The Wait

Her face crinkling into a frown, Amanda smacked the air conditioner as it sputtered and died again. Pouting, she sat on her bare heels and stared at the malfunctioning appliance with disdain.

Her irritation had nothing to do with the air conditioner, however. Sure, it was about a hundred degrees in the apartment and a sticky film of sweat coated her body. Even in just her bikini top and denim cutoffs, Amanda felt overdressed.

But attempting to fix the air conditioner provided a suitable distraction--and Amanda was desperate for one of those.

July Twelfth: the six-month anniversary of her first blind date with Taylor and the first magical night they truly spent together.

Standing, Amanda retreated to the sofa and flipped through a magazine. She crossed her leg. Uncrossed her leg. Laid on her side. Sat up. Turning on the television, she surfed the channels, finding only M*A*S*H* repeats and news broadcasts.

When her thoughts strayed to Taylor, she pushed them away. He would leave work at five and be home at about a quarter after. Amanda had to be ready for him; letting him gallivant through her fantasies now would turn her into a puddle of goo. Wouldn’t that be a fantastic sight for Taylor to find after work?

Sighing, Amanda stood and paced the living room, her heart fluttering like a butterfly on speed. Where could she go to escape herself? Brushing a stray curl of blond hair from her eyes, Amanda looked to the bedroom door--maybe a nap would help? Shaking her head and mumbling to herself, Amanda decided against it. Feeling those Taylor-scented sheets coiled round her body would send her into la-la land. Not to mention, the bedroom led to the closet, and the nondescript cardboard box sitting inside.

She knew each and every thing in the box, each relic of anniversaries past: sitting atop a white cotton sweatshirt reading “SUSSEX” printed in great big letters, was a powder-blue pleated skirt and matching pom-poms. Tucked into the corner of the box she'd find a pair of stockings and, leftover from their five-month anniversary, fuzzy pink handcuffs. If Amanda went to the bedroom, she would surely look inside that box. If that happened, all of her preparation would go out the window.

Amanda turned her head a little to the left and looked at the bathroom. She could take a shower, get herself nice and soapy, and luxuriate in the cleansing steam. Some places might be extra-dirty and those places would need to be scrubbed with extra vigor. They would need to be rubbed for a long time…

Trembling now, Amanda cast the thought aside. She needed to be strong! Her will needed to be like Taylor’s body, hard and chiseled. Her will had to be like his six-pack, defined and sweaty, or maybe just shiny with baby oil…

Dammit!

Growing frustrated now, Amanda looked to the clock. The minute-hand teetered on the brink of the '5'.

“Why would you do that to me?” Amanda said aloud. The clock hated her. Taylor came home from work at a specific time, and the clock refused to read that time. Stupid clock.

Her veins engorged with adrenaline now, Amanda retreated to the kitchen, leaned against the counter, and poured herself a glass of cold water. Yes, water would help, sloshing down her parched throat and calming her nerves, if only temporarily. Taylor would be home soon and they would start the “celebration”. The clock would be her friend again.

The computer! Practically throwing the glass over her shoulder, Amanda raced to the computer and tried to lose herself in cyberspace. No new emails. Heading to facebook, she found no notifications. Avoiding Taylor’s profile—even seeing a picture of him in this state could be catastrophic—Amanda checked a few other sites. Then, she clicked out of the window and stared at the desktop.

My Computer beckoned to her. There she would find a folder: Jun12. With just a few clicks of the mouse, Amanda could reminisce about their five-month anniversary. A bottle of Captain Morgan’s for Taylor, a few wine coolers for Amanda, and out came the digital camera. A spot on the floor for her clothes, a pair of wrists for the fuzzy pink handcuffs, and out came Taylor’s thick, hard, enormous…

Dammit!

Borderline-panicking now, Amanda turned off the computer and pulled the plug out of the wall with her toes, thinking it best to remove that temptation altogether.

5:06. Just a little while longer.

The apartment seemed to be closing in on Amanda. Everything she looked at reminded her of Taylor. But she couldn’t go outside; if it felt two hundred degrees in here, it would feel four hundred degrees in the sun. Ah, New England summers.

Her clothes even felt like they were shrinking. Maybe they were. Maybe they’d gotten so sweaty, they’d started shrinking, like they sometimes do in the laundry. Well, when Taylor does the laundry anyway. Maybe she should change…

Who was she kidding? There wouldn’t be any “new clothes”. There would be “take off these clothes”, and that would be the end of it.

A flash caught her eye: the sun’s reflection on a windshield catching the window, just above the air conditioner. Then, the thud of a car door.

Almost hyperventilating now, Amanda darted across the room. As soon as she heard Taylor’s footfalls on the porch, Amanda’s fingers slid around the doorknob. When the footsteps came to a stop, Amanda yanked the door open, blurting out the first thing that sprang to mind as she looked through the screen.

“It’s you!”