To Die For

I think I made a mistake by telling Rebecca I used to be suicidal. Not the most alluring of topics to address with someone you’ve only been dating for a little over a month. But she asked me what was on my mind and I promised her I would never lie to her. An argument can be made that omitting things isn’t being untruthful, but it still didn’t sit right with me. In any case, I’m surprised we’re still continuing down this road to a relationship.

Earlier this week she invited me to come over for dinner at her place. I quickly agreed at the moment, of course, I didn’t want to miss this chance. It wasn’t until after the plans were set in stone that the anxiety began to set in. I still feel it now, surrounding me and seeping from the seats of my Uber. I used to tell myself it’s natural to overthink but, no one’s mind should be this plagued with what-ifs and uncertainties. I question every step I make because there are no do-overs in life. We get one try at this shit and to forget that is idiotic. I accept that I have problems, but if those problems force me to think two, three, seven, or twenty times over on the same topic to protect myself? Fuck it.

The Uber begins to snake its way through the streets as we make our way to Rebecca’s apartment. It’s one of those neighborhoods that you would have never wanted to live in when you were growing up because it was way worse back then. But now, thanks to the onslaught of gentrification, the native people, the good, the bad, and the ugly, were forced to shape up or shove off. The police gave a shit about these areas now. I guess it’s not all bad though. Better to grow and change with the times than stay stagnant.

As we pull up outside her apartment, Uber is excited to tell me that we’ve arrived “five minutes earlier than the estimated time”! I climb out of my seat, give the driver my gratitude and close the door. I walk to the door that leads into the building and pause at the intercom. Both to give the driver five stars and because I catch my reflection in the glass door. Staring at myself with my slightly disheveled hair and misbuttoned flannel shirt. I roll my eyes and try my best to fix the mess that I am. After a few moments I’m decently pleased with my appearance and ring the bell.

After a few seconds the buzzer rings out signifying the opening of the door. I jump slightly at the shout of the buzzer then quickly open the door. The door slams behind me and I ascend the stairs with a deliberate pace. Thankfully, this building is too small for an elevator, only four floors high, so I can really take advantage of the walk up. I do all I can to dispel the menagerie of sorrowful and joyous possibilities.

I come to her door on the third floor and with a heavy sigh I knock lightly. A few precious moments pass as I shift in my shoes and light footfalls on the other side of the door approach steadily. The door opens to show a dimly lit interior that frames the shape of Rebecca in the doorway. Her curly, light brown hair framed her face like a cloud surrounding a spot of light peeking through them and rests on her shoulders.

“Hey”, I finally say, “thanks for inviting me over.”

Rebecca nods and smiles, embraces me tightly, and talks directly into my ear, “Of course, welcome”. Her words are like a tender kiss on your cheek.

She steps slightly out of the way and holds the door open for me as I step lightly into her apartment. It’s noticeably cold in her place which is a refreshing change to the humidity outside. The light from the setting sun is obscured by curtains of a deep scarlet color.

“May I sit down?”, I ask, pointing to the loveseat opposite of where I stand in the room.

“Of course you can”, she says with a warm smile.

I take a seat on the chair while Rebecca is grabbing two wine glasses from one of the cupboards above her kitchen sink.

“Would you like a glass of Merlot?”, she says as her hand moves down my arm, gently caressing, before moving away. I’m not the biggest fan of red wine or wine in general but, I’ve heard that Merlot is exactly the type of wine non-red wine drinkers should try and indulge in. I respond with a nod of the head and a smile.

She returns to the kitchen and I expect her to grab one of the bottles that sit on the kitchen counter near the sink, but no. She instead pulls from the refrigerator a tall, dark glass bottle and sets it on the counter. I can’t see the label from here, but I figure it has to be old. The paper of the label is somewhat worn and has a sort of jaundice color to it. I suppose it could just be the style of this particular brand: The rugged and worn look of a bygone era. I don’t know the first thing about wine really so who am I to say.

As she uncorks the bottle and begins to pour the dark crimson into the glasses she says, “Fun fact: New York was the first state where merlot was planted.”

I respond as she hands me my glass, “You’re a real wine connoisseur, huh?”.

She gracefully sits down beside me on the loveseat and chuckles a bit as she responds, “If by 'connoisseur' you mean 'someone who indulges in wine a little more than they probably should' then, yes”. She tilts her glass towards me and I gently tap the rim of my glass against her's.

