Anticipation (short story)
By Luke Labern
That swelling of emotion. That swirling, thick current of variety that surrounds a person right before the big moment. Paradoxes disperse throughout the air and glitter as they hang there: for a species so proud of its reason, it flies out of the window with such force and vivacity it can be hard to remember one’s own name.
Each second sees a new oscillation, a new dominant emotion. Right now it’s nervous excitement, an anxiety running up and down within, traced on the outside by goose bumps and a shiver trailing all along. Now a smile comes to the fore, and the heart beat slows just a touch, as the majesty, the great truth which we know so much – and so little about – happens. There’s a move from consciousness to action, from mind to body: the thought that this could all go swimmingly triggers a release of dopamine, flooding the brain. A surge of… what to call it? Happiness? Comfort? Hope? Whatever it is, it washes over like a psychological blanket, and now that anxiety seems so far away. But a second later, here it is again. What if it all goes horribly? What if even a little bit of it goes horribly? This is life after all, and nothing goes all one’s way.
But here it goes again – how much hard work has been put in! Of course this will work. It has to. Everything is going to be right with the world, just for this moment. The future isn’t set, the past has already happened, but here we are: the present. But the present, though it is all we have, seems to pale in comparison to the near future. What is this great intoxicant, this overpowering, unstoppable intensity, at its height truly uncomfortable?
Pure anticipation.
'Why won’t time speed up?’ (Two seconds later.) ‘Why won’t time slow down?’
‘I can’t handle this,’ she thought, feeling as if her heart was about to burst. She held her hands in front of her. Completely unlike her, they were nervously shaking. She almost dropped her hairbrush as she moved it through her hair. She had done her hair and make-up hours ago. She had been up for over six hours; she could barely sleep. She was quite literally going through the motions.
Two miles away, he was so nervous that he actually checked his pulse to make sure he wasn’t undergoing a serious medical emergency. ‘No, no, that’s okay. Two beats per second… 120 BPM? That’s pretty fast…’ but he knew he was merely distracting himself. Basic biological facts, his ability to transpose numerical values on top of the way he was feeling, was just his way of trying to pretend he had control of a situation he really had no control over. In fact, he quite literally had no control of himself. He could try to cancel it, but what would that be? Merely a postponement. No, he had waited long enough. He had even procrastinated in the past. The time was now: why waste all that adrenaline and stress he’d endured the past week since the date was set? There was no way back. There was no more preparation to be had, there was nothing he could add and nothing he could do. All it was now was a matter of waiting, trying to keep himself from fainting, or letting himself drift into pessimism.
In just under an hour he would meet her. He had met her many, many times before. They spoke nearly every day, and she was hardly new to him or vice verse. But today was different. They weren’t meeting as friends. They were meeting with a different purpose. Their relationship was complicated, which was exactly why it was so addictive and indispensible to them. It was fraught with facts that were completely immutable, and in other regards there were so many fluctuations and questions that both wanted answers to but could never ask. (It is worth mentioning that no one else had any idea how to describe them, either. For once, labels fell out of fashion.)
They knew that they valued each other, and they knew that where they were, they were stable. These were the facts. They were simultaneously the best of friends and mutual confidants. They could and would tell the other absolutely everything, and it was once an unspoken, but now a spoken truth that they would outwardly tell the other how special the other was. Not just as a friend, or an asset, but as a person, as an inspiration.
They had been friends for years, and throughout that whole time the truths had been the truths and had never changed. But it was never quite clear what exactly they ‘were’. ‘Friends’ seemed an entirely too flat label and didn’t come close to capturing what they ‘had’. No one had ever given them a name that they liked, nor could they discover one that was even half-way suitable. But things had been brewing, or distilling; building, or climaxing, for all this time. They had had inklings, visions, half-formed dreams and conversations full of ‘what-if’s, mostly said in jest. But much truth lied behind it – why else would they say it, when most of the time it wasn’t even funny? It was merely a veiled way of testing the waters. But the waters were only ever tested. They had never the courage, the need, or the want to dive right into those waters and see if they would sink, or swim. Until now.
The great risk, the stake in all this, was the unknown. What would happen if they took things to another level and it ‘didn’t work out’, or it somehow soured? How could they stand to lose what was their most important non-familial relation? Neither was a gambler, and that was one of the major factors in why they had never met as anything other than friends, to put the world to rites. But somehow, for some reason, they were meeting up with a different purpose. And they were both on their way, only moments away from meeting at a neutral destination set in a natural scene, far away from any intrusion or the general public. There would be no interruptions and there would be no turning back.
Almost automatically, they were making their individual ways to the spot where everything would chance, walking nervously and wrestling with the swelling of emotion within them. It was all coming to a head, and it was visible all over their faces. The few people that they passed on their way could at once tell that something was happening, though it looked most of all like something was wrong. Furrowed brows, intense concentration, staring at the ground.
