A Dialogue

She tried to leave this morning. She woke up in his bed at 8 a.m., climbed over him in the darkness, got dressed, washed her face, gargled with his mouthwash to avoid the furry teeth feeling that she hates, then went into his room to find her lip gloss and to drink some water, with every intention of slipping out. She stood by the side of the bed, right near his pillow, drinking, because that’s where the glass was. Maybe part of her wished he would wake. As she drank, she contemplated waking him -- should she kiss him good bye and lie to him that she’d see him later? Or should she just go? Go and let him wonder where she was? Go and let him wonder, and don’t ever come back?

She thought, this is the perfect opportunity to leave and never come back. All this mess of feelings and yearnings and sadness, all this mess of love. She could just close the book on him. She’d never have to tell him what was going on in her head that morning, never have to ‘flesh out’ all the bad things that were eating away at her, like, why didn’t you invite me to your sister‘s birthday party, was it because you didn’t really want me to go, because you didn’t really want to introduce me to your sister, even when you said you did, and why were the sheets on your bed all crumpled like you had had sex in them recently even though I haven’t been over since Sunday, and why is it that sometimes I look at you and I have no idea who you are? If she had left just then, without waking him, she would never have to trouble him with that discussion, would never have to really figure out what was going on in her own head and in her heart and actually formulate full sentences for another human being to understand or be upset by. She’d never have to speak, if she left. Now. Not ever explain her very real feelings in this ‘trial’ relationship that would, without fail, end. Soon. With luck, perhaps today.

She is the horse that rears at the first sign of trouble. Rears, shrieks and runs.

Unfortunately for her, the rest of humanity, the course of human history, and her own, he awoke. He opened his eyes, reached for her, kissed her bare thigh. “Where you goin’, J? Are you leavin’?” he said, through the heaviness of sleep. Her heart skipped, then cowered in its cage.

“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I just feel like I should.”
He paused to wake, and then understood.
“Come 'ere, stupid.”
“No, I really think I should go.”
“You’re not going anywhere. Come here, lie down next to me.”

Reluctant, she curled up beside him in the space between his outstretched arm and his chest. “Tell me what’s going through your head.”
“Do I have to?”
“Yes. You’re not leaving until you tell me what’s happening. Then you can go.”
“But that’s why I’m leaving - so I don’t have to talk about it.”
“If you’re leaving because you have to work something out for you, then that’s fine. I understand it and I respect it. But if you’re leaving because you need to work something out that has anything to do with me, then you have to stay and talk to me about it."
She stared at his left nipple. Bit her lip.
"In fact, I think it would be good for you to be forced to hang out with me for the rest of the day.”
“The rest of the day??”
“Yes. The rest of the day. Punishment for trying to leave early in the morning without saying good-bye.”

He took her hand. His hands were always warm and dry and just slightly rough, like he’d been working outside with trees. She noticed now that they felt like her father’s hands, and maybe that meant something weird or secret or hidden, but still, his hands comforted her. They tell her she is being held by a strong man.

“So? Tell me.”
“No.”
“Tell me.”
Silence.
“You’re not leaving until you tell me.”
More silence.
“Jesus Christ, J, how am I supposed to figure this out if you don’t talk?”

She sat up. Glared at him. Made little fists with her hands and curled her mouth into a pout. Sent him looks of death.

“J, you can leave if you have to, but I promise you‘ll regret it.”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why not.”
“Because I don’t want to talk about it.”

But then, maybe she did. Maybe she had to. “I don’t want to talk about how I feel like a burden to you when you’re supposed to be figuring your shit out and having fun and doing whatever the hell you want to. Or how you should just be carefree and you shouldn’t have somebody like me weighing you down.”

Her jaw tensed. “I don’t want to talk about how I am constantly wondering where you are and what you’re doing and who you’re with and worrying about why we’re not connecting and whether we’ll ever connect again and I don’t want to burden you with this... this having to talk about shit when you’re not supposed to have to deal with it. That’s what I don’t want to talk about and that’s why I’m leaving, because its my shit, not yours.” She started to stand but he pulled her down, down to his chest, where her head always finds a comfortable place to rest, and he wrapped his arm around her neck.

“J.” He petted her head. “You’re not a burden at all. I want to be here with you. If I didn’t want to, I would’ve said something. There are times when I've told you that I need my own time, that I need space. But I‘ve been honest with you every step of the way.”

Her feet squirmed. But her cheek was on his bare skin, which was smooth and cool and so she couldn’t lift herself away from it.

“There are times when we don’t connect. But when we do, it's incredible." He paused, as if carefully choosing his next words. "And J, you’re kinda young when it comes to this ’love’ stuff. I bet you’ve gotten really good at running away. And you’re probably not used to having a guy sit through this with you, but I’m not going anywhere. I’m just here, observing and enjoying you.”

She sat up again and looked him straight in the eye. This was the crux of it, this thing she was about to say. This was the live or die moment. Surely once she said this he would throw her out and not want to have anything to do with her ever again.

“There are times when I look at you and I think I don’t know you at all.”

He didn‘t flinch. Her heart sank - he seemed perfectly unfazed. “You never know anyone, J. It takes a lifetime. You’ll be sitting next to your wife of ten years at dinner and all of a sudden she’ll say something about how she and her friends had been in an orgy together so many years ago and you’ll say, 'gaddamnit I didn’t know that. Hell, we’d better have one tonight.'”

She giggled. He stared at her with his clear blue eyes. His mouth looked hard. “You learn a person, J, you learn all the time. One minute you think you know somebody and the next minute they turn around and they’re completely different or they’ve changed in some drastic way and it's not always for the better. But you just observe and let it happen, because that’s what people do. They change. And you have to let them do that.”

He gave her hand a wiggle. “Stick around a little longer and just let it be. Stop freakin’ out.”

She couldn’t look at him. It was too much to be told these things. Her heart, beating in its little cage, knew the door was open should it want to escape, but it was utterly incapable of taking that step.

She breathed a long, deep breath and settled in to his body, lying so solidly next to hers. Perhaps she is the horse that rears at the first sign of trouble, but eventually even horses stop rearing.