The Exit

He sat in the semi darkness of the corridor, his face faintly illuminated by the red fire exit light on the opposite wall. He sat in silence and waited. It was now only a question of time before he would know the outcome of all his thinking; hours spent brooding, analysing his feelings, misleading himself into a quagmire of lost hopes. Now his mind was at rest, strangely inactive, as if resigned to an uncontrollable destiny. Because he could not do anything; because he had, so to speak, out thought himself, he was ready to accept whatever was in store for him.

And so he waited until he heard footsteps echoing down the corridor, the echo of high-heeled shoes on polished marble. As if in a dream, he rose to greet the woman approaching him. She was tall and slim, elegantly dressed.

“How long have you been waiting here?” she enquired. Her soft blue eyes seemed to sparkle in the dim light.

“I think a couple of hours, more or less,” he replied, embarrassed by the uncertainty in his voice.

There was an awkward moment of silence. Their eyes met and held each other momentarily. He was the first to break eye contact, looking around the sterile cold corridor.

“Guess, I was waiting for you,” he said. “Guess, I wanted to have your answer. I’ve been thinking about this for so long, day in and day out, and my thoughts keep going round and round in circles. I need to know if this is going to work, or are we just wasting time?”

“Wasting time?” she questioned, with an unfamiliar hardness in the tone of her voice. “How can you be so naïve, Tom! What answer are you waiting for? Have I got to say this is how it all ends with an embrace and curt farewell?”

He wanted to take her in his arms and reassure her of his love. It seemed to be the most natural thing to do. After all, if he did not take the initiative, if he did not tell her how much he cared for her, or how much he loved her, then how would she ever know?

“I love you,” he whispered, surprised at his own boldness. “I have always loved you, ever since I first set eyes on you.”

He realised instantly this sounded horribly crass, like a string of hackneyed words out of some second rate love film, but these were the words he said, and he did not regret having said them because he knew the words came from his heart. Maybe that was the problem: protected behind an impervious shield of silence, he never spoke his mind.

In the long, empty corridor, the man and woman stood facing each other. They talked in quiet voices without touching. Shades of red and black played on their faces, and their unanimated conversation was conducted in whispered words.

So that is it. That is the way it was to be.