even if i am. (5 page)

chapter eight

breathe me

In between bites of pasta, Five Year continued, “I know we’ve been fighting a lot, especially the past few months. I know that you’re trying to rediscover yourself, playing guitar and writing more…” He chewed, stammered on. “Hell, I remember being in my late twenties and needing to find my own again, too. I just hope this search doesn’t affect our relationship. I want you to know that I love you, and I am completely content.”

I shuddered at the word
content
but acknowledged his sincerity with a brief smile.

He didn’t notice my cringe. “I’d hate for things to get more complicated between us. We seem to be fighting all the time. Even more since you’ve been rediscovering yourself. I do want you to enjoy those things again. I want to enjoy them with you. I’m just scared of losing you. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

I didn’t know what else to say.

From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Sent:
Monday, March 28, 10:46 a.m.
Subject:
hurt…

this e-mail is certainly NOT meant to hurt you,

but it will bring you no comfort or pleasure.

it is me simply being as honest as I can

with you

with myself.

I am crazy about you —

there is no denying that.

plus I think I tell you in every damn e-mail.

but it is becoming

much more than that.

feelings I can’t control,

we can’t control

feelings of love, yes, love

of passion.

of obsession.

feelings that scare me.

I hardly know you.

but am terrified by our likeness.

and throughout these feelings

I HAVE A BOYFRIEND!

a sweet and caring boyfriend.

who might not make my skin crawl with hunger.

who might not have the poetry of life,

and the passion of love in his fingertips,

but he is mine.

and I do love him.

and he loves me…

I am not sure I am ready to leave.

I am not sure I am strong enough.

you deserve to be loved.

and loved fully.

I CANNOT offer that.

I wish I could

but I cannot.

so I am asking you again.

I am hurting.

so before I hurt you,

as much if not more

than I am hurting myself…

walk away.

please.

I care too much about you.

today…

let’s talk, get coffee, question…

then take a little time to sort out our lives?

"Breathe Me"
Sia

We hadn’t talked all day. My e-mail sat with no reply. I figured Anthony was upset when his voice on the phone asked me to meet him in the stairwell “right now.” He hung up before I had the chance to respond. I was apprehensive. I walked slowly as I imagined him pacing, waiting, angry.

His watery eyes welcomed mine, soft and anxious. It caught me off guard when I opened the stairwell door and saw him on the top step. I dragged my feet as I climbed each stair. Charged with courage, he met me halfway on the staircase, then clutched my waist. Before I could say a word, he pressed my body against the wall to meet his. It all happened so fast. I felt his weight against mine and caught my breath. Eyes wide open, he placed his lips gently on my cheek, and then stopped as we both exhaled in one big breath. He knew what I was going to say before I said it.

We held our faces close, intimately rubbing cheeks, nuzzling noses, lips, ears, eyelashes, purely breathing each other in. Inhale. Exhale. Bodies pressed as close as clothes allowed.

We never kissed. We merely absorbed one another’s breathing. Feeling only what we wanted to feel. Repeating smiles. The rest of the world didn’t matter.

“Does this help sort things out?” His whisper kissed my cheek.

chapter nine

waiting for my real life to begin

From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Sent:
Thursday, April 14, 11:06 a.m.
Subject:
busy

busy as hell,

client in the bay

when do we quit

and become farmers?

"Waiting For My Real Life To Begin"
Colin Hay

From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Sent:
Thursday, April 14, 1:11 p.m.
Subject:
Re: busy

soon I hope…

can we have two dogs?

and a pig?

I always wanted a pet pig.

and a huge garden.

with lots of veggies.

mmmmm, and you have to wear

overalls and a cowboy hat.

sounds wonderful.

From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Sent:
Thursday, April 14, 1:24 p.m.
Subject:
Re: busy

hat and overalls?

hell yeah!

i want to grow everything…

tons of it!

veggies we’ve never even heard of…

and a barn…

i want a barn too…

and our house has to have a porch…

and a screen door…

i should smoke a pipe too…

when the day is done,

and we’re watching the last trace

of blue drain out of the sky…

will you play your guitar for me

in those last moments of the day?

oh, and you have to promise

never to wear shoes…

and have lots of babies…

one for every month…

Love means different things for different people. Anthony described a dizzy, inspired love. Mine meant certainty. For the first time, I felt the difference between knowing love and feeling love, between sincerity and sentiment. I felt it with him. I never told him that then. I was afraid to. Don’t laugh, but I saw us in the end of storybooks, the fairytale Emily believed in, the sentiment my coffee-shop friend confessed. Anthony and I were a happily-ever-after. Sure, there where moments Anthony had a tummy ache that would put him in a crabby mood or maybe I would spin out, over-think my actions and question if we were moving too fast — but honestly, it didn’t matter then. I was experiencing love instead of trying to figure it all out.

