She doesn't know exactly who to turn to about this. Her mother gets teary eyed (but at least tells her to follow her heart). Other friends say things like, "I'll always be your friend, but there are red flags."
Maybe she's just not explaining herself well enough.
Because looking at it from the outside, sure, it looks bad. It looks like he's walked in and taken over her life, or, worse, that he's walked in, and she's handed it over.
That's not the case, at all.
She wanted a simple list of things:
*To fall in love
*To get away from her hometown
She's got the first one down, so what next?
She told him with great force in her voice, nearly in tears, sitting in a restaurant barely able to choke down the foccacia, that she wants to "get the hell out." She's not compromising; she's getting exactly what she wants.
She never settled on where she would go, and he offered a suggestion. Her request was vague. His was stable and specific.
Her friends do have a point. There was another man who offered, directly, to take her away with him. To have her as his wife and take her to Texas. And she was okay with that, for a brief moment.
This is one of those things that people judge her on, that this is not the first time she has considered someone the solution to all her problems.
But that was then. And this is real. The previous man was simply a fantastical solution to a wealth of issues. He was made of stardust and didn't even have one foot in reality. He was a temptation and a lesson, nothing more.
And if she had it to do again, well, she wouldn't have kept dating him.
But, when it comes down to it, maybe the people who once knew her best are basing their ideas on what they knew way back when. They're basing it on a girl who clung to her family. A girl who always went home on weekends. A girl who was afraid to go see what the world had to offer.
And maybe, just maybe, there are others who know her better, who understand her situation, who say things like, "compromise shows maturity."
Maybe she already has people who will listen to her worries.
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Oh
So.
It's not just me.
You're here, too?
I'm not the only one.
Looking for answers.
Searching for truth.
Am I supposed to believe this isn't all about me?
That's new.
Give me a moment to get used to that.
It's not just me.
You're here, too?
I'm not the only one.
Looking for answers.
Searching for truth.
Am I supposed to believe this isn't all about me?
That's new.
Give me a moment to get used to that.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Scared
Even now, what I fear is that you won't be able to love me enough.
That I will ask for much more than you can give.
That you will realize you don't have enough.
That you will walk away from someone who needs so much.
Even now, I fear that I will change for you and for me and then you will leave.
That I will be completely different, will have left family and friends behind.
That you will be gone, and I will have nothing.
Even now, I fear that I will leave for you, and I will need more.
That I will require too much, need too much of your emotions and time.
That I will never understand that what you give me is all you have to give.
Even now, I fear that you'll give up on me.
That I will ask for much more than you can give.
That you will realize you don't have enough.
That you will walk away from someone who needs so much.
Even now, I fear that I will change for you and for me and then you will leave.
That I will be completely different, will have left family and friends behind.
That you will be gone, and I will have nothing.
Even now, I fear that I will leave for you, and I will need more.
That I will require too much, need too much of your emotions and time.
That I will never understand that what you give me is all you have to give.
Even now, I fear that you'll give up on me.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Ready or Not?
Each Sunday, he leaves. He returns to his side of the mountain, to a world she was working really hard at getting to know before he moved again. He moved a few months ago to a place where she's not comfortable staying overnight. There's not much to talk about when it comes to that. He knows it. She knows it. And there's nothing to be done about it.
So, more often than not, he's the one who leaves.
There are days when she's anxious for him to pack up his computer and head down the stairs to his sports car, ready to have her space returned to her, ready to have the sole bathroom available for only her use.
Especially on Sundays, she is ready for those few quiet hours before the hectic week begins, for the peaceful hours to herself. She reads. She cleans. She watches movies he doesn't want to see. She prepares herself for what she will face heading back to work on Monday.
Her contentment after his departure proves her budding theory that she is not ready to get married, that, in fact, after too many of those conversations that dance around marriage and kids, she feels slightly sick to her stomach, like she's eaten too much ice cream. It proves that they are not ready to get married (not that he's asked).
She sometimes finds herself getting anxious, eager for the time when she'll be one of the women looking at dresses and picking out colors, giggling with her bridesmaids. But that's a wedding, not marriage. She's not ready for marriage. She likes that he is her boyfriend, not her fiance, not her husband, but her boyfriend. She enjoys that he has his own apartment -- on his own side of the mountain.
If all of this is true.
If she is so content with the current situation.
Does it make sense for her, every Sunday night, to long for the time when neither of them has to leave?
So, more often than not, he's the one who leaves.
There are days when she's anxious for him to pack up his computer and head down the stairs to his sports car, ready to have her space returned to her, ready to have the sole bathroom available for only her use.
Especially on Sundays, she is ready for those few quiet hours before the hectic week begins, for the peaceful hours to herself. She reads. She cleans. She watches movies he doesn't want to see. She prepares herself for what she will face heading back to work on Monday.
Her contentment after his departure proves her budding theory that she is not ready to get married, that, in fact, after too many of those conversations that dance around marriage and kids, she feels slightly sick to her stomach, like she's eaten too much ice cream. It proves that they are not ready to get married (not that he's asked).
She sometimes finds herself getting anxious, eager for the time when she'll be one of the women looking at dresses and picking out colors, giggling with her bridesmaids. But that's a wedding, not marriage. She's not ready for marriage. She likes that he is her boyfriend, not her fiance, not her husband, but her boyfriend. She enjoys that he has his own apartment -- on his own side of the mountain.
If all of this is true.
If she is so content with the current situation.
Does it make sense for her, every Sunday night, to long for the time when neither of them has to leave?
Monday, May 28, 2007
Acceptance
She has finally begun to see that she will not have a life even remotely resembling the one she once envisioned:
A worthwhile job.
An adorable house.
An adoring husband.
Two or four or six kids running amuck.
All starting with a husband at 22.
Of course, the husband at 22 never materialized, and she's ridiculously grateful that she's had the intervening years to find herself, discover her identity. She would have made a horrible wife at that age and would likely not make a good one right now, not yet anyway.
After a series of hopeful comments and interesting discussions, she paused to think about the life she now sees for herself.
For the first time, there is a blank slate.
This is at once depressing and a great relief. There is no particular life towards which she is aspring. Certainly, she wants to get married (and specifically, she wants to marry him) and have children (his), but there is no outline for how this will occur, no deadlines, no specific script that must play out in order for her to obtain happiness.
