She awoke
not knowing who she had just spoken to
in her dream.
But she remembered what he had said.
“You’re a woman through and through.
Don’t let anyone change you
or question your femininity.”
She didn’t know him.
She probably never would.
But he made her feel more like a woman
than any man could.
They sat on the corner of her bed after having made love. He’d already dressed. She sat, still naked. “I’ve actually never read anything you’ve written,” he said. In the two years they’d been playing cat and mouse, he’d said a lot of mean things, but this, to her, was the most cruel.
It was then she realized that not only did he not love her, he did not respect her. And worst of all he took her love for granted– as if a joke.
He consumed all that she did online: watched her from afar, commenting now and again about how he liked the way a dress moved on her body, the way she’d done her hair– as if entitled to her.
She’d always taken it as a compliment that he was watching her, consuming her; if only virtually. Now she wondered if this is what it is to be a modern day voyeur.
No need for a peephole. No reason to wait until after dark to peer into a still lit window in hopes of catching a glimpse of a silhouette. The content was laid out before you. No work necessary. Consume at will. Risk nothing.
She flashed back to her freshman year of highschool. One Friday night she had begged her mother to take her to the mall to hang out with her friends as they did every Friday night. And on this night her mother said, “No.”
This was the first time her mother had declined to drive her the fifteen minutes to the Ohio Valley Mall and she had pouted and asked, “But WHY?”
“Let them wonder where you are,” her mother replied smoothly, “Don’t be so available.”
The only class she’d gotten straight A’s in that semester had been economics. She realized it was a simple concept of supply and demand. No one wants what is readily available to the masses. We all like to think we have discovered something on our own. What makes something valuable is its perceived uniqueness; its exclusivity.
… And so she realized on that afternoon as he left her sitting naked on the corner of her bed, in a world where we are inundated with information, images, and “I, I, I,” it seems we are totally overstimulated but completely uninspired.
“Are you up?”
She knew what this normally meant– and normally she ignored it. But tonight she responded.
“Where are you?”
“Why did you say you wish I was ready?”
She knew where this conversation was going to lead– nowhere. It hadn’t led anywhere in the time she’d known him, but she always hoped that one day the brush would clear, the clouds would part, and he would show her, almost miraculously, exactly who he was– the person she already knew but he was too afraid to show the rest of the world.
“I wish you were ready for us. For this. For something real.”
It was several minutes before he responded. She watered her orchid, poured another glass of wine. Resettled under the blanket on her couch where she’d fallen asleep.
“Can I tell you something I’ve never told anyone before?”
“Of course.”
She knew he needed her and had only been waiting all of this time for him to realize how much so. She knew she wouldn’t like what he had to say, but again, she already knew what he was going to say because she knew him– from another life, from another planet, from another something– but she knew.
“I want them all, but I really want you.”
What she wanted was to be flattered. It was clear it was she who he needed, but he wasn’t willing to give it all up– and she didn’t want him to.
“You need to just do what you need to do. I’m not here to change you.”
He wasn’t sure how to process that statement. No one had ever let him run free while still loving him. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure he even knew what it meant to be truly loved.
“We’re still doing this, so it’s not going to change. These feelings aren’t going anywhere.”
She knew that was true because she’d tried to forget him, several times. She’d moved on, she’d met new people, but never without looking back– looking to see if he was watching her go. She had always hoped that at some point they would figure it out.
However, every time she saw a beautiful girl with nice legs and long hair, she felt in her heart that he would stray. It could never be. He could never be satisfied. And she could never be satisfied with a someone in such a state.
She wanted to just leave it alone. Leave it as broken wreckage. As a lesson. But there was something, something about him, she couldn’t leave him stranded. She knew he was more dangerous to himself than he was to her.
“Come here and tell me everything.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“You’ll stop loving me. You’ll see who I really am.:
“I already know and I haven’t stopped yet.”
She didn’t text him after he left her on top of the kitchen table the night before. She didn’t know what she would have said even if she wanted to speak to him. He’d always been a bit of a mystery to her, but now seemed like an unconquerable puzzle.
