Good things come to those who wait
Eva Lebowitz
Our first date lasted a lifetime. It was outside the bar where we chose each other. You seemed familiar standing there under the neon glow. Cut from the same soul, our eyes locked and we immediately understood exactly the night that was to follow. You introduced yourself to me, and we shared in a smile. From our first glance, I knew it was now until forever.
As we approached the entrance together, you paused. You explained that I needed a city tour and how you knew a place, reminding me how foreign I was and how badly I wanted to spend time with you. First we ate, though the menus were lengthy and we couldn’t decide which New York City cuisine to indulge in. Instead of wasting time, we drank our blood volume in strawberry milkshakes. We left the bill on the table without paying, and dashed through the city hand in hand. We tripped and fell, scraping our legs and hands, but a few sweet kisses quickly healed our wounds. Topped off by a few shots from your buddy at the club next door, the pain vanished. Your eyes sparkled a little extra as you forced the vodka down. We spoke and danced some, but were quickly bored.
So we walked further into the city that never sleeps, and followed suit. Past your favorite pizza place, through Central Park, and over Bow Bridge. I discovered that horses could replace police cars and that the people here might yell at you for simply existing. I knew you better than I knew the city, but I was learning. Strolling for what felt like ages to my legs and moments in my soul, we headed back to my room where to relax after the journey. You carried me up to the suite, and I looked deep into the eyes of a stranger. It was on those grimy hotel lobby couches, where you got to know me better than I knew myself. We shared our high school drama and childhood traumas. We laughed and then spilled our guts in the restroom as you held my hair back. Our honeymoon commenced with me falling asleep on your lap.
We were drunk in love even as we sobered up that morning, scavenging the city for coffee. Still, in the delirium of the night prior, we felt the liveliness of the streets all the same. We found a small, warm coffee house. We gave the barista our names and our order and began waiting. That’s when you proposed. We waited. And I brought you home to my parents. We waited. I walked down the aisle. We waited. As you gave me your hand in marriage. We waited. Transported to Lisbon to meet the family. We waited. And as the minutes turned into hours, our baby was born. We watched our child grow. We waited, not squandering a moment, cherishing every single one of her milestones. We waited, celebrating our golden anniversary. We grew old together in that cafe, going senile as we awaited our coffee, not minding the passing years as long as we were sitting there together.
Eva Lebowitz (‘25) is majoring in political science and public health at Rutgers School of Arts and Sciences. Eva wrote this short story in a creative writing course taught by Joanna Fuhrman (who selected it for inclusion in WHR), and she is excited to share it.