"Have you ever struggled with wanting to be successful and than realizing that being happy could be the same as being successful?" She asked him.
"Yes." He said.
And with that word, she remembered why she fell in love with him in the first place.
Glimpses of herself in a charming cafe in Boston, New York, heck, even Chicago or what about Rome, dot her imagination, but they don't drive her. She once craved a life in New York City, the Big Apple, Manhattan Island, where she could prove her mettle and make it once and for all. She once craved, as Michael Cunningham said, more of the same, a life exactly like the one she imagined her parents had at the start of their marriage. A tiny house with a big back yard, lots of love and frequent barbecues in that big backyard.
She never envisioned a quiet apartment with the wind howling outside, sitting alone on her couch at 26, pondering her future. But she is fast understanding that, though she held onto it for years past its expiration date (should, in fact, have come to terms with it perhaps as many as ten years ago, when she started college with no boyfriend to her name and no clue as to what she wanted other than a husband), the life she envisioned for herself is not the one worthy of her, not the one meant for her.
She finds it a great relief to pause and consider the life in the future and realize that a life unscripted is the only way to live.
This unscripted life could be less than what she planned, but it will also be more. It will lead her places she never foresaw and others she would have eschewed as impossible as little as a year ago. It will be better. It will be worse. It will be the same. It will be different.
But, most of all, it will be hers.
A worthwhile job.
An adorable house.
An adoring husband.
Two or four or six kids running amuck.
All starting with a husband at 22.
Of course, the husband at 22 never materialized, and she's ridiculously grateful that she's had the intervening years to find herself, discover her identity. She would have made a horrible wife at that age and would likely not make a good one right now, not yet anyway.
After a series of hopeful comments and interesting discussions, she paused to think about the life she now sees for herself.
For the first time, there is a blank slate.
This is at once depressing and a great relief. There is no particular life towards which she is aspring. Certainly, she wants to get married (and specifically, she wants to marry him) and have children (his), but there is no outline for how this will occur, no deadlines, no specific script that must play out in order for her to obtain happiness.
"Have you ever struggled with wanting to be successful and than realizing that being happy could be the same as being successful?" She asked him.
"Yes." He said.
And with that word, she remembered why she fell in love with him in the first place.
Glimpses of herself in a charming cafe in Boston, New York, heck, even Chicago or what about Rome, dot her imagination, but they don't drive her. She once craved a life in New York City, the Big Apple, Manhattan Island, where she could prove her mettle and make it once and for all. She once craved, as Michael Cunningham said, more of the same, a life exactly like the one she imagined her parents had at the start of their marriage. A tiny house with a big back yard, lots of love and frequent barbecues in that big backyard.
She never envisioned a quiet apartment with the wind howling outside, sitting alone on her couch at 26, pondering her future. But she is fast understanding that, though she held onto it for years past its expiration date (should, in fact, have come to terms with it perhaps as many as ten years ago, when she started college with no boyfriend to her name and no clue as to what she wanted other than a husband), the life she envisioned for herself is not the one worthy of her, not the one meant for her.
She finds it a great relief to pause and consider the life in the future and realize that a life unscripted is the only way to live.
This unscripted life could be less than what she planned, but it will also be more. It will lead her places she never foresaw and others she would have eschewed as impossible as little as a year ago. It will be better. It will be worse. It will be the same. It will be different.
But, most of all, it will be hers.
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Twice
He sat with the Starbucks coffee cup between his legs, "Wow, that's hot."
In the passenger seat, she maneuvered a few things and freed up the second cup holder, "Here." She reached over and took his cup, setting it in the holder, "We don't want you to boil your boys," she smiled teasingly.
"Nope." He kept his eyes on the road. "Or we could just have all girls."
A strange, hopeful feeling filled her. It was the first true time he had openly suggested that they would have children together, that the children he would have in the future would also be hers.
"Well, in that case," she jokingly reached for the hot coffee.
"Seriously, geckos tend to have girls when the eggs are kept over 80 degrees or something."
The moment passed, and they started talking about the lore of babies born in the summer mostly being boys.
But there had been the moment. And for today, that was enough.
In the passenger seat, she maneuvered a few things and freed up the second cup holder, "Here." She reached over and took his cup, setting it in the holder, "We don't want you to boil your boys," she smiled teasingly.
"Nope." He kept his eyes on the road. "Or we could just have all girls."
A strange, hopeful feeling filled her. It was the first true time he had openly suggested that they would have children together, that the children he would have in the future would also be hers.
"Well, in that case," she jokingly reached for the hot coffee.
"Seriously, geckos tend to have girls when the eggs are kept over 80 degrees or something."
The moment passed, and they started talking about the lore of babies born in the summer mostly being boys.
But there had been the moment. And for today, that was enough.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Did He Really Just Say That?
Sitting in the drive through, waiting for cheap Mexican takeout.
She said, "It's my money, I can do what I want with it."
He said, "Yeah, but I'm not going to be that guy. I'm not going to be that guy who has his girlfriend pay for everything. And I still owe you from the last time."
"No, you don't. That money is gone, spent, gone. I'm not trying to be your Sugar Mama. It's more fun for me if you're there with me, so it's my money being spent on my enjoyment."
"Look, you're right. It's your money, so you can do what you want with it. Until we share a bank account, I have nothing to say about how you spend your money. But my money is mine, and I can do what I want with it, and I am going to pay you back."
Wait a minute, did the man who has so carefully avoided all mention of a future together just say, "Until we share a bank account..."???
She said, "It's my money, I can do what I want with it."
He said, "Yeah, but I'm not going to be that guy. I'm not going to be that guy who has his girlfriend pay for everything. And I still owe you from the last time."
"No, you don't. That money is gone, spent, gone. I'm not trying to be your Sugar Mama. It's more fun for me if you're there with me, so it's my money being spent on my enjoyment."
"Look, you're right. It's your money, so you can do what you want with it. Until we share a bank account, I have nothing to say about how you spend your money. But my money is mine, and I can do what I want with it, and I am going to pay you back."
Wait a minute, did the man who has so carefully avoided all mention of a future together just say, "Until we share a bank account..."???
