Palpitation

“Oops,” my love nervously utters every time it happens. But before he says this, I can already tell his heart had just momentarily beat at a rapid, often terrifying pace. For the seconds that these cruel arrythmias pay him an unwelcome visit, he is frozen in place; his pallor goes pale; I can tell he's afraid and I grow weak with worry. I'm the sufferer on the outside looking in, helplessness confining me like the merciless stone strapped to the torso of an alleged Salem witch. I stumble with my “Are you OK?” I manage to squeak out. “Yeah,” he says, catching his breath, eager to reassure me while the color rushes back to his face--the face I first set eyes on (and grew smitten with) more than a decade ago. Another palpitation come and gone, then life, as we know it, carries on--until the next episode when the delicate threads of life momentarily succumb to the weight of the crosses we've been given to bear.