Blindness(107)

I swear I can smell him. This house is filled to the point of fire code violation, and the air is dripping with cigars, cigarettes, and pot. But all I smell is him. I turn slowly, and my eyes meet his neck. As tall as I am, he’s always taller. I peer up slowly, wishing somehow I could pull my hat lower over my entire face and skirt away. His face is tired, and his beard is thick, at least two weeks worth of growth. He’s wearing a black sweatshirt and a black hat, dressed just as plainly as I am. This party was an afterthought for him, too.

Words are pointless, so I don’t even bother trying to form them. Cody and I are just staring at one another, the rest of the world quickly fading away. We’re exact mirrors, our expressions blank, lifeless—exhausted.

“Hey, man. You came after all,” Gabe says over my shoulder, and Cody pulls his eyes from me to talk with his friend.

“Yeah, I ended up getting done a little early. Thought I’d come…” he says, looking back at me again. Swallowing. “Just in case.”

“That’s awesome, man. It’s not a party if you’re not here,” Gabe says, handing Cody a drink. In that split second , I take my moment to slip away, back to my corner. My right eye is twitching from stress, and my body suddenly feels hot and flushed. I strip my arms from my coat and unwind the scarf that now feels like it’s strangling me. I take a giant gulp from my cup, downing the entire drink in four more sips. Thank god Gabe made it weak, because I’d be done if he hadn’t.

I’m having a panic attack. I know it, and recognize what’s coming next. My lungs won’t get full, and every time I try to take a deep breath, it gets worse. I’m not breathing. I’m not breathing!

The music is muffled around me. I know it’s loud, but I can’t make out any of the words, only the whooshing sound over my eardrums. I push my head between my knees, and force myself to count slowly while I inhale through my nose, holding the air in my lungs for a few seconds before letting it slip away. I do it again, and again, until I can finally hear voices.

Fullness—finally, I feel fullness.

Everyone is filing into the living room now, turning on the main television to watch the ball drop. But I stay in my seat, safely sandwiched between strangers and behind happy couples. My eyes are wide, and they’re searching desperately for him, until I see his legs walk across the room, and he sits in a dining chair directly across from me. He doesn’t see me at first, because of the dozens of drunk people laughing and shouting in the space that’s between us, but eventually our eyes meet.

We’re caught, completely stuck here—forced to watch one another, feel all of our cruel words, and suffer amid our regrets while new loves spark around us. Neither of us is breathing, only staring, as the room starts to count down.

“Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!”

It’s like a bomb, and Cody and I are just waiting for it to destroy us, knowing there’s nothing we can do to escape. When the room hits one, everyone cheers loudly, and lips find other lips as men wrap their arms around women and lean them over, kissing them hard and long to welcome in a new year. One girl, who looks a lot like me, leaps into a pair of tattooed arms, and the man spins her around in front of us, kissing her like I want to be kissed—by Cody—and I can’t stop the tears it elicits.

Cody’s eyes never leave mine, and every time I try to turn away, I find myself looking at him again. He never smiles, he never blinks—but there’s depth in his eyes, and I can see the longing. Old Lang Syne is playing on repeat from the television, and the blasts of toy horns are filling the living room, but for us, everything is silent. We’re locked here, together—so close, but so very far away. He reaches up his hand at one point and rubs the back of it along the side of his face, trying to hide his emotion. A second later, he’s on his feet, and I lose him in the crowd.

My stomach clenches; I push myself from the sofa, trying to weave my way through the couples still locked in kisses and embraces in front of me. I finally get to the kitchen, where Gabe and Jessie are kissing one another and laughing. I hate interrupting them, but I need to stop Cody before he leaves. I’m overwhelmed by the strange sensation that if I don’t find him, I’ll lose him forever.

“Heyyyyy, Charlie!” Jessie says, slinging her arm around me. “Happppp-Peeeeee New Yeeeeeaaaaar!”

She kisses my cheek, and it’s wet and sloppy. I want to wipe it away in the worst way, but I don’t, instead just squeezing her back and smiling.

“Happy New Year, Jessie,” I smile. “Do you guys know where Cody went?”

They both just look at each other and start snickering. “Youuuuu like him,” Jessie teases. They’re not helping, and they clearly have no idea where he is, so I just pat my intoxicated friend on the shoulder, and resolve to find him myself.

“Happy New Year, Charlie!” Gabe calls out as I walk away.

After two loops through the house, I make my way back to my stuff tucked next to the sofa. I pull my coat on and slip my keys from my pocket. The chill outside has crept down to freezing, and the cold makes my skin burn, but I walk the full length of their street anyhow, looking for Cody’s truck. It isn’t here, but there’s one open spot, and I’m sure in my gut it’s the one he left behind.

It takes me five minutes to walk back to where I’ve parked, and I let my car heat up for a few more minutes while I stare at my phone, at Cody’s name next to his two missed phone calls. I try to talk myself into hitting return. I have pretend conversations with Cody, and everything I come up with saying sounds trivial. I can’t apologize, even though I’m so goddamned sorry—sorry for everything Cody’s been through. And I can’t beg. I won’t. But I want to, I want to curl up under his quilt tonight, bury my face in the nook of his neck, and feel his arm warm around my back.