Countdown
Laura
This morning, I woke to see my timer at only a few hours. Just last night, it had been a month. I wondered what had changed. While I had been sleeping, my soul mate had made a choice—one that seemed as if it would bring us closer. Growing up, my numbers had been higher than all of my classmates. In a town as small as mine, most everyone found their partner there. When I chose a college thousands of miles from home, my number dropped, and my heart rate rose.
Now I felt as if I was walking on eggshells. Did my soul mate feel this way, too? A different route to school could change my number, so could stopping at a café, or even something as small as taking the stairs instead of the elevator. Before leaving the house for school, I called my best friend, my pulse racing as I did so, desperately in need of her advice.
“Just go about your day normally, Laura. Everything will work out in the end, it always does,” She instructed. Easy enough for her to say, she was already matched. Yet I followed her advice, deciding to take the bus to the college campus instead of biking, not stopping for a coffee at the crowded Starbucks, and all the while keeping an eye on my timer. The numbers kept ticking down. Every part of me felt alive as I saw the timer read two minutes. Just ahead, I could see the bus stop; streaked shelter windows from too many hands, worn bench seats, and old ads pasting the back wall.
Coming down the road was the public bus, a large, flashy advert on its peeling blue outside. The closer it came, the lower my numbers.
My soul mate was on that bus. I knew it.
I closed the gap between myself and the bus stop bench, running the last few yards. My palms were sweaty and my breath coming fast as the bus pulled up alongside the curb. It was all I could do to prevent myself from rushing forward onto it and finding my soul mate myself. Instead, I waited—heart in my mouth, my stomach feeling like a pit of writhing snakes. I alternated between staring at my timer and staring at the bus door as people exited.
5…
An old woman with a babushka covering her hair, plastic grocery bags in hand, ancient floral skirt blowing in the slight breeze.
4…
A middle-aged man with a toddler on his hip, diaper bag slung over his shoulder with the air of a man who’d seen one too many diaper rashes.
3…
A teen glistening from a pickup basketball game, soaked sweatband on his forehead, mesh athletic shorts riding low on his hips, a basketball in hand and drawstring bag on his back.
2…
A woman in a skirt suit, hair pulled back into a professional French chignon, briefcase in hand and pointed black heels clicking across the sidewalk.
1…
An obese man with his hairy stomach bulging out of a too-tight t-shirt, a sun visor on his forehead and a pair of wrap-around sunglasses hiding his eyes.
0…
My heart stopped as I took in minute details. Brown leather oxfords, loosely-fit jeans, a burgundy v-neck. A map crumpled in one hand, the other anxiously gripping the strap of a hitchhiker’s backpack, a blue towel poking out from one of the mesh side pockets. He stopped in front of me, a wide grin growing across his face as he extended a hand towards me. I immediately noticed that his timer, too, had stopped.
“I’m Laura,” I told him.
“I’m Alec,” He said, pulling from his pocket a worn and creased passport. He flipped it open to reveal stamps from dozens of countries. “You, Laura, have led me on the goose chase of a lifetime.”
Now I felt as if I was walking on eggshells. Did my soul mate feel this way, too? A different route to school could change my number, so could stopping at a café, or even something as small as taking the stairs instead of the elevator. Before leaving the house for school, I called my best friend, my pulse racing as I did so, desperately in need of her advice.
“Just go about your day normally, Laura. Everything will work out in the end, it always does,” She instructed. Easy enough for her to say, she was already matched. Yet I followed her advice, deciding to take the bus to the college campus instead of biking, not stopping for a coffee at the crowded Starbucks, and all the while keeping an eye on my timer. The numbers kept ticking down. Every part of me felt alive as I saw the timer read two minutes. Just ahead, I could see the bus stop; streaked shelter windows from too many hands, worn bench seats, and old ads pasting the back wall.
Coming down the road was the public bus, a large, flashy advert on its peeling blue outside. The closer it came, the lower my numbers.
My soul mate was on that bus. I knew it.
I closed the gap between myself and the bus stop bench, running the last few yards. My palms were sweaty and my breath coming fast as the bus pulled up alongside the curb. It was all I could do to prevent myself from rushing forward onto it and finding my soul mate myself. Instead, I waited—heart in my mouth, my stomach feeling like a pit of writhing snakes. I alternated between staring at my timer and staring at the bus door as people exited.
5…
An old woman with a babushka covering her hair, plastic grocery bags in hand, ancient floral skirt blowing in the slight breeze.
4…
A middle-aged man with a toddler on his hip, diaper bag slung over his shoulder with the air of a man who’d seen one too many diaper rashes.
3…
A teen glistening from a pickup basketball game, soaked sweatband on his forehead, mesh athletic shorts riding low on his hips, a basketball in hand and drawstring bag on his back.
2…
A woman in a skirt suit, hair pulled back into a professional French chignon, briefcase in hand and pointed black heels clicking across the sidewalk.
1…
An obese man with his hairy stomach bulging out of a too-tight t-shirt, a sun visor on his forehead and a pair of wrap-around sunglasses hiding his eyes.
0…
My heart stopped as I took in minute details. Brown leather oxfords, loosely-fit jeans, a burgundy v-neck. A map crumpled in one hand, the other anxiously gripping the strap of a hitchhiker’s backpack, a blue towel poking out from one of the mesh side pockets. He stopped in front of me, a wide grin growing across his face as he extended a hand towards me. I immediately noticed that his timer, too, had stopped.
“I’m Laura,” I told him.
“I’m Alec,” He said, pulling from his pocket a worn and creased passport. He flipped it open to reveal stamps from dozens of countries. “You, Laura, have led me on the goose chase of a lifetime.”