We both take the first sips in near unison, her a little before me. The cool, bitter taste of the wine washes over my tongue and down my throat. I begin to say something but, my words are halted at my teeth by a deep, heavy cough. I look over to her and she isn't coughing but, her eyes are tightly shut and her lips are pursed. I guess she isn't enjoying it either.

"What kind of wine did you say this was again?", I ask as I rub the base of my neck.

"Merlot", she responds after licking her lips and opening her eyes. She looks at me almost expectantly. I'm not sure what she's waiting for and I rub my eyes a bit and then look back down into the glass of crimson fluid.

“Merlot”, I repeat, “That’s French right? I’m not the biggest wine person. Always felt it had this unnecessarily ‘fancy’ air to it. Does that make sense? I mean, I drink it but, I’m just as satisfied with a regular, cold beer.”

I look to her as I finish my tiny rant just as she’s pulling the glass away from her lips. “Mmhmm”, she utters with a nod, mouth still full of wine until she finally swallows with a slight wince like it was more difficult than it should be.

“Damn, that bad huh? Are you okay?”, I ask after downing another mouthful of this red, chalky liquid. There’s a pulpy texture to the wine that I didn’t notice before and it only adds to the general displeasure this drink is providing currently. “Maybe we should have a different kind of wine”, I suggest.

She places a hand on my shoulder as if to steady herself from falling and shakes her head vigorously in opposition to my proposal, but also like she’s also trying to knock loose some errant thoughts that have forced their way in. “No. Finish your drink. This is the perfect drink for a celebration”, she says. She’s sweating profusely now and the hand on my shoulder is trembling slightly.

“Celebrate?”, I respond, “what are we celebrating?”

She finishes the last of her drink and looks at me with a smile that is strangely unsettling. A sort of distorted smile that you only see when looking into a foggy mirror or a puddle whose surface has been recently disturbed, perverting your self image.

“The only thing worth celebrating”, she says with a strange sudden coldness to her voice. I can’t tell if she’s drunk or there is some other maniacal libation at work here.

That's when I notice my hand is trembling slightly and my eyes are beginning to water, making my vision blurry. "Do you have any other types of wine?", I whisper to ask as my voice is becoming dull.

I stare at her waiting for an answer. She doesn't give me one and instead lays her head back against the wall behind the couch. Sweat is pooling at the collar of her shirt and her body spasms slightly every couple of seconds. I chuckle and say, "I'm sorry I'm such a lightweight. I think I'm going to ease off the wine for now."

She doesn't acknowledge me. I stretch down to place the glass on the floor besides me when my fingers go numb and I drop the glass. It shatters and wine begins to spread across the floor like oil over the sea. The numbness continues up my arm, into my chest, and finally my face. I can't stay upright and begin to fall off the couch.

Rebecca catches me gently, unexpectedly given the state she appeared to be in a few moments ago.She pulls me in close to her, swaddling me like a baby she found lying in the gutter. The left side of my body is atrophied and I feel my right side following close behind. With all my might I tilt my head up at her and find the strength to ask through a hoarse voice, “Rebecca...what’s going on?”

I don't know if my face is reflecting the confusion in my voice, but she props me up a bit more and holds me against her chest. Her hands are limp and I can feel the full weight of her arms on me. She's gone numb too. However, she still manages to speak.

Rebecca says, "For what it’s worth, I want you to know, I think you’re really brave. Braver than me anyway. To share such a tender part of yourself with someone you barely know takes guts.”

I know exactly what “tenderness” she’s referring to. Even if my lips weren’t going numb, the lump in my throat wouldn’t have let me respond anyway.

“You told me you were suicidal. That you’ve had thoughts of taking your own life”, she continues, “and admittedly, I’ve had similar feelings. Life’s been hard and cruel and I couldn’t see a way out save for removing myself from it but, I didn’t have the strength to do it. Then you opened up to me. Showed me I’m not alone and neither are you.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I look up at her through eyes blurry from the water that fills them. Tears that fill them. I am terrified.

She chuckles a bit and says, “It’s funny. Now that I’ve said all this out loud and the moment is almost here for us, it doesn’t scare me as much. If anything, I’m curious. Intensely curious about what happens next. Aren’t you?”

I can’t respond. All but my consciousness has left my body. Rebecca's weakening heartbeat in unison with my own fills my ears. She holds me as tightly as her limbs will allow as a thousand thoughts scream through me like storm clouds over my mind. The beating is a coercive lullaby that takes over whatever remains of me. I begin to drift, body still in her embrace, as we depart to the vast unknown.