He did everything he could to avoid thinking about the subject at hand, but eventually stumbled across a thought that struck him and stayed with him for a long time. ‘Only two people are meeting, and only two people have any influence. But I don’t have any control over the situation at all. I’m not making any decisions at all. I don’t feel free at all. I’m doing this as if it had been planned from the start. Maybe it was…’ For him to be correct, she would have to be feeling equally compelled and equally powerless: she did. She was moving with an almost ridiculous amount of speed, brushing the hair out of her face before it was even in the way. His would slightly clench and unclench his fists to establish some sort of control over his body, and avoid eye contact. He didn’t want anyone to somehow peer through his eyes into his thoughts.
At home, they had both asked for time to speed up, for this to all be over with. The anticipation was the worst. But now, as they were seconds away, how they wished for time to slow down. Neither was ready. But neither would ever be ready in the sense they hoped – none of us will be. No one is ever completely ready for the major overhauls in their life. No one is ever ready for birth, or death, for overwhelming news. Inertia is far too strong, and we work far too hard to become stable to welcome change at all times.
He turned the final corner, slowing his steps just before, taking a deep breath. He exhaled loudly and braced himself – whatever that means. He turned, and saw her on the bench. He spotted her sitting on a bench, her back to him. She was nervously fidgeting, but he could already tell she was as beautiful as ever. He made his way towards her, half studying her and half ‘bracing himself’ (he still didn’t know what this meant).
She was too nervous to look behind her, so instead forced herself to be anticipated by a mundane task. She was looking at her painted fingernails and studying them millimetre by millimetre, trying to find some flaw she could remonstrate herself for. But they were flawless. She had never felt so lost at having done something so well before. As she rambled on in her internal monologue in this way, she heard a familiar voice a few steps behind her. She stumbled on whatever it was she tried to say, completely overlooking the fact that his voice had fairly cracked with nervousness as he said something like ‘Hello’. She didn’t even hear what he said.
He took a seat next to her, judging where the correct place would be to sit: too close would be a disaster, and too far would give off the wrong impression. Whilst he deliberated over this decision (which felt like the most important decision of his entire life), feeling like each second was several torturous minutes; she was now ‘bracing herself’ (she didn’t know what that meant either).
They were both looking in opposite directions, adjusting themselves in the position that would give rise to a most important moment in their lives. Years had led to this moment, and they both knew it. This was the climax of it all: all of the thoughts, all of the emotional turmoil and all of that time had all been a prelude to this moment. Their emotions were so varied that labels failed to describe them, just as labels failed to describe the two of them. All was raised to a fever pitch, the anticipation had reached its height. They finally resolved to embrace the moment, and slowly turned in a slow and meaningful arc from the safety and freedom of ‘the opposite direction’ towards the moment this had all been building to – towards each other.
And then their eyes met.
Each second sees a new oscillation, a new dominant emotion. Right now it’s nervous excitement, an anxiety running up and down within, traced on the outside by goose bumps and a shiver trailing all along. Now a smile comes to the fore, and the heart beat slows just a touch, as the majesty, the great truth which we know so much – and so little about – happens. There’s a move from consciousness to action, from mind to body: the thought that this could all go swimmingly triggers a release of dopamine, flooding the brain. A surge of… what to call it? Happiness? Comfort? Hope? Whatever it is, it washes over like a psychological blanket, and now that anxiety seems so far away. But a second later, here it is again. What if it all goes horribly? What if even a little bit of it goes horribly? This is life after all, and nothing goes all one’s way.
But here it goes again – how much hard work has been put in! Of course this will work. It has to. Everything is going to be right with the world, just for this moment. The future isn’t set, the past has already happened, but here we are: the present. But the present, though it is all we have, seems to pale in comparison to the near future. What is this great intoxicant, this overpowering, unstoppable intensity, at its height truly uncomfortable?
Pure anticipation.
*
'Why won’t time speed up?’ (Two seconds later.) ‘Why won’t time slow down?’
‘I can’t handle this,’ she thought, feeling as if her heart was about to burst. She held her hands in front of her. Completely unlike her, they were nervously shaking. She almost dropped her hairbrush as she moved it through her hair. She had done her hair and make-up hours ago. She had been up for over six hours; she could barely sleep. She was quite literally going through the motions.
Two miles away, he was so nervous that he actually checked his pulse to make sure he wasn’t undergoing a serious medical emergency. ‘No, no, that’s okay. Two beats per second… 120 BPM? That’s pretty fast…’ but he knew he was merely distracting himself. Basic biological facts, his ability to transpose numerical values on top of the way he was feeling, was just his way of trying to pretend he had control of a situation he really had no control over. In fact, he quite literally had no control of himself. He could try to cancel it, but what would that be? Merely a postponement. No, he had waited long enough. He had even procrastinated in the past. The time was now: why waste all that adrenaline and stress he’d endured the past week since the date was set? There was no way back. There was no more preparation to be had, there was nothing he could add and nothing he could do. All it was now was a matter of waiting, trying to keep himself from fainting, or letting himself drift into pessimism.
