You Have 86,400 Seconds To Find Me

Five Years Ago (Before the countdown)

   I looked at the date on the ticket. It was for Christmas Eve. These tickets must have cost her and her family a fortune. "Mace," I started, but never got to finish.

   "Santa must have heard you when you said you've never been to see a play, Max," Macy said, as she grabbed my hand and led me out the door, holding the tickets tightly in her other hand. "And you never argue with Santa Claus."

  

                                                     

   (Christmas Eve, five years ago)

  The first thing I remember thinking when I walked into Hanover Theatre for the first time, was that it was huge. There were rows upon rows of dark olive green seats, and there was a giant light fixture hanging from the center circle of the ceiling. The sight was beautiful, achingly beautiful, but still not as beautiful as Macy.

   Hanover Theatre wasn't somewhere you could get away with wearing jeans, my mother had told me a few weeks ago, when I informed her that I would be accompanying Macy and her family to the theatre tonight. So, much to my horror, we went shopping. My mother insisted on buying me a brand new pair of blank dress pants and a black and dark green stripped tie, to go with the dark green long-sleaved dress shirt I would be borrowing from my father. It was a little big on me, but it fit okay and I already had a pair of black dress shoes at home from my Aunt Carla's wedding the summer before. I was surprised to find they still fit. My mother had even made me buy some cologne from Sears the week before.

    "Mom, I really don't see why this is necessary," I had said, as we stood in the check-out line.

   "Why, of course it's necessary," she had said, smiling proudly up at me. (I had finally reached that stage where I was a few inches taller than my mother, who was rather short to begin with.) "Don't you want to impress Macy?"

   No matter how many times I tried to explain to my mother that Macy was not my girlfriend, she just didn't understand. Quite frankly, I had reached the point where I was done trying to pursuade her otherwise. She was stubborn and would think whatever she liked either way. Which is why, on the night of the play, she had driven me to Stop and Shop before dropping me off at Macy's so we could buy some flowers for Macy and her Mom. I chose a small bouqette of Lily's for Mrs. Sales and a single red rose for Macy.

   I swear my Mom almost cried.

   "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," she said, upon dropping me off. We were sitting in the car, in front of Macy's house, and I was terrified. I sat there for a moment, collecting my nerve to get out of the car. I didn't know why I was so nervous. It was just a play, it was just Macy. "Text me when you're on the way back," she said, leaning over and giving me a kiss on the cheek, like all mothers loved to do. "You look very handsome, Maxy. She would be crazy not to think so, too."

   And so I thanked my mother and finally got out of the car. I walked up the front steps with my hair gelled back and my green scarf tucked tightly into my black dress coat. I admired the white Christmas lights wrapped around Macy's front door and the green and red wreathe hanging from the center of it. When I reached the door, I took a deep breath and knocked, knowing Macy was probably standing right in front of the door waiting for me. She probably would have sat right on the front steps if it weren't so damn cold. 

   Just as I had suspected, the door flew open instantly, and there she was. Her dark auburn hair was curled and pulled back into a half-up, half-down look and she was wearing a dark, velvet winter green dress with short sleaves and a black half sweater that covered her arms. She also had on white tights and black Mary-Janes. Her make-up was all done and she smelled amazing. Look, I won't lie. For a moment there, I couldn't breathe.