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
A Shift in the Breeze
It was just a slight change, barely perceptable to the human eye.
No one but her would notice it. She notices because she knows him better than he thinks.
But something is different.
He's different.
He is there with her now. He believes that he will be there for a while. He didn't know just a few weeks ago what he wanted, what he believed. But now, now he knows.
And she can tell.
No one but her would notice it. She notices because she knows him better than he thinks.
But something is different.
He's different.
He is there with her now. He believes that he will be there for a while. He didn't know just a few weeks ago what he wanted, what he believed. But now, now he knows.
And she can tell.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Erasing it All
She has found that she takes him places she's gone before. She takes him where she went with that other one, the too eager one with the cartoon face. She has to replace that guy with him, fill in the memories, reclaim her favorite places.
The funny thing is that her ex doesn't factor into a lot of things, only when she practically forces herself to think about the past does he enter into the picture at all. He's not a real element in her life anymore, nor should he be. He was a learning experience that lasted two and a half months and ended a year and a half ago. No reason to keep him around.
But.
She wishes that he had just a bit of that belief in fate that the ex did. That he would tell her that he wants to marry her and be the father of her children. She wishes that he were just a little of a believer in the magic of it all.
And then she stops herself and realizes that the the realistic romantic is the best kind of all.
When she marries him, it won't be blindly. When he decides he's ready, it will mean more than a spur of the moment, gut instinct kind of a decision. It will be real and lasting.
And it won't just be a fairytale she made up.
In those moments, when she remembers why she loves him, she's okay with the fact that she has to be the one to believe in magic.
The funny thing is that her ex doesn't factor into a lot of things, only when she practically forces herself to think about the past does he enter into the picture at all. He's not a real element in her life anymore, nor should he be. He was a learning experience that lasted two and a half months and ended a year and a half ago. No reason to keep him around.
But.
She wishes that he had just a bit of that belief in fate that the ex did. That he would tell her that he wants to marry her and be the father of her children. She wishes that he were just a little of a believer in the magic of it all.
And then she stops herself and realizes that the the realistic romantic is the best kind of all.
When she marries him, it won't be blindly. When he decides he's ready, it will mean more than a spur of the moment, gut instinct kind of a decision. It will be real and lasting.
And it won't just be a fairytale she made up.
In those moments, when she remembers why she loves him, she's okay with the fact that she has to be the one to believe in magic.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Real Romance
"When did you know you loved me?" A beautiful, blonde woman in a carefully designed pink tanktop and perfectly fitting ivory colored pajama pants asks the man beside her.
"From the moment I saw you." The man, with a muscular build, wearing nothing but some old cargo shorts and a smile, says, staring into her bright blue eyes.
"Oh, puhlease!!" She scoffs at the television, tossing the remote against the pillows as she turnes off the late-night movie. She rolls her eyes and gets up off the couch.
"What?" He says, looking up briefly as she saunters over to the fridge to grab a cold bottle of water.
"This show is freakin' lame."
"Huh? What are you talking about?" His glance briefly wanders in her direction and then quickly returns to the computer screen.
"It wast just completely unrealistic, completely dull and just not at all what I would want in a relationsh..." She stops talking as she realizes he's once again engrossed in his game.
He looks up again, a sheepish grin on his face, "A relationsh?"
"Oh, now you're paying attention?" She feels a tiny bit of annoyance creep into her voice, though she's trying to control it. She doesn't care if he's playing his game, as she's told him a hundred times, what she cares about is just getting to be in the same room together.
"I'm like a cat." She'd told him.
"Huh?"
"I don't have to be pet all the time like a dog, but I just like knowing I'm in the same room as the people I care about, even doing my own thing. From time to time, you can wander over and pet my head, and I'll be happy."
He'd smiled his big open grin and hugged her.
Back in the present she looks at him, watches him decide whether she's really upset with him or just mildly irritated. Settling on the later, he says, "You don't want things to be fake in a relationship? If I had told you I loved you when I first saw you, you wouldn't have wanted that?"
"I've had that. I've dated a man who insisted he fell in in love with me the first time he saw me. I don't buy it."
"You don't want all of that romantic stuff?"
"You know I don't." She tucks her hair behind her ears, closes the door of the fridge and walks over to him. She gently kisses the top if his head, "I want you."
"Oohhh, so are you saying I'm not romantic?" He grins that lopsided smile that always gets to her.
"You're not going to get to me, Mister. I'm not saying that. I'm saying that I don't like all of that fake nonsense. I like reality. I like honesty." She strides back over to the couch, sets her water bottle on the coffee table and reaches for her book, "So, go back to your video game." She says this without a trace of irritation in her voice, and she feels a shiver of pride in herself.
"Okay." He turns his attention back to his computer screen, sighs, shuts the laptop and walks over to the couch. "Move your feet."
She lifts her feet to allow him to sit down, and rests them back on his legs once he is seated. "Please would be nice."
"Move your feet, please. I want to make out with you now."
"I'm reading." She drops her gaze and stares at him, a half smile tilting her lips flirtatiously, or so she hopes.
"Yeah, but this is reality. And I know you'd rather make out with me than read." He looks her right in her eyes, and her stomach gives a little jump.
"It's a really good book," but the book in question is already sliding out of her hands onto the floor (she barely had time to replace the bookmark).
And she gives into the romance of the moment, realizes that if this is as much romance as she gets, then she's not going to waste any time.
"From the moment I saw you." The man, with a muscular build, wearing nothing but some old cargo shorts and a smile, says, staring into her bright blue eyes.
"Oh, puhlease!!" She scoffs at the television, tossing the remote against the pillows as she turnes off the late-night movie. She rolls her eyes and gets up off the couch.
"What?" He says, looking up briefly as she saunters over to the fridge to grab a cold bottle of water.
"This show is freakin' lame."
"Huh? What are you talking about?" His glance briefly wanders in her direction and then quickly returns to the computer screen.
"It wast just completely unrealistic, completely dull and just not at all what I would want in a relationsh..." She stops talking as she realizes he's once again engrossed in his game.
He looks up again, a sheepish grin on his face, "A relationsh?"
"Oh, now you're paying attention?" She feels a tiny bit of annoyance creep into her voice, though she's trying to control it. She doesn't care if he's playing his game, as she's told him a hundred times, what she cares about is just getting to be in the same room together.
