First thing this morning I cleaned out the leftovers of a love affair. A shirt that once smelled deliciously of him, but now smelled 100% me; a bottle of unopened champagne; a ceramic-potted cactus that, while tiny, was vibrant in color and invitingly thorny. Some stuff from the kitchen that was too sharply, recognizably his--apple cider, pickles. Things I might eat at someone else's house but not keep at my own.
The only hold-out is this small box of mints. Vermints, peppermint flavor. They look like altoids but they're Vermont's all-natural, and glucose-free. This, or some other memory they evoke, makes them unbearably delicious. These I will eat, one after another, until I have finished writing, and then the Vermints will leave the apartment with me on my walk to the park. The Vermints won't return. They are the item of his that has been here the longest, and they will be the last to go.
It seems, readers, my friends, girls, that I can really only dig in to writing when I am FRESH with pain, dripping with it or the musings on it. When happiness or contentment starts to seep in, I seem to have less to say. If kindness drifts in, I'm mute.
He, this man I just excavated, was very unbelievably kind for a very brief (in retrospect), intense spell. Less than six weeks, but the spell made it feel much longer. I can't explain it better than to say I felt wrapped in a swath of this man's abundant warmth and love, almost immediately. At the same time, his dominance frightened me and seduced me, simultaneously. I have always been a very dominant woman. I actually survived my life because of it. And here was the most dominant man I have ever met. It was heady. And terrifying. The most frightening thing I've ever done, I'd say, so far. It felt unbearably good.
I had surgery during the period we were togther, a major surgery requiring several nights in the hospital, about three weeks after we'd met. This man showed up at my apartment, pure surprise, on the night before my surgery. He knew I was alone and would probably be freaking out. On the day they cut me open and sewed me back together with a new part, he appeared, again, unexpectedly, at my bedside. He held my hand while my other hand held a morphine pump. This is, was, incredible to me. What had I done to earn this hand? I still can not make sense of it. I was giddy that night, surrounded by machines and blips and nurses. I was not actually in a hospital, I was in a room with this man. We might have been sitting in a park.
The way he left feels unkind, but maybe it is my still-much-too-close perspective. I don't actually understand the way that we ended. Maybe in time I fully will, and then I will see that his kindness lasted to the end. This is too hard to think about just yet.
But this man's kindness is not what I really came here to tell you about. It is his indescribable smell. And his very unusually colored eyes that were PERFECT windows, really perfect, into his wavelength--not what he was thinking or feeling, but a perfect read of his brain's temperature. I don't know how else to explain it. And his leg: He was a leg-shaker. Do you understand? He is that kind of man, very wrapped up, very going on with things, always somewhere, always looking deeper.
Sometimes this quest for the light of deeper shined on me. Sometimes he shined it on me. It felt like glory.
When something like this kind of light from a man with eyes and a heart like this shines on you, friends, I advise you to do one of two things: Either run for cover. [PLEASE NOTE: This is a very wise choice! There is nothing wrong with running for cover! Do not confuse my own refusal to choose this choice with my sole endorsement of the other choice.]
Or: Breathe it in. Take big gulping breaths. Gasp for, grasp for, cling to, as much as you can and CRAVE for the rest. Invite it all in, and give it all up. Know that it might be ten years or never before another light like this shines on you. Hope that you have soaked in enough of it to remember its taste when your soul is dry and your arms are cold.
This will hurt like hell when you are packing up his cactus and jar of pickles.
Then go leave the damned Vermints in the park.
This is the best I can do, today. Tomorrow I will try to do better.
