“OH-KAY. Here we go. Listen, you’re just not hearing what I’m saying..,” he scoffed, turning back towards the shepherd’s pie he prepared. I walked off to the bedroom.
No, I wasn’t hearing what he was saying. I was frustrated from work, and I just didn’t want to justify my feelings any longer. Every single word that I uttered passed right between his ears. Back and forth, we interrupt each other. Like some subconscious game of cat and mouse.
“I can’t articulate exactly what I need to say to him. Why does that always happen at the exact moment that I need to say it? I don’t get tongue-tied, no – I’m not the kind of girl who gets tongue tied especially during an argument. I’m more grounded than that. I graduated from Law School. Ugh!” I thought as I laid face down on the bed, breathing heavily into the comforter.
Why do we do this frustrating thing? We used to be so good at communicating. We used to giggle at everything, and hold each other in the living room for no reason at all. Is this how it is now? Arguing for no reason? Damn those thoughts, again. You know the ones. The “irrational thoughts of a thousand jaded moons” I like to call them. Emphasis on the jaded part. The final feeling before being dumped, the last few breaths before the encore of a closing show, the rush of ice through your veins. Why is it that my brain defaults to a place of loneliness and despair every time we get into an argument? I was cuddled too much as a child, wasn’t I? I was given too much false hope. I can’t take it. I am going to just go to sleep.
Can’t sleep. Trying, but now I feel stupid. “Dear God, grow up,” I said to myself. “Whatever happens, happens – che sara sara.” Those were always comforting fallback words for me. The concept that the responsibility of failure or success couldn’t possibly all fall to me.
I sighed heavily and rolled over. The dog had made her way onto the bed. What a lover. Amidst her clumsiness and hyperactive tongue, she has a motherly quality. She sees into my soul somehow. She can read me. She can read both of us. She pushed her body against mine and licked my face, never breaking eye contact, flapping her tail in excitement. She was not keen on drama at dinner time, especially when she knew there were scraps headed her way.
I sat up to see him standing in the doorway, staring at me. “You ok?” he asked. I briefly made eye contact with him and nodded.
“I love you, and I’m sorry,” I said.
“I know. Me too. This is going to happen, you know. We are too good for each other to just have a simple, boring, normal life. And I love you too much to let something like this get the best of us.” We exchanged smiles, he came over and kissed me. “Now can we eat before our dog dies of scrap-stipation?”
I laughed. “Yeah, let’s eat.”