It has been a very long time since a man touched me with love on his fingertips. I’m not sure I remember the feeling.
Confession: I spent most of 2010 making love to a man who was not making love to me in return. Oh the physical act was there, and at times I could swear I’d see a flicker of love in his eyes, but that was just my confusion of sexual tenderness for love. I am easily confused.
Somehow when a lover hurts my feelings it’s like I can feel every past hurt from every past lover rush back to me all at once. And the twinge in my heart is so great that tears bloom in my eyes.
Suddenly I am sitting in my bedroom, talking on the telephone. My grandmother has just died and I’m saying, “I just need you to come over and hold me.” Mark refuses to come. And he does not understand. I am crying.
Suddenly I am driving my car in Ann Arbor with a dark haired man in the passenger seat. The windows are down and we are listening to Pearl Jam. I am laughing when I turn toward him and finally notice the marks on his neck that were not made by me. I’m hitting the brakes while trying not to hit him in the face. I’m kicking Chris out of my car miles from his house. I am crying.
Suddenly I am looking at my checking account balance wondering why his check for half the rent bounced. I am sitting in an airport listening to him explain that he doesn’t have the money he promised he’d save for our vacation mere hours before we are supposed to leave. I’m talking to his sister realizing the computer he “sold for $40” was actually sold for four hundred dollars. Another lie. About money. Again. And I am crying. I am crying. I am crying myself to sleep on the couch while Shaun sleeps peacefully in our bed.
Suddenly I am waking up in bed next to him, his long arms and legs wrapped around me, keeping me warm. I am coasting down a hill behind him on my bicycle, wind and happiness on my cheeks on a hot summer day. I am closing my eyes as he kisses me, knowing that he is a man who will never lie to me. I am sitting in a dark movie theater listening to the sound of our laughter rise up toward the ceiling. I am watching him fidget with his keys while he talks about movies with the video store clerk, knowing we won't actually watch the one we are renting. I am chopping peppers, listening to music he gave to me, music that I love, music that he knew I’d love. I'm on a rooftop in Nashville, at a wedding on my birthday, hoping that he will call me to wish me a happy one. I am standing at the foot of his bed as Mike says to me, “Don’t fall in love with me.”
I am lying when I respond, “I won’t.”
I am lying.