"I'm like a cat." She'd told him.
"Huh?"
"I don't have to be pet all the time like a dog, but I just like knowing I'm in the same room as the people I care about, even doing my own thing. From time to time, you can wander over and pet my head, and I'll be happy."
He'd smiled his big open grin and hugged her.
Back in the present she looks at him, watches him decide whether she's really upset with him or just mildly irritated. Settling on the later, he says, "You don't want things to be fake in a relationship? If I had told you I loved you when I first saw you, you wouldn't have wanted that?"
"I've had that. I've dated a man who insisted he fell in in love with me the first time he saw me. I don't buy it."
"You don't want all of that romantic stuff?"
"You know I don't." She tucks her hair behind her ears, closes the door of the fridge and walks over to him. She gently kisses the top if his head, "I want you."
"Oohhh, so are you saying I'm not romantic?" He grins that lopsided smile that always gets to her.
"You're not going to get to me, Mister. I'm not saying that. I'm saying that I don't like all of that fake nonsense. I like reality. I like honesty." She strides back over to the couch, sets her water bottle on the coffee table and reaches for her book, "So, go back to your video game." She says this without a trace of irritation in her voice, and she feels a shiver of pride in herself.
"Okay." He turns his attention back to his computer screen, sighs, shuts the laptop and walks over to the couch. "Move your feet."
She lifts her feet to allow him to sit down, and rests them back on his legs once he is seated. "Please would be nice."
"Move your feet, please. I want to make out with you now."
"I'm reading." She drops her gaze and stares at him, a half smile tilting her lips flirtatiously, or so she hopes.
"Yeah, but this is reality. And I know you'd rather make out with me than read." He looks her right in her eyes, and her stomach gives a little jump.
"It's a really good book," but the book in question is already sliding out of her hands onto the floor (she barely had time to replace the bookmark).
And she gives into the romance of the moment, realizes that if this is as much romance as she gets, then she's not going to waste any time.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Familiar Roles
It is undescribably true that our friends are the family we choose. Most of my closest friends, I have known for a minimum of five years. At this point, they know me far better than most of my blood family every will (with a couple of obvious exceptions). They ARE my family.
I have looked for most of my adolescent and adult life for the one person who will build a family with me, that one person with whom I will make a life. I have stood on the outskirts at many a party, watching as couples danced, as men flirted with women who weren't me. I've gone through patches of time when I was completely okay with than and others when the thought of an evening out as the lone unattached one broke my heart and encouraged me to stay home to watch Sex and the City or read a book. Generally, not wanting to be a crazy cat lady, I would go out and be the lone unattached one. I longed for the person I could call who would come to my rescue. For the person who would catch me when I fall and whom I could also save. I wanted a knight in slightly battle-worn armor, or at least someone brave enough and strong enough to come along on my crazy adventures.
And I've found him. And he's the family I will make. He's gradually melding into my blood family. The friend family takes more time, because we are built of memories and experiences that he doesn't share.
Before him, I was still here, still sitting with an aching heart as I watched my friends pair off, fall in and out of love. I have been here all along. I have had weekends spent going to Costco fourteen times with my parents (possibly a slight exaggeration), and no one called me then. No one fought for my attention when there was plenty to give.
I sometimes feel that my friends are waiting for me to fall back into the role of the unattached one. They were comfortable with that, comfortable hearing my wacky dating tales. I also believe that, at times, they think of him as another of my two-week long romances that crashes and burns before anyone even meets the guy.
It's not a year, it's not 10 years, it's not a shared adolescence or even one college formal attended as a couple. It's a simple sharing of life with none of the trappings of school.
It's "only" been six months, but, to me, and to him, that's a long time. And besides, a lifetime together, the building of a family together, has to start somewhere. Why not here?
I have looked for most of my adolescent and adult life for the one person who will build a family with me, that one person with whom I will make a life. I have stood on the outskirts at many a party, watching as couples danced, as men flirted with women who weren't me. I've gone through patches of time when I was completely okay with than and others when the thought of an evening out as the lone unattached one broke my heart and encouraged me to stay home to watch Sex and the City or read a book. Generally, not wanting to be a crazy cat lady, I would go out and be the lone unattached one. I longed for the person I could call who would come to my rescue. For the person who would catch me when I fall and whom I could also save. I wanted a knight in slightly battle-worn armor, or at least someone brave enough and strong enough to come along on my crazy adventures.
And I've found him. And he's the family I will make. He's gradually melding into my blood family. The friend family takes more time, because we are built of memories and experiences that he doesn't share.
Before him, I was still here, still sitting with an aching heart as I watched my friends pair off, fall in and out of love. I have been here all along. I have had weekends spent going to Costco fourteen times with my parents (possibly a slight exaggeration), and no one called me then. No one fought for my attention when there was plenty to give.
I sometimes feel that my friends are waiting for me to fall back into the role of the unattached one. They were comfortable with that, comfortable hearing my wacky dating tales. I also believe that, at times, they think of him as another of my two-week long romances that crashes and burns before anyone even meets the guy.
It's not a year, it's not 10 years, it's not a shared adolescence or even one college formal attended as a couple. It's a simple sharing of life with none of the trappings of school.
It's "only" been six months, but, to me, and to him, that's a long time. And besides, a lifetime together, the building of a family together, has to start somewhere. Why not here?
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Moments
It's rather ridiculous that the moments when you realize how much you truly love someone are not the moments the movies lead us to believe. It's not the moments that are ridiculous. It's the movies that make us think it will only be when the man sweeps in his tuxedo and shoots down the bad guy or hands us a bouquet of roses that we realize the depth of our hearts that bring new meaning to the word ridiculous.
She stood outside of her work, anxious after having been yelled at by someone who had no business yelling at her. He was on his way over, bringing her a piece of equipment she shouldn't have brought home, that her bosses didn't know she had but that she needed right that instant, to appease the person who had yelled. He was on his way through the worst traffic she'd seen in weeks. And then he got there, and she found him, and her heart swelled. She felt about to burst with the strength of her, "I love you!" but instead she just pushed all of her passion into "Thank you" and a smile. That moment, though, she also saw a flash in his eye that let her know he wasn't ready for those particular three words. She could almost see him say, "No. Not here, not now. Don't you say it yet." And she didn't.
