Danger Ahead

To love or To lose.

I was smoking my third cigarette of the day when I saw him.

It was that time of day when the sun creeps through the windows to further warm the sluggishness you’ve been feeling since 1 o’clock.

So there I was, leaning against the wall of a waiting room inhaling the fumes of an early death when I looked up into the glowing window. Gently closing my eyes, I had hoped that yellow-toasty feeling would absorb into my whole being and tingle the roots of my hair. And when I opened my eyes, they locked onto the striking side profile of a smiling man—clean shaven, he was silently laughing into the collar of his grey trench coat. What he was so effortlessly amused by, I didn’t know. But I wanted to.

Yet I only saw a split second of the man before he passed the window out of sight. I lurched forward, grunted from the effort and simultaneously squinted to see the echo of his figure in the frame.

A few people looked up from their seats, but most continued a hopeless stare into nothingness; waiting, waiting, waiting.

Oh God, how I wanted to just see him one more time, but my feet remained planted for the fact that I felt there was no point in pursuing whatever it was that I wanted to.

That man was an anomaly—a glitch in the system. Not meant to be seen again.

I blew out a stream of smoke in frustration, feigned resignation and went to lean back against the wall. But I stopped short when a croaky chuckle reached my ears: a wrinkly old man was sitting beside me.

I shot a sarcastic smile down at him, and he returned it with an innocent wink.

Once the sensation of an icy slab hit my spine, I slid down and leaned my head back. I couldn’t stop replaying that perfect smiling man walking past the window. A wave of pure giddiness washed over me and refused to leave in peace.

The old man suddenly spoke. “To love or to lose, that is the question.”

“I’m sorry?” Our heads tilted towards each other.

“To love or to lose,” he stated again, as if I’d understand the exact same thing being said a second time.

“Um…to love? I guess?”

“Mmhm.” He closed his eyes with a nod.

“What about you?” I asked him.

“Oh goodness, to love, to love, to love!”

A laugh slipped through the cigarette balancing between my lips. “You’ve had a great love, then, I assume?”

“I’ve had many. How great they were, no one knows.”

“Okay, then.”

I looked to the window again, waiting to catch the man if he walked by once more.

The old man interrupted such wistful thoughts when he asked, “would you be…concerned if I told you I knew your name?”

I thought for a moment, then reasoned that he looked like the stereotypical kind of elder that mysteriously knew your name. “No,” I answered. “I’ve heard worse.”

Then I countered with, “would you be concerned if I already knew your name?”

Taking his turn to think, he said, “well yes, yes I would.”

“I’m going to guess you’re a Walter.”

“Oh dear. I happen to know a Walter, and he’s a walking insult to every other Walter out there.”

“Is it you? Are you the insulting Walter?” I teased.

“I am not,” he smiled, “but I hope to be a good Lenny.”

“You seem to be so far.”

“Mmhm.”

“I’m Evelyn.” I reached my hand over to shake his.

“I know,” he said softly.

“Oh, that’s right. You already knew my name.”

After he released my hand, I grabbed my cigarette and put it out in the ashtray on the ledge above my head. Lenny observed with interest, and after I went still, his hoarse voice reached my ears again: “I saw you watching that man in the window.”

I acted as though I had no clue what he was talking about for a second, then, “oh! you mean the guy that walked past earlier? Yeah, I thought I knew him from somewhere.”

“You want to know him,” Lenny corrected me.

And in that moment of surprise, I had a choice; I could either fortify my false sense of peace and challenge this stranger’s bold claim, or let my guard down and just accept that Lenny—as unsettling as he was—was totally right.

“To love or to lose, right?” I sighed.

“That is up to you.”

“Yeah,” I scoffed, “right.”

“Do you want to know his name?” Lenny inquired after a minute of silence.

“What? Oh. He seems like he’d be a Benjamin.”

“His name is Christopher.”

“Yeah. That fits.” His face—Christopher’s flawless face—jumped into my mind again.

“When you pushed yourself from the wall after seeing him,” Lenny ventured, “I was going to tell you there was danger ahead, but you stayed put.”

"‘Danger ahead?’" I asked, quite amused by then.

