10:59 a.m. | 2008-01-11
One Eye On the Clock

Three weeks of silence.

21 days of making sure he hadn’t called. A few weekends of finding something else to do with myself because we didn’t have plans. Endless nights of wondering how this is ok, how his behavior is acceptable and what I did to deserve it or bring it on.

That last night. His hand on mine. My giggles. We read science magazines. I sighed and smiled, he looked at me with his head down and his eyes pointed up. We practiced our games with each other and he said thank you far too many times.

My outfit was nice. My food was delicious. My house was pretty. My bedroom was amazing. My life was tempting. He said so many niceties.

I opened my heart and I jumped off again, arms outspread. This time I landed, though. I was fine at the bottom. Nights of coffee shops and being hit on by drunk girls and we meandered over all of them.

Then 3 weeks.

Pursing my mouth and moving it side to side (this is not a fact, just a guess) I dialed his number. A pressed blue shirt, dark rimmed glasses, smooth face and tile behind him. There was no answer. I left my best wishes, as always, and bit my tongue as I told him my intent to move on.

Part of me wished he had answered. Part of me was glad he hadn’t. Either way I didn’t deserve what I got about 28 hours later.

I don’t deserve chains, and tugging, and lies, and unclear truths. I deserve road trips with old alternative country albums. I deserve late night ice cream runs. I deserve hands through hair and cocked eyebrows.

I don’t ask for much. I don’t require the world. I don’t need you to pull the moon down from the sky for me. I don’t need serenades or diamond rings. I just need you, I guess.

This e.e. cummings-esque melancholy will surely pass and snow will fall on my eyelashes and I’ll grin. I just wish for it sooner rather than later.

k