Two days later, while climbing up a gravel road, on the way to a Wine Cave, it struck her like a ton of bricks (cliched though it is, the phrase is true), that he wants to be only with her. If he wanted to be with anyone else, he would leave and be with her. The jealousy she has felt over nothing suddenly ended. She saw in his walk, in his smile, in his mannerisms, that he is hers and hers alone, even if he's not ready for that great big word.
And finally, in the smallest of moments, when no grand gesture, no release of jealousy, nothing special at all was happening, she recognized him.
He stood beside her, hunting amongst the bags of soil at Home Depot, quite possibly the last place on earth any screenwriter would set a romantic interlude. He was trying to pick out just what she needed, a bag that would foster her little seedlings, a bag that wouldn't sit half unused on her patio for the entire season. And she turned to look at him in the late afternoon sunlight (at least the lighting was romantic), and she recognized him.
Immediately, she thought of that poem she'd fallen for years before, that one by Jewel.
He smiled at her and walked inside to look for the perfect size bag of potting soil, and she walked beside him, just feeling that recognition.
She looked at him in the garden section of Home Depot and knew with absolute certainty that she had found him.
She stood outside of her work, anxious after having been yelled at by someone who had no business yelling at her. He was on his way over, bringing her a piece of equipment she shouldn't have brought home, that her bosses didn't know she had but that she needed right that instant, to appease the person who had yelled. He was on his way through the worst traffic she'd seen in weeks. And then he got there, and she found him, and her heart swelled. She felt about to burst with the strength of her, "I love you!" but instead she just pushed all of her passion into "Thank you" and a smile. That moment, though, she also saw a flash in his eye that let her know he wasn't ready for those particular three words. She could almost see him say, "No. Not here, not now. Don't you say it yet." And she didn't.
Two days later, while climbing up a gravel road, on the way to a Wine Cave, it struck her like a ton of bricks (cliched though it is, the phrase is true), that he wants to be only with her. If he wanted to be with anyone else, he would leave and be with her. The jealousy she has felt over nothing suddenly ended. She saw in his walk, in his smile, in his mannerisms, that he is hers and hers alone, even if he's not ready for that great big word.
And finally, in the smallest of moments, when no grand gesture, no release of jealousy, nothing special at all was happening, she recognized him.
He stood beside her, hunting amongst the bags of soil at Home Depot, quite possibly the last place on earth any screenwriter would set a romantic interlude. He was trying to pick out just what she needed, a bag that would foster her little seedlings, a bag that wouldn't sit half unused on her patio for the entire season. And she turned to look at him in the late afternoon sunlight (at least the lighting was romantic), and she recognized him.
Immediately, she thought of that poem she'd fallen for years before, that one by Jewel.
and I will recognize you
amongst the many
and claim you as my own
amongst the many
and claim you as my own
He smiled at her and walked inside to look for the perfect size bag of potting soil, and she walked beside him, just feeling that recognition.
She looked at him in the garden section of Home Depot and knew with absolute certainty that she had found him.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Just Wondering
"So, what was the point?"
"The point of what."
"Of meeting the dream guy whose type I wasn't? I mean I got all worked up about him, thought he was THE guy, and then...nothing. What was the point of him all those months ago?"
"You needed to know you get all worked up about someone again."
"Seriously? That's it? You think?"
"I don't know. What brings this up?"
"Oh, I was just thinking about how interesting it is the way things turn out. And the one who actually is THE guy has a lot in common with used-to-be-dream guy."
"Well, then that's easy. You just got confused. Somewhere inside, you knew some of the qualities of your particular Mr. Right. You just noticed them in the wrong guy. It's like when you're a kid and you see your mom in a store, and you run over to her, and almost take her hand, then realize it's not your mom."
"Just a case of mistaken identity then?"
"Precisely."
"The point of what."
"Of meeting the dream guy whose type I wasn't? I mean I got all worked up about him, thought he was THE guy, and then...nothing. What was the point of him all those months ago?"
"You needed to know you get all worked up about someone again."
"Seriously? That's it? You think?"
"I don't know. What brings this up?"
"Oh, I was just thinking about how interesting it is the way things turn out. And the one who actually is THE guy has a lot in common with used-to-be-dream guy."
"Well, then that's easy. You just got confused. Somewhere inside, you knew some of the qualities of your particular Mr. Right. You just noticed them in the wrong guy. It's like when you're a kid and you see your mom in a store, and you run over to her, and almost take her hand, then realize it's not your mom."
"Just a case of mistaken identity then?"
"Precisely."
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Wake Up
She scrunches down under her comforter, pulling the blanket over her head.
"Sunshine until 11 a.m., then gradual fog..."
She knew it was coming...the start of the day had to come sometime. But after a restless night spent tossing and turning amid disturbing dreams, she'd just as soon that it didn't come for another few hours. Sleeping the day away sounds awfully appealing. "Twenty more minutes," she mumbles, resets her alarm and burrows back under the covers.
He's not here. For the first time in several weeks, she's sleeping without him. She never thought she'd get used to having another person in her bed so quickly, but she did. The first night, it almost didn't matter, because she was so tired when she fell into bed. But these past couple of nights, she's gone to bed missing him and dreamt of a life without him, only waking to find that she still misses him. Shouldn't dreams be a relief? Shouldn't she only have to miss him when she's awake?
He hasn't left her for good, but it feels like it. He's moved out of the apartment, although he wasn't really living there...just staying there until he found the place he moved into last weekend. She knew from the first night he threw his suitcase at the foot of her bed that he wasn't staying forever. They weren't moving in together. She prepared herself for a week's stay, but that turned into nearly two months, and now she's used to him.
It doesn't help that the day after he moved his belongings (though not the visible ones at the foot of her bed, only the ones in the patio closet) into his new place, he flew home.
So, he left her twice in the last week, and she feels like a fool.
She rolls over on the bed and rests her head near her sleeping cat, comforted by the warmth of his body, the feel of his fur near her face.
She never thought she'd be the girl to get so caught up in a guy, but looking back, it all makes sense. Every crush she's had has felt nearly this intense. In each of those crushes, she invented full fledged relationships without ever even talking to a guy once, or without dating him, or without being anything more than friends.
