Almost...

I almost saw him yesterday.

Or rather…I saw almost-him yesterday. Yes. That’s more accurate.

I certainly couldn’t have almost seen a person I know to be halfway around the world right now.

I did see almost-him, though.

I was in the mall with my mom during a marathon-shopping day that left me with blisters on both pinky toes and a new credit card balance. She has plans for a big downtown Christmas date with my dad next weekend, and we were on a focused mission to find her the perfect party top. I was so keyed in to this task, I barely noticed how gruesomely crowded the mall was that day, didn’t give anyone but my mom and various sales ladies a single (let alone a double) look.

We passed the Wetzel’s Pretzels kiosk, and I lifted my nose in the air to fully engage in its glorious aroma. And that’s when I saw him.

Well, almost-him. The resemblance was arresting.

Almost-he was walking toward me, dressed head-to-toe in standard Army camouflage, with a long, graceful stride so familiar that watching it produced physical pain in my chest. He was the perfect combination of tall…taller than me by a foot…and skinny. His cheeks were a bit sunken in, making his jaw line look strong and decisive. He grasped his camo cap at his side with long, beautiful fingers and wore his dark hair in a classic Army fade.

And his eyes. Oh his eyes.

They were the cruelest pretenders of all. Deep-set and hiding under heavy, dark eyebrows, they lured me out of reality. They told me he was home on leave. They told me the war was over. They told me he’d come to the mall to look for me.

For a moment, I lost myself in the make-believe.

I watched in stunned silence as he walked right up to me and framed my face with his knuckly hands. He rested his forehead against mine and, as a tear fell off his cheek and into my Express bag, he spoke the perfect words to feed my hungry ego.

“I’m so sorry.”

It was just a whisper, but the sound of it drowned out the sounds of rustling bags, shoes scuffing the floor, and kids screaming in Santa’s lap.

“If it takes me 100 lifetimes, I will win you back.”

And then he kissed me. And kissed me. And kissed me.

“Quit staring!” My mom grabbed my wrist and I felt myself hurdling back to reality.

I blinked twice, released my brow from the deep furrow I’d been unconsciously holding it in, and focused my eyes forward.

I hadn’t stopped walking, and neither had almost-he. The distance between un us had shrunk to only a few feet.

Now, only a few inches.

As we passed each other, I must confess that I breathed a deep, searching breath, hoping to catch hints of lavender-scented laundry detergent and Camel Lights.

Almost-he smelled like musky cologne and sweat.

I sighed and shook my head.

“What’s wrong with you?” my mom asked.

“That guy looked like…” the thought of saying his name choked me.

“Oh,” she said.

And we went on with the rest of our day never speaking about it again. Only once did I allow my brain to acknowledge what my heart was screaming.

It still hurts.