Something about him had changed. The way he dressed. The way he carried himself. The change was subtle as one couldn’t immediately identify it, but drastic enough to know that it had occurred. He was still the man she loved, but also not at all the man she knew. He showed up an hour late without bothering to let her know and didn’t apologize once he’d finally arrived, kicking off his white sneakers at her front door. He looked more handsome than the last time she saw him in a soft white t-shirt and dark jeans cuffed just slightly at the ankle. His thick dark hair was still wet from having gotten caught in the thunderstorm on his way over. But the things she’d always been attracted to in him– his stability, his integrity– seemed to be lost.
“Did you get the wine?” he asked.
At this moment, she realized she was not the same woman she knew either.
“Yes! They didn’t have exactly what you wanted, but said this was even better!” she replied cheerfully opening the second drawer under the counter to find her wine opener.
He had a way of bringing out something different in her. He brought out her desire to care for someone else– a feeling she hadn’t experienced for several years. A feeling she’d stopped wanting to feel. A feeling she no longer thought that she could feel. Strangely, here she was– wanting to protect him knowing fully that she wasn’t the slightest bit safe around him.
They sat next to each other on her small, uncomfortable white leather couch. He hated that couch. She knew how much he hated that couch– and she knew they were both thinking about how much he hated that couch.
She spoke, “I won’t push if you promise not to pull.”
“Explain,” he said.
“I know you’re not ready. I won’t push you, just promise not to be so stubborn proving your point that you miss what’s right here.”
“Okay…”
“Oh, and don’t be mad at me if you fall in love.”
He told her about his weekend. She told him about her writing. Neither cared much about either subject. They were both just trying to be the the last one to make the first move when in reality they both wanted exactly the same thing.
When they’d met two years ago, there had been an undeniable connection and it was that connection that had gotten them here. That connection that had caused so much pleasure, yet so much pain. They knew they needed to be together, they just didn’t know how. He wanted his freedom. She wanted his fidelity.
Finally, he reached for her. It was as if the lightning from that night’s storm had been captured in her small one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. She often considered herself shy, a little self conscious, but never with him. Thinking of the weight she’d gained, the wrinkles she’d earned never mattered in those moments. She felt free. She felt like herself. It was as if his own sense of freedom rubbed off on her during these moments. It was seductive. It was addictive. It was confusing.
They sat and talked again. This time they laughed. They talked about their friends. They talked about their first date. She felt so close to him. He called her by the wrong name.
Michelle.
Who was Michelle? We all know that people have lives outside of our own together, but what happens when those other lives collide? Did Michelle also feel this connection? Had he ever called Michelle by her name?
She hadn’t even thought about him ever being with, let alone feeling the feelings she thought were exclusive to them, with someone else. It was as if she could see for the very first time in her life.
She didn’t sleep well that night. She didn’t sleep well most of the time, but this was different. She felt like all of the light had been let in. Her delusions had been dampened.
When she did finally get up, she checked her phone and saw a message.
“What was your favorite part about last night?”
“Ever wonder why we spend money at carnivals when they’re plenty of people who will take us for a ride for free?”
She stopped mid bite to look back at her friend. Her friend often spoke in analogies, but this one was particularly interesting. Especially since she couldn’t even recall the last time she’d been to a proper carnival beyond that of her community garden fundraiser and that only consisted of cornhole and face painting.
She finished chewing her bite of carrot hummus and pita before asking, “What do you mean?”
Her friend snorted and rolled her eyes as if she’d just asked why we breathe.
“Seriously? You are literally the queen of carnivals! If there was a CEO for the Tilt-O-Whirl, a ferris wheel president… you’d be it!”
She put down her pita. “What are you talking about?!”
“Please don’t take this as an insult– it’s not– you just believe what everyone says because you mean everything that you say. And well, sadly, most people have zero intention behind their words, as beautiful as those words sound at the time. It’s almost as if they say what they say for their own benefit– to feel as if they have any intimate connection to another person. And you entertain it– just like the bearded woman entertains the world’s tallest twins…”
“I don’t understand.”
“Of course you don’t. That’s the the irony of it all. If you understood, you’d be just like the rest. And you, my sweet friend, are not like any of them.”
“You’re looking at the world through a fun house mirror. It’s all distorted.”
“Hmm…” she said, “maybe I should just go and run away with the circus.”
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