She also feels like a fool for worrying. One week away won't steal him from her. Him living elsewhere will also remind her where they are in their (still new) relationship. Rather than live in false state of union, they will return to their twice a week dates, their phone calls, their own space.
She rolls onto her back and kicks her legs against the mattress, frustration letting loose. While she knows it's healthy to see each other less, it seems like a total step backwards, a step she's not willing to take.
The alarm blares again, startling the cat enough to make him raise his head, and she turns it off, without resetting it, knowing that she has to get out of bed and face the world.
Even when she's stewing over the status of her relationship, the world has to continue. Her life has to continue. She will go to work. She will have lunch with her parents. She will drive a good distance to see her friends.
And she will see him again in a few days.
But she wonders if she will ever stop feeling so foolish for being a fool in love.
"Sunshine until 11 a.m., then gradual fog..."
She knew it was coming...the start of the day had to come sometime. But after a restless night spent tossing and turning amid disturbing dreams, she'd just as soon that it didn't come for another few hours. Sleeping the day away sounds awfully appealing. "Twenty more minutes," she mumbles, resets her alarm and burrows back under the covers.
He's not here. For the first time in several weeks, she's sleeping without him. She never thought she'd get used to having another person in her bed so quickly, but she did. The first night, it almost didn't matter, because she was so tired when she fell into bed. But these past couple of nights, she's gone to bed missing him and dreamt of a life without him, only waking to find that she still misses him. Shouldn't dreams be a relief? Shouldn't she only have to miss him when she's awake?
He hasn't left her for good, but it feels like it. He's moved out of the apartment, although he wasn't really living there...just staying there until he found the place he moved into last weekend. She knew from the first night he threw his suitcase at the foot of her bed that he wasn't staying forever. They weren't moving in together. She prepared herself for a week's stay, but that turned into nearly two months, and now she's used to him.
It doesn't help that the day after he moved his belongings (though not the visible ones at the foot of her bed, only the ones in the patio closet) into his new place, he flew home.
So, he left her twice in the last week, and she feels like a fool.
She rolls over on the bed and rests her head near her sleeping cat, comforted by the warmth of his body, the feel of his fur near her face.
She never thought she'd be the girl to get so caught up in a guy, but looking back, it all makes sense. Every crush she's had has felt nearly this intense. In each of those crushes, she invented full fledged relationships without ever even talking to a guy once, or without dating him, or without being anything more than friends.
She also feels like a fool for worrying. One week away won't steal him from her. Him living elsewhere will also remind her where they are in their (still new) relationship. Rather than live in false state of union, they will return to their twice a week dates, their phone calls, their own space.
She rolls onto her back and kicks her legs against the mattress, frustration letting loose. While she knows it's healthy to see each other less, it seems like a total step backwards, a step she's not willing to take.
The alarm blares again, startling the cat enough to make him raise his head, and she turns it off, without resetting it, knowing that she has to get out of bed and face the world.
Even when she's stewing over the status of her relationship, the world has to continue. Her life has to continue. She will go to work. She will have lunch with her parents. She will drive a good distance to see her friends.
And she will see him again in a few days.
But she wonders if she will ever stop feeling so foolish for being a fool in love.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Caught
No more can she trace "I" heart "u" on his back as he falls asleep.
He caught her the other night. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah." She calms her fingers, resting them lightly on his shoulder.
"I thought you were like having seizures or something. You're all twitchy."
"No, I'm fine." She couldn't even think of a good reason for her rapidly moving fingers. She just stopped and wiggled her feet for good measure, just to show she was getting the "twitchy" out of her system.
"Okay. Good night." He hadn't even opened his eyes. Neither had she.
"Good night, baby." She sighed softly and tried to sleep.
Now how would she tell him that she loves him without telling him that she loves him?
He caught her the other night. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah." She calms her fingers, resting them lightly on his shoulder.
"I thought you were like having seizures or something. You're all twitchy."
"No, I'm fine." She couldn't even think of a good reason for her rapidly moving fingers. She just stopped and wiggled her feet for good measure, just to show she was getting the "twitchy" out of her system.
"Okay. Good night." He hadn't even opened his eyes. Neither had she.
"Good night, baby." She sighed softly and tried to sleep.
Now how would she tell him that she loves him without telling him that she loves him?
Saturday, February 03, 2007
A Slightly Unwelcome Nostalgia
She could feel a pang in her chest as she skated around the rink, hand-in-hand with him. A huge part of her felt amazed that, here she was, in her mid-twenties, finally holding the hand of a boy as she whizzed around the ice rink. Well, slid along on her crisp blades without falling down is more like it, but she felt like she was flying.
The pang surprised her.
But she knew immediately what it was.
She was happy to be here with him, but the reason she had come was to skate with her friend, the girl who had, in recent weeks and months, miraculously become her closest friend. And the pang hit her just as she skated by her friend, holding the side rail, staring up into the eyes of her on-again-off-again-on-again boyfriend. She missed her friend.
She also realized that this would be life now.
She will never have her friends the way she once had them. Even if all of the current relationships were to fall to pieces, all of the romantic entanglements dissolve, all of the friendships will have irrevocably changed.
She had wondered, cautiously, over the years in which she had no boyfriend, what she might have to give up, to sacrifice in order to have the thing she wanted most. She worried that something would happen, some karmic twist, that would balance out her happiness with the way the rest of the world felt. She had already recognized some of that sacrifice in the relationship with her parents. It simply isn't possible to maintain the same relationship she did when she lived at home and didn't have someone else who required most of her attention. When she lived at home, in those pre-boyfriend days, she really did only have to think about herself. And she often chose to situate herself next to her parents, for an evening in watching movies.
So, there she is, in this ice rink for the very last time before it closes. She looks at her boyfriend, the man holding her hand, the man with whom she argued just a few short hours before, about his desire to spend time with a friend she doesn't like at all. He lets go of her hand so that he can better balance himself on his wobbly, rented skates, and she retreats back into herself.
This is the last time she will skate on this surface. She'd only been to the rink twice (counting this time) since graduating from college, but in her sorority days, she spent more than one Saturday afternoon making "whips" with her friends, twirling, whirling and giggling. She realizes how long it has been since she really laughed with her friends, since those mostly carefree days of college. The worries she had before graduation were nothing compared to the big, weighty worries she has now, worries she tries not to register, believing, half-heartedly that God will sort everything out for her.
