Page 2 of Intermission
His hands, entwined with mine. His fingers, callused from guitar strings and hard work.
The sound of his laugh, genuine and warm.
Each memory is torture . . .
And bliss.
Memories of him. Of us.
Of hikes. A creek. A waterfall.
A stage. A duet.
A frozen pond. That first kiss.
Our song.
My ribs squeeze around each golden moment of a friendship that expanded, overflowed, stretched, and then leaped... into a love cut short.
No, not cut. Paused.
Please, let it be a pause.
In its first act, our romance delivered everything a theatre-lover could hope for: star-crossed lovers, a killer songbook, touches of comedy, a cruel villain, and—of course—an emotional cliffhanger leading into the intermission.
A very long intermission.
But tonight,finally, the curtain will rise. And if Noah—
Hot moisture stings my eyes. “Breathe,” I remind myself.
The radio plays a different song now, a current Top Forty tune in four/four time. The tempo is swift. The sixteenth-note dashes could pass for eighth notes if I watch my speed.
Tick-tick. Tick-tick. Tick-tick. Tick-tick.
Tick-tick. Tick-tick. Tick-tick. Tick-tick.
Maybe those dashes aren’t so bad. Each series of ticks is one less measure I’ll spend waiting backstage.
Eight, nine. Eight-seventeen.
Two years ago, on the night we said goodbye, today’s date—August ninth—and that time—8:17 p.m.—became the earworm refrain that has held me together since.
Eight, nine. Eight-seventeen.
In just a few more hours, the curtain will rise to reveal the players for Act II.
But it’s been two years.
Two. Long. Years.
When Noah left, my world imploded. I was gutted—in so many ways—but I survived. I’d like to think I’m stronger now, but if the appointed time arrives and he doesn’t...
I’m not ready for that script.
I’m not ready to admit Noah could have discarded his promise during the intermission.
I have to hold on. Just a little while longer.
