Empty Space

When she entered the store, I knew it was her without looking up. The air shifted, an energetic shove that forced my knees to lock and my lungs to pause as I battled to stay standing. Inside my nostrils, a cool sensation brushed along the skin, a restorative breeze after a period of longing for fresh oxygen. 

I desperately wanted to look, to know if it was her or just my deep longing for her to walk through that door again. The customer at the register was chattering to me about something, and I quickly made eye contact with them to ensure I hadn’t missed a question amid my mini panic attack. With a forced smile, I handed them the receipt, and they pushed their basket toward the door as I took a deep breath and composed myself. 

I stared at a sign on the end of the aisle in the distance, “Spiced Pumpkin Pancake Mix and Cinnamon Apple Chutney,” as I counted backward from twenty to calm my uncomfortably tight muscles. 

Flipping my checkout sign to CLOSED, I walked quickly toward the back of the store, hoping I could hide in the bathroom for a moment and settle myself. I still hadn’t seen her, but her routine had been consistent for weeks, and I sensed she was weaving her way through the aisles in the exact pattern she always did. A package of gluten-free muffins, a bag of kale, oatmeal, kombucha, Greek yogurt… 

My heart was racing, beating against my ribs with such fury I wondered if other shoppers could hear it. “Breathe in for four, hold for four, breathe out for eight. Walk with purpose, you are almost there,” I recited over and over to myself.

“Excuse me,” an elderly woman touched my elbow as I passed her. I stopped and turned with a smile as she inquired about kosher wine. As I pointed toward a coworker who would be a better fit for the question, a subtle sensation grazed the tiny hairs on my cheek, and I saw HER step into my peripheral vision. I instantly wanted to vomit. 

Against my will, my head turned toward her, and our eyes locked. I was frozen, her deep brown eyes calling to me from where she stood with a jar of pasta sauce in her hand. I tried to smile, my body pulling at me to approach her as I battled from within. She took a step toward me, and seconds later, I was latching the bathroom door behind me, unclear on how I had landed there. It had not been subtle or suave, but my body’s instinct to flee had won the war against my desire. 

Staring at myself in the mirror, I wondered what the big deal was. There was nothing wrong with flirting with this woman, I was a single man in my 30s with no attachments or commitments. Yet every time we looked at each other, I felt myself growing more and more attached to the idea of her. I imagined lazy mornings in soft white sheets, laughing and making love before I brought her steaming cups of coffee and mix-made pancakes in bed. It scared and thrilled me all at once, neither being logical, as this entire situation only existed in my mind. 

We had barely spoken, and I couldn’t bring myself to say more than basic work words like, “Have you had those pretzels before? They are great,” when she was near me, yet for months I’d been sinking deeper and deeper into this alluring quicksand. I dreamt of her often, visions that would make me blush if I ever repeated them out loud. They were mine, these moments with her inside my head belonged only to me. 

The problem was that I had become so obsessed with who she was in my mind that I had become terrified of reality. The veil between the dreams and what was possible was thin and overly confusing to my simple brain. 

I knew she was older, but I had no idea how much. The lines in the corners of her eyes from years of laughing were stunning, the few stray grey hairs among her dark mane an enticing and confident display of her extra years of life experience. I’d spent my entire adult life drawn to women greater in age than myself, but this one had quickly gone from a single flirtatious moment to a long-running near obsession. 

The entire situation had evolved to the point where I couldn’t imagine recovering from her rejection, and I had made the conscious decision to control my runaway feelings for her. This couldn’t happen, there is no way she would ever accept me as I am, and worse yet…what if she did? 

My phone buzzed in my back pocket, a kind nudge from my manager to return to my post. 

“You can do this,” I thought as I smiled at myself in the mirror. With one more deep breath and shoulder roll, I unlocked the door to find her standing directly outside. 

We stared at each other, our bodies not more than two feet away. I could have a hand on her cheek and my mouth on hers in a fraction of a second, our lips tangled in a magical first kiss. I licked the corner of my mouth at the idea of it, as much a nervous tick as my body unconsciously signaling to her that I wanted her. 

There was something between us that simply didn’t make sense to me. I had imagined being with her in a million different ways, but couldn’t let myself give in to it. I had convinced myself all I needed was to flirt with her for eternity, but part of me knew that if she were to make a first move, I would not be able to resist. 

What was I afraid of? I wish I knew. 

She smiled, the red plastic basket hanging from her delicate hands while she inspected me. Her hair was partially piled on top of her head, unintentional tendrils spilling out and caressing her clavicle and neck the way I longed to. 

I could smell her perfume and imagined how it would feel to close my eyes and bury my face in her neck as she whispered my name. I wasn’t sure if she even knew it, to be honest. 

“Jack!” 

A shout pulled me from my daydream, and I glanced up to see my coworker pointing at the register and making faces at me in joking annoyance. 

“Excuse me,” I said to her, our eyes meeting briefly before I shot them to the floor and walked past her. 

Her scent reached for me as I passed her, and my nose inhaled deeply, storing the scent for tonight when I was alone and beating myself up for being so ridiculous and awkward. 

I scanned and bagged, watching the line grow shorter as she waited patiently. With each step closer, I was sinking deeper into the tangle of fantasies swirling through my mind. As she set the bin of items on the counter, I intentionally took each and passed it across the register. My eyes stayed focused on my hands. Her eyes beckoned to me, and I resisted. 

“How’s your day?” she asked the way any customer would, helping to bag the groceries in the colorful totes she brought with her every week.  

“Good, how’s yours?” I replied professionally.

“It was going really well,” she said, a hint of disappointment in her voice. 

I could feel her gaze burning into me, imagining her long lashes blinking away the confusion. I didn’t know why I was forcing myself to resist her; I just was. I already regretted this interaction, but was locked in like a bratty teenager. 

My mind spun as she removed her debit card from the machine and placed it inside her tiny wallet. I felt a tear battle to emerge from the corner of my eye, yet I pushed it back to its dark box with all my other emotions. 

“Well, I hope the rest of your week goes well,” she barely whispered, picking up her bags. 

I stared at the counter, focusing on simply breathing. I couldn’t respond for fear I’d lose my ability to restrain myself. We both stood motionless for what felt like an hour, me staring at the woodgrain surrounding the blinking red lights, and her staring at me. 

“Thanks,” I said directly to the counter before turning to the next customer, giving them a friendly smile, and grabbing their first item from the counter. 

As she faded from sight and made her way out of the store, the rigidity of my locked knees turned to jelly. The strength I had forced upon myself was exhausted and crying out for her. 

The warmth of her presence had disappeared, and now I would wait another week. Repeating a cycle that was ridiculous and without logic, I felt the pit of despair open within me as I completed my shift and went home alone. 

Sitting on my couch, I stared at the expensive bottle of wine I bought months ago, the one I planned to share with her while discussing literature and savoring the seconds before our first kiss. You never get those moments back, and I planned to soak in every one of them as we began our life together. 

The following week, after a ridiculous amount of journaling and hyping myself up, my body eagerly anticipated the climate of her presence. I was ready, today would be the day I would overcome my childish fears and shove myself out of my cocoon of doubt.

I waited.

The sun set.

She never came.