She's still awkward with him after their fight. She feels better about things, but it's hard to come back to their comfortable ways after she's told him some, but not all of what she was feeling. Their conversation is stilted, as if she's speaking with someone who doesn't know the language, or maybe it's her who doesn't know the language.
At last, his ankles can't take any more wobbling, and he goes to sit down next to her friend's boyfriend and another friend's husband. The men can't hack the somewhat graceful moves required to ice skate.
Her girlfriends join her on the ice. They talk, and they laugh. She fills them in on the fight. Their conversation is fluid and easy, and she misses her friends so much, even though they are right there. With a sudden, fierce intensity, she misses college and the sorority. She misses having someone to talk to just next door, or an IM away. She misses late night conversations, midnight runs to Safeway for ice cream, the lightness and freeness of being young, single and away from home. She misses setting her own schedule. She misses not having friends who have gotten married. She misses not having to worry about the big things like whether leaving her job would be career suicide.
They keep skating around. She hears more about her friend's latest, hopeful job possibility, and she's happy. She's happy to see a smile on her closest friend's face.
The other, a married friend, advises them both, and assures her that the right she had with him will be repeated. It is reassuring to hear that their argument is one that will repeat itself, that it's the kind of argument only real couples can have.
The pack of people on the ice thins. The music on the stero jumps erratically, and they can sense the evening coming to a close. The married girl jumps off the rink to try to persuade the men back on the ice for one final lap.
Out they come, and she's happy to see him, happy to hold his hand, but still just a bit melancholy that is presence means she's done having that easy, genuine conversation with her friends. She misses easy conversation not laced with arsenic.
They finish their lap. They leave the ice.
And she steps back into her life.
The pang surprised her.
But she knew immediately what it was.
She was happy to be here with him, but the reason she had come was to skate with her friend, the girl who had, in recent weeks and months, miraculously become her closest friend. And the pang hit her just as she skated by her friend, holding the side rail, staring up into the eyes of her on-again-off-again-on-again boyfriend. She missed her friend.
She also realized that this would be life now.
She will never have her friends the way she once had them. Even if all of the current relationships were to fall to pieces, all of the romantic entanglements dissolve, all of the friendships will have irrevocably changed.
She had wondered, cautiously, over the years in which she had no boyfriend, what she might have to give up, to sacrifice in order to have the thing she wanted most. She worried that something would happen, some karmic twist, that would balance out her happiness with the way the rest of the world felt. She had already recognized some of that sacrifice in the relationship with her parents. It simply isn't possible to maintain the same relationship she did when she lived at home and didn't have someone else who required most of her attention. When she lived at home, in those pre-boyfriend days, she really did only have to think about herself. And she often chose to situate herself next to her parents, for an evening in watching movies.
So, there she is, in this ice rink for the very last time before it closes. She looks at her boyfriend, the man holding her hand, the man with whom she argued just a few short hours before, about his desire to spend time with a friend she doesn't like at all. He lets go of her hand so that he can better balance himself on his wobbly, rented skates, and she retreats back into herself.
This is the last time she will skate on this surface. She'd only been to the rink twice (counting this time) since graduating from college, but in her sorority days, she spent more than one Saturday afternoon making "whips" with her friends, twirling, whirling and giggling. She realizes how long it has been since she really laughed with her friends, since those mostly carefree days of college. The worries she had before graduation were nothing compared to the big, weighty worries she has now, worries she tries not to register, believing, half-heartedly that God will sort everything out for her.
She's still awkward with him after their fight. She feels better about things, but it's hard to come back to their comfortable ways after she's told him some, but not all of what she was feeling. Their conversation is stilted, as if she's speaking with someone who doesn't know the language, or maybe it's her who doesn't know the language.
At last, his ankles can't take any more wobbling, and he goes to sit down next to her friend's boyfriend and another friend's husband. The men can't hack the somewhat graceful moves required to ice skate.
Her girlfriends join her on the ice. They talk, and they laugh. She fills them in on the fight. Their conversation is fluid and easy, and she misses her friends so much, even though they are right there. With a sudden, fierce intensity, she misses college and the sorority. She misses having someone to talk to just next door, or an IM away. She misses late night conversations, midnight runs to Safeway for ice cream, the lightness and freeness of being young, single and away from home. She misses setting her own schedule. She misses not having friends who have gotten married. She misses not having to worry about the big things like whether leaving her job would be career suicide.
They keep skating around. She hears more about her friend's latest, hopeful job possibility, and she's happy. She's happy to see a smile on her closest friend's face.
The other, a married friend, advises them both, and assures her that the right she had with him will be repeated. It is reassuring to hear that their argument is one that will repeat itself, that it's the kind of argument only real couples can have.
The pack of people on the ice thins. The music on the stero jumps erratically, and they can sense the evening coming to a close. The married girl jumps off the rink to try to persuade the men back on the ice for one final lap.
Out they come, and she's happy to see him, happy to hold his hand, but still just a bit melancholy that is presence means she's done having that easy, genuine conversation with her friends. She misses easy conversation not laced with arsenic.
They finish their lap. They leave the ice.
And she steps back into her life.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
In the Air
The door closes gently behind him, and she strains to be sure that's what she heard. Certain that he has gone, she whispers, "I love you," rolls over, pulls the lavender colored down comforter over her head and curls into a ball.
She's known for a while now that she loves him. At first, she was most certainly falling for him, and that was at least two months ago. Two. Whole. Months. Now, she loves him, but she can't tell him. She's certain that telling him before he tells her would spell certain doom for their relationship. Though she's less certain of that than she was when she first realized her feelings for him went stronger than she thought.
At first, she was impatient. She loved him, therefore, he MUST love her. When would he tell her? Any day now, she could feel it. Well, days have turned into weeks and will soon turn into months, and with the passing of time her anxiety has miraculously turned into patience.