“Oh yes. You see, the decision to go after him will uproot the whole trajectory of your lives. But, of course, you can always just stay where you are.” He winked again.

In any other scenario I would’ve abandoned that old—timer in the waiting room as fast as I could, but Christopher—Christopher—would not leave me alone. I could tell I was quite literally yearning for something and felt Lenny knew that. How? I wanted to figure that out. I needed to pull the mysteries out of him. So I said, “I want to know what you mean by ‘danger ahead.’"

Lenny tilted his head, clearly entertained by my cautious nature.

“Well, if you would’ve caught up to young Christopher, the two of you would be married within the year.”

“You’re messing with me,” I stated darkly.

But he looked over at me quizzically, then. “What would I gain by messing with you, Evelyn? If I did so, I’d lose a friend, and I like to keep my friends.”

I wasn’t expecting that. And I most definitely wasn’t expecting to believe him. But I did. I really did.

“Why him? Why marry him out of every other man I’ve been attracted to? Or loved, even?”

“Has anyone been able to answer why they love who they love?” Lenny asked. “To put it quite simply, Evelyn, to love Christopher means that you chose him.”

“And he chose me?”

The man I so badly wanted to know inside and out chose me?

“Yes, Evelyn. The man you want to love chose you. In fact, if you walk out that door after him, you choose each other every day.”

“And then we get married,” I mutter absentmindedly. “Within the year.”

“Right you are.”

“But why danger ahead? Do we get divorced?”

“You would’ve spent the rest of your lives together, but—”

“what about kids?” My mind was high on anticipation, but I delivered the words in a calm, collected manner—I was understandably skeptical.

Lenny answered my question: “two beautiful girls and a boy that looks just like his father.”

Dumbstruck, I muttered, “just like…Christopher.”

“Is that so hard to believe, Evelyn? That you go after something you want for once in your life? That one bold decision—one brave choice could direct your life towards everything you’ve wanted?”

“How do you know I want it?”

“That question isn’t really for me, is it? How do you know you want it. That’s what you can’t believe in. It’s fascinating, though, isn’t it? That your body knows you want it before your conscience.”

“But why would I go after it if it’s dangerous, like you said?” I challenged him.

“The dangerous path doesn’t always mean it’s the wrong one. Sometimes that’s the exact one you need to take.”

“Does he…hurt me?”

“Not in the way you think.”

“That doesn’t sound very nice,” I concluded.

“You haven’t even heard the nice bits of it yet.”

I kept silent and waited for him to continue.

He cleared his throat. “You enjoy poetry, Evelyn, correct?”

I nodded.

“Well, through the course of your relationship, Christopher seems to intertwine in those inspired words you put to paper. I suppose that he and your poetry morph into one.”

“I won’t object to that. I’ve had writer’s block for a few months now,” I half—joked. And if Lenny heard, it didn’t seem to register since he continued as if I never said anything: “You take up open mic poetry, you admit deep vulnerabilities of your heart into the microphone in basement bars and the like. All of his idiosyncrasies—the things you adore about him and the things you hate but can’t live without—they begin to swirl around in everything you write. Christopher does that for you; he brings you out of your well-guarded shell. And for him, you reel him in, convince him it’s a good thing to stay rooted in meaningful things, like family.”

“I don’t even know what family looks like.”

“You will when you’re with him.”

I sighed and dug through my pocket for another cigarette. As I did so, Lenny leaned close and whispered, “you’ll quit smoking for him.”

At that statement, I just held it in my hand as he went on. “You’ll want to hear about everything he does each day. And when the years go by so that he stops telling you those things, just sitting in silence beside him is all you’ll need to feel like you’re home.”

“That’s impossible to expect one person will make you feel that way.”

“Of course it is, but it’s the life you cultivate together that is home to you.”

Then, as if Lenny spoke them into existence, memories of the home I created with Christopher began rushing into my vision. But they weren’t memories because I knew I had never lived through them before. Yet each one was as real to me as if I had.

I was standing in a dimly lit hallway, and Christmas lights weaved up a stairway beside me. I tilted my head down to the left just a bit, and saw a console table holding up an antique lamp and a bowl full of car keys and unfamiliar nicknacks. There were muffled voices coming from a room ahead. They sounded so happy. Then all of a sudden a black lab came bounding up to me and jumped up, jabbing my stomach with his front paws. When I looked up after pushing off the pressure of pain, I saw the man—Christopher—leaning against the doorframe of the room full of those happy voices.

