She changed love for him. She changed it and she made it seem… plausible.
And now he has probably fucked it all up. He knew that he would eventually. Down deep.
She is pretending to sleep, as he sits at the foot of her bed in his boxer briefs. He balls and unballs his greyish socks. They kind of look green to him in this lighting.
Fight or flight.
Her breathing is too fast for anyone actually sleeping. But, he in no way wants her to give up the charade. At all.
He remembers the first time he saw her. The way that her dark hair fell over her eye a little — and seemed to annoy her a lot — as she hovered around making sure that all of her guests were well fed.
Above and beyond the call of duty, but cute.
He remembers how he almost had to fight with her, to help pick up the pieces of the glass that she broke while rushing around.
He remembers how thankful she seemed that he had helped her despite her knee-jerk jerky refusals. The “thank you” coming out as a sigh, while her clenched, determined jaw waged a facial civil war against her bright, warm eyes.
He remembers arguing about whether Pearl Jam’s 10 or Vs. is superior. You couldn’t have removed his smile with a wire brush, while she sang much of “Go” to him.
He remembers the black dress.
He still wonders why he didn’t ask her out that night. Seeing her out on a date with a guy the next week didn’t help. It gave him a feeling that he’d later describe, to extremely unsympathetic ears in his weekly poker game, as “like tinfoil on fillings” in his brain.
But, once he got her, he vowed never to let her go.
And for six months, he hasn’t.
Finally he has a fuck it moment. If this is “love” then he should fight for it, right? Right.
He turns to her and gently jostles her foot. Her eyes open slowly… cautiously…
He takes a deep breath.
“I’ve had enough of this. I… I can’t take this silence anymore. I pooped in your bathroom and we should discuss it.”
[Originally posted March 2008]