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Countdown (Part 2 of 2)

By on October 1, 2013
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A195 countdown

That’s one worry out of the way. I still have about twenty others. But that’s normal, right?

What if we can’t have children? What if we have more children than we can handle? What if we have children who misbehave in restaurants?

Or, on a more basic level, what if the whole intimacy thing doesn’t work? What if he doesn’t like what he sees underneath my clothes? Effi is an athlete – he started on his high school basketball team and still plays several times a week. And, of course, he’s a surfing expert after that one summer in Hawaii. (No, that’s just a joke.) But still – I’ve never been into sports, and my body isn’t “toned” or “defined” or anything like that. What if –

Or what if I throw myself at him on our wedding night, and he thinks I’m too forward? I’ve heard more than one person say that couples who’ve never touched should just hold hands, maybe kiss a little, on their wedding night, because virgin brides, bnos Yisroel, are shy and demure. Fu – the hell with that. As if a few kisses are going to quench this hunger.

What if he thinks I’m – to borrow a word from Tali’s library – wanton?

No. I remind myself that only troglodytes think like that. Effi knows me, he respects me, he is going to be thrilled with me no matter how I look, and he is going to be just as eager as I am. I hope.

Or what if there’s an accident and I die the week before my wedding, or he does? And there’s no wedding, but a funeral, and death and broken hearts and eternally unfulfilled, unconsummated longing?

This last fear, I can voice, I think.

“You ever worry that we’re not going to get there?” I ask. “That one of us will get hit by a bus or something?”

“Or bitten by a snake?” he suggests, invoking the story of Rabbi Akiva’s daughter, who was not bitten by a snake on her wedding night, who in fact stabbed the snake through the eye with her hairpin quite by accident, whose fate was spared, according to the aggada, as a reward for feeding a pauper at her wedding.

“For example,” I allow.

He presses his lips together for a few seconds, then says, “No, I don’t.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“I hope it doesn’t happen, but I don’t actively spend my time worrying about it.”

“Hmmm. I can’t seem to turn off my worry generator.”

“That makes sense,” he says. “All that stress and anticipation…. You know, statistically speaking, neither of us is likely to get his by a bus in the next six days.” There’s a gleam in his eyes. “Does that make you feel better?”

I sigh. “Not really. A little. Maybe.”

He lets out an amused, “Heh,” and then looks past me. I do feel better, and more relaxed, for having opened up to him.

My eyes start to drift shut during the silence. I force them open and notice that the sky is almost getting to be that orange-pink of dawn.

I check the time on my phone. Wow. I turn the screen towards him, and he gives an impressed whistle.

“So, uh, listen, this has been fun, but I’ve got work in the morning,” I say.

He exaggerates a yawn. “‘In the morning?’ It is morning. I think I could probably say Shema at this point.”

“Quick, what color are your tzitzis?” I ask.

“Quick, who am I?” he retorts, as he stands up.

Brachos perek alef, bitches.

I really need to sleep.

I brush the grass off my skirt as I get to my feet. We look at each other.

“We probably shouldn’t do this again,” I say.

He grins sheepishly. “No, we shouldn’t, should we.” The still-visible moonlight illuminates his features, and the silence of the night makes it feel like we’re the only two people alive in the world. He lifts his hand towards my face, stopping about five inches away, and says, “I really want to –” He cuts himself off and slowly closes his hand into a fist, bringing it back to his side.

“Yeah.” I’m so turned on I can hardly speak. I swallow hard. “I should go.”

With a blink, he snaps out of it. “Yeah. Can I escort you home?”

My agreement is implicit as we start walking.

When we approach the building, I add a caveat: “Just make sure not to get within daled amos of the door, I can’t – it’s too….” My voice trails off.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

He stops at the beginning of the walkway. As I open the door, he calls, “See you in six days. B’ezrat Hashem!”

I slip inside, smiling so hard it hurts, and run as fast as I can up the stairs.

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Noa believes in romance, friendship and justice. She doesn't, however, believe in the Oxford comma.
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