He was smiling at me. He was content.

I was content.

But then the memory faded, blurred out by water building in my eyes. I didn’t let a single tear fall, but felt Lenny watching closely. “I think you’re weird,” I stated weakly without meeting his eyes.

“I wish I wasn’t.”

I finally lit the cigarette that had been squashed between my fingers and began breathing the familiar sensation in. “Lenny?”

“Yes?”

“Are you his dad?”

“No.”

“Damn. I was hoping that’d explain everything.”

“But Evelyn.”

“Yes?” I winced.

“If you want to meet him, he’s waiting in line to order lunch in the deli right next to us. Then he’ll make his way back to work and walk right past that window again.” He pointed to the special spot I had been constantly turning my gaze towards.

I shook my head and laughed in disbelief. “This is crazy!”

“Yes, but I give you my word that every single thing I’ve said is the truth.”

While still fervently shaking my head, I pushed myself up and squished the cigarette in the ashtray. I took a step forward but Lenny grabbed my arm, rather tightly. “Evelyn.” The word was strained. He looked scared.

“What? Now you’re gonna tell me it’s all a joke?”

“Of course not,” he dropped his gaze to the floor, “but you need to know something.”

And I thought it at the exact same time he muttered it: “danger ahead.”

Lenny’s gaze refused to leave the floor as mine tore into his downcast face. “Fifteen years. That’s all you get.”

“What do you mean?” I demanded.

“Fifteen years. Starting today, you and Christopher are given fifteen years together.”

“So we do get a divorce?” I could feel my impatience actively rising to the surface. But then, ever so measured, Lenny finally looked into my eyes. And I knew what he was going to say before it left his lips.

“Shortly after your last Christmas together, Christopher dies.”

“Dies?” I repeated, stunned.

“You—” But he couldn’t finish the sentence, and instead, made a weird grunting sound and let his head drop. I didn’t need to push him any further to know what came next: I would fall apart.

Twenty-nine years of life had proved that grief was attached to me—in a wicked, twisted sort of way. And I’d always let it have its way. Why would the future be any different?

While I realized that, another memory floated in:

I was crumpled up in a bed, the sheets were twisted all around my body. The bright glow of the moon entered through open patio doors and lit the bedroom with an eery sort of light. The curtains danced with shadows, and my body trembled.

The empty side of the bed I studied was void of any comfort or warmth, and something—someone—was missing. That missing piece was supposed to lie beside me, but instead was throbbing in my chest, unreachable.

A raspy voice entered the room. “To love or to lose.”

I blinked and found myself back in the waiting room. Lenny met my eyes with sympathy.

“That’s not fair,” I whispered.

He shrugged heavily. “I wish it were.”

“So,” I gathered my thoughts slowly, “fifteen years with the supposed love of my life. That’s all I get if I walk out that door. But if I don’t…”

“You can either love great and lose great, or never feel the loss of what you could’ve loved.”

“What happens to our kids?”

“They get to be loved by you, and you them.”

After a long moment of silence, I asked gently, “What did you do?”

Lenny blinked in surprise, and it only occurred to me then how much life he had weathered. He said “what I chose doesn’t matter, Evelyn. I can’t give you the answer, only the choice.”

“Will he still die if we never meet?”

“I can’t answer that.”

Then a female voice called out his name, and he struggled to rise up from the chair. I grabbed his arm and helped him up. Before he walked over to the woman waiting with a practiced, sterile smile, I asked one last question: “How does he die?”

Lenny sighed with a sad smile. He saw that one coming.

More words rushed out of me before he could answer. “Does he suffer?”

It seemed to me that Lenny wasn’t going to respond, but I caught the slightest shake of his head—it was a jerk of a movement, barely detectable, but I knew it was an answer.

“Evelyn,” Lenny said firmly, “the choice is yours.”

I nodded, watched as he wobbled away and greeted the woman waiting for him. Together they disappeared behind the same door I have now been waiting an hour to walk through.

But that might not be the door I’m meant to walk through anymore.