The tear finally came, sliding down each eye at different times in black streaks caused by the mascara. I looked foolish in the happy New Year crown and threw it to the corner of the room. It fell on the sweater that Seth used to save me five years ago, which made me cry even harder.

I took it up and pressed it to my face, inhaling his familiar scent. A paper fell out, and on it was written.

Use this to cover yourself when you rip your pants. At that point I knew that Seth was gone forever.