In just under an hour he would meet her. He had met her many, many times before. They spoke nearly every day, and she was hardly new to him or vice verse. But today was different. They weren’t meeting as friends. They were meeting with a different purpose. Their relationship was complicated, which was exactly why it was so addictive and indispensible to them. It was fraught with facts that were completely immutable, and in other regards there were so many fluctuations and questions that both wanted answers to but could never ask. (It is worth mentioning that no one else had any idea how to describe them, either. For once, labels fell out of fashion.)
They knew that they valued each other, and they knew that where they were, they were stable. These were the facts. They were simultaneously the best of friends and mutual confidants. They could and would tell the other absolutely everything, and it was once an unspoken, but now a spoken truth that they would outwardly tell the other how special the other was. Not just as a friend, or an asset, but as a person, as an inspiration.
They had been friends for years, and throughout that whole time the truths had been the truths and had never changed. But it was never quite clear what exactly they ‘were’. ‘Friends’ seemed an entirely too flat label and didn’t come close to capturing what they ‘had’. No one had ever given them a name that they liked, nor could they discover one that was even half-way suitable. But things had been brewing, or distilling; building, or climaxing, for all this time. They had had inklings, visions, half-formed dreams and conversations full of ‘what-if’s, mostly said in jest. But much truth lied behind it – why else would they say it, when most of the time it wasn’t even funny? It was merely a veiled way of testing the waters. But the waters were only ever tested. They had never the courage, the need, or the want to dive right into those waters and see if they would sink, or swim. Until now.
The great risk, the stake in all this, was the unknown. What would happen if they took things to another level and it ‘didn’t work out’, or it somehow soured? How could they stand to lose what was their most important non-familial relation? Neither was a gambler, and that was one of the major factors in why they had never met as anything other than friends, to put the world to rites. But somehow, for some reason, they were meeting up with a different purpose. And they were both on their way, only moments away from meeting at a neutral destination set in a natural scene, far away from any intrusion or the general public. There would be no interruptions and there would be no turning back.
*
Almost automatically, they were making their individual ways to the spot where everything would chance, walking nervously and wrestling with the swelling of emotion within them. It was all coming to a head, and it was visible all over their faces. The few people that they passed on their way could at once tell that something was happening, though it looked most of all like something was wrong. Furrowed brows, intense concentration, staring at the ground.
He did everything he could to avoid thinking about the subject at hand, but eventually stumbled across a thought that struck him and stayed with him for a long time. ‘Only two people are meeting, and only two people have any influence. But I don’t have any control over the situation at all. I’m not making any decisions at all. I don’t feel free at all. I’m doing this as if it had been planned from the start. Maybe it was…’ For him to be correct, she would have to be feeling equally compelled and equally powerless: she did. She was moving with an almost ridiculous amount of speed, brushing the hair out of her face before it was even in the way. His would slightly clench and unclench his fists to establish some sort of control over his body, and avoid eye contact. He didn’t want anyone to somehow peer through his eyes into his thoughts.
At home, they had both asked for time to speed up, for this to all be over with. The anticipation was the worst. But now, as they were seconds away, how they wished for time to slow down. Neither was ready. But neither would ever be ready in the sense they hoped – none of us will be. No one is ever completely ready for the major overhauls in their life. No one is ever ready for birth, or death, for overwhelming news. Inertia is far too strong, and we work far too hard to become stable to welcome change at all times.
He turned the final corner, slowing his steps just before, taking a deep breath. He exhaled loudly and braced himself – whatever that means. He turned, and saw her on the bench. He spotted her sitting on a bench, her back to him. She was nervously fidgeting, but he could already tell she was as beautiful as ever. He made his way towards her, half studying her and half ‘bracing himself’ (he still didn’t know what this meant).
She was too nervous to look behind her, so instead forced herself to be anticipated by a mundane task. She was looking at her painted fingernails and studying them millimetre by millimetre, trying to find some flaw she could remonstrate herself for. But they were flawless. She had never felt so lost at having done something so well before. As she rambled on in her internal monologue in this way, she heard a familiar voice a few steps behind her. She stumbled on whatever it was she tried to say, completely overlooking the fact that his voice had fairly cracked with nervousness as he said something like ‘Hello’. She didn’t even hear what he said.
He took a seat next to her, judging where the correct place would be to sit: too close would be a disaster, and too far would give off the wrong impression. Whilst he deliberated over this decision (which felt like the most important decision of his entire life), feeling like each second was several torturous minutes; she was now ‘bracing herself’ (she didn’t know what that meant either).
They were both looking in opposite directions, adjusting themselves in the position that would give rise to a most important moment in their lives. Years had led to this moment, and they both knew it. This was the climax of it all: all of the thoughts, all of the emotional turmoil and all of that time had all been a prelude to this moment. Their emotions were so varied that labels failed to describe them, just as labels failed to describe the two of them. All was raised to a fever pitch, the anticipation had reached its height. They finally resolved to embrace the moment, and slowly turned in a slow and meaningful arc from the safety and freedom of ‘the opposite direction’ towards the moment this had all been building to – towards each other.
And then their eyes met.
A Short Story,
Published 29 March 2012
Published 29 March 2012