From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Sent:
Tuesday, April 19, 2:48 p.m.
Subject:
the simple life

the simple life you seek

is the one you are living…

to wake up with Gladys,

and flirt with love at work.

we spend so much of our lives

looking to the next moments…

working our asses off to get to that next level…

anticipating what it will be like…

in these moments. in these days.

i am happy. and i am content.

there is heartbreak.

sadness. loneliness.

of course…

but i want to enjoy these times,

need to enjoy these times…

i want to be in love.

beautiful love. crazy fucking love.

the kind of love

that deserves children…

lots and lots of children…

one for every month…

“july! wash your hands before you eat!

april… will you please put a shirt on

before you come to the dinner table…”

Looking back, we were running so fast. Anthony knew we needed to take a step back, and we did — sort of. For weeks we met less, e-mailed three times instead of eight. Drawn in blood, the friendship line gave us time to sort things out in our lives. To get us to where we both wanted to be. Of course we couldn’t stop flirting, but we no longer questioned our feelings or desires. We had a secret. No one needed to know how we were feeling. In those moments and in those days, we knew.

chapter ten

our way to fall

“He’s such an asshole,” I spat at Emily, then turned to Zach. “Did he ever take the time to think about what I wanted? That maybe, just maybe, I’d want to spend my birthday with him?”

Emily and Zach nodded in silence.

“Just because he’s telling me in advance,” I fumed, “I should be okay with it because he gave me ‘time to make other plans.’ Eff him. He missed my birthday last year for work, and is going to miss it AGAIN, just so he can visit his grandmother? He couldn’t do it ANY other weekend?”

“Your boyfriend is an asshole,” Emily stated.

“And he told me over the phone!”

“TOTAL fucker.”

“I can’t believe he’s missing my birthday again. Why would he decide to visit his grandmother that weekend? He didn’t even invite me!”

“Complete jerk.”

“When’s your birthday?” Zach questioned, hoping to settle us so he could continue editing.

“July twentieth!” I yelled.

“Well, it’s only June?” he ventured.

“AND,” I said, ignoring Zach, “after he gets back from visiting his grandmother, he’s going to Hawaii for work!”

Emily and I continued criticizing. Was I hurt? Not really, but kind of. I think I was just more dissatisfied than anything. This was the between-the-lines confirmation I needed, the agreement from friends that Five Year was in fact wrong for me. Sometimes you need that validation from friends. Or, at least I did.

From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Sent:
Monday, June 13, 11:19 a.m.
Subject:
feeling better…

can we have an illicit staircase rendezvous?

something? i need to see you.

like… now…

cause i fucking miss you…

“Our Way to Fall”
Yo La Tengo

From:
[email protected]
To:
[email protected]
Sent:
Monday, June 13, 11:20 a.m.
Subject:
Re: feeling better…

how about lunch?

We stumbled upon a perfectly grassy hill at the park’s entrance and laid out our picnic lunch. The sun warmed my back as we unpacked our sandwiches. It was ideal: a picnic in the middle of a work-filled afternoon.

“Heard you were upset earlier today?”

“Zach told you?”

“Sorry.”

“That’s okay.”

“How you feeling now?”

“Better I guess,” I said. Anthony smiled. “Being on a picnic with you helps.”

“I thought it might.” His smile was saintly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know,” I fell back into apprehension. “I just feel like I’m wasting my time trying to make my relationship work. I know he and I want different things. I am trying to find my own independence, and strength. I’m tired of this unsatisfied feeling. I want deeper levels of intimacy, conversations, not television over dinner. I don’t know. You don’t want to hear this.”

“I’m still your friend, aren’t I?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you mean, ‘different things?’”

“I want to be married. Married to someone who adores me, can’t live without me. Not out of contentment but love. Someone who wants me as his wife — wants
my
children. Someone who wants
me
to come along and visit his grandmother, not just because I want those things, but because he wants them too. Someone who considers me in decisions. I don’t know. Maybe I’m asking too much.”

“It doesn’t sound like too much.”

“To him it is. For the past year I’ve tried to make it work between us, but I feel like love isn’t enough sometimes. There needs to be more of a foundation than just love. You know?”

“No. I wish I did.”

“I’m sorry. You don’t want to hear this. We have enough complications between us. I’m a mess. I guess I just needed to vent.”

“Do you feel better?”

“Yes.”

“Can we enjoy our picnic now?”

“Yes,” still feeling a bit uptight.

I’m glad Anthony changed the subject to work agitations and creative disappointments, blaming his constant tummy ache to stress. I just watched his lips move and his perfect teeth, in love with the words from his mouth to me. His sweet eyes and pervasive smile had me laughing. He could do that — get me to laugh no matter my mood. It was a perfect afternoon. Sitting in the grass, legs crossed, shedding the day’s frustrations, my edges softened next to him.

With round full bellies we stretched out in the grass, bathed in sunshine, gazing at the clouds above. He offered an arm for me to rest my head.

“So, now what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I might take a break from my relationship and be on my own for a while. That was part of the reason I asked you for some space. I need to find my independence. Clear my head. I’ve been saving a little money… I am in a rut and I think it’s time to get out of it.” I closed my eyes, took a deep breath. “I need more moments like these.”

…

Emily looked concerned. “Chas, there was a call for you at lunch. Your boyfriend has been in a car accident. He’s at Cedars Hospital.”