She loves him more and more each passing day and has begun to realize that what her mother told her all along was true, it is possible to increase in love when you thought you couldn't possibly love one drop more. Even in just this short time (well, short relative to the lifetime she hopes they'll spend together), her love has shifted and changed shape, moving from a crush turned into deeper feelings to a true and real love, a love that means she can not like something he does and still want him around, a love that means she doesn't want him to tell her something he doesn't mean.
After her anxiety passed, she started taking risks. A whispered, "I love you," as he drifted off to sleep. Spelling out "I" heart "U" on his skin with her finger, careful always to make everything slightly misshapen, lest he realize what she's doing.
Now, she says, "I love you" each night in her mind, and every morning when he leaves. She wants it out there, in the air, as he drives those winding roads to work, as he interviews for jobs, as he goes to new classes.
She believes that those three little words can fly out the door after him and weave themselves into a sphere of protection around him, guarding and guiding him through each day.
At this moment, as she falls back asleep, snug in her bed, with the covers wrapped tightly around her, resting in the warm spot he so recently left, it's enough that her love is in the air around him, even if he doesn't know.
She's known for a while now that she loves him. At first, she was most certainly falling for him, and that was at least two months ago. Two. Whole. Months. Now, she loves him, but she can't tell him. She's certain that telling him before he tells her would spell certain doom for their relationship. Though she's less certain of that than she was when she first realized her feelings for him went stronger than she thought.
At first, she was impatient. She loved him, therefore, he MUST love her. When would he tell her? Any day now, she could feel it. Well, days have turned into weeks and will soon turn into months, and with the passing of time her anxiety has miraculously turned into patience.
She loves him more and more each passing day and has begun to realize that what her mother told her all along was true, it is possible to increase in love when you thought you couldn't possibly love one drop more. Even in just this short time (well, short relative to the lifetime she hopes they'll spend together), her love has shifted and changed shape, moving from a crush turned into deeper feelings to a true and real love, a love that means she can not like something he does and still want him around, a love that means she doesn't want him to tell her something he doesn't mean.
After her anxiety passed, she started taking risks. A whispered, "I love you," as he drifted off to sleep. Spelling out "I" heart "U" on his skin with her finger, careful always to make everything slightly misshapen, lest he realize what she's doing.
Now, she says, "I love you" each night in her mind, and every morning when he leaves. She wants it out there, in the air, as he drives those winding roads to work, as he interviews for jobs, as he goes to new classes.
She believes that those three little words can fly out the door after him and weave themselves into a sphere of protection around him, guarding and guiding him through each day.
At this moment, as she falls back asleep, snug in her bed, with the covers wrapped tightly around her, resting in the warm spot he so recently left, it's enough that her love is in the air around him, even if he doesn't know.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Life According to Plan
"Originally, she thought, "I wanted to meet someone in college, date him for several months and then bring him home to meet everyone." She thought this on her way back to her apartment after a dinner with her parents and her boyfriend of a mere six weeks.
"I wanted to know him inside and out before I let him loose with my family. Who knows what he'll say? Who knows how he'll behave."
She certainly didn't know, couldn't predict yet how he might react to a given situation. And, she worries, people sometimes want to hold her responsible for his behavior, as if she could make him say "thank you" more often, when, really, she knows he just wasn't brought up that way.
She does know this, though, he's very different than she thought he was. Different in a better way. She worried he'd be too much like that last one, too nice for his own good, so nice that she felt that one of two things would happen, 1) she would somehow explode from her desire to be not-so-nice around him, or 2) he would eventually revert back to the purely bad behavior she knew about in his past.
But this one. Oh, he came across as nice and innocent, but, then, she also comes across that way.
They are two misunderstood people living in a world that has been cruel. He's given in to more cynicism than she has. She still believes that everything will turn out okay.
She believes that when she's most in denial.
She turns to look at him and smiles at the sight of his face. She's come to accept and appreciate that this is the face she'll be seeing throughout her life. She also looks at that face and thinks, "Who are you? Where did you come from?"
He senses her stare, reaches across the car and takes her hand.
She continues to smile at him, then turns to stare out the car window, thinking, "I don't know you at all."
"I wanted to know him inside and out before I let him loose with my family. Who knows what he'll say? Who knows how he'll behave."
She certainly didn't know, couldn't predict yet how he might react to a given situation. And, she worries, people sometimes want to hold her responsible for his behavior, as if she could make him say "thank you" more often, when, really, she knows he just wasn't brought up that way.
She does know this, though, he's very different than she thought he was. Different in a better way. She worried he'd be too much like that last one, too nice for his own good, so nice that she felt that one of two things would happen, 1) she would somehow explode from her desire to be not-so-nice around him, or 2) he would eventually revert back to the purely bad behavior she knew about in his past.
But this one. Oh, he came across as nice and innocent, but, then, she also comes across that way.
They are two misunderstood people living in a world that has been cruel. He's given in to more cynicism than she has. She still believes that everything will turn out okay.
She believes that when she's most in denial.
She turns to look at him and smiles at the sight of his face. She's come to accept and appreciate that this is the face she'll be seeing throughout her life. She also looks at that face and thinks, "Who are you? Where did you come from?"
He senses her stare, reaches across the car and takes her hand.
She continues to smile at him, then turns to stare out the car window, thinking, "I don't know you at all."
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
How Many Times
In the last week, I have started to count, though not really keep track of, the number of moments when I realize that I would like to say the words, "I love you." I'm not talking about times when I would like to say it for the first time. No, I am counting the times I would like to say it if we were already saying it to each other.
For example:
*When he made pretzels, without being asked, to take to my parents' house for dinner
*When he felt comfortable enough with my friends to spend an entire evening with them
*When he asks if I want him to drive
*When I go to sleep at night
*When he leaves in the morning
I'll have to be careful, because I've started saying it to him, in my head, or just mouthing the words after his eyes are closed, or after he closes the door. Perhaps one time the words will just slip out of my mouth, unannounced. Perhaps I won't mind.
For example:
*When he made pretzels, without being asked, to take to my parents' house for dinner
*When he felt comfortable enough with my friends to spend an entire evening with them
*When he asks if I want him to drive
*When I go to sleep at night
*When he leaves in the morning
I'll have to be careful, because I've started saying it to him, in my head, or just mouthing the words after his eyes are closed, or after he closes the door. Perhaps one time the words will just slip out of my mouth, unannounced. Perhaps I won't mind.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
