I loved watching you walk across the room. You wore those black overalls everyone told you you couldn’t pull off. And then there you were, walking with a tight crop top with no bra that barely contained your breasts that pressed against your diamond-patterned top. Both overall straps weren’t buttoned in, so what would have been the top half of your overalls hung down from your hips acting as some kind of folded skirt. Your hips bones were exposed with the denim straps swinging loosely near your legs. You had that tomboy look with your short hair and buzzed fade in the back. It was so boyish, but your curves couldn’t lie so I touched them often and let them speak the feminine truth to me. They were honest with me. And honesty these days is…wow.
Your fingers pecked at a bowl of blueberries, quick and nimble as if you couldn’t find a balance between casual snacking and devouring what might be your last meal. Your polka dotted socks looked ridiculous with you sitting crossed-legged on the floor. After a good forty-five minutes, you grew tired and let out a little yawn that reminded me that despite how you eat all of your vegetables, change your car oil every three months, and introduce yourself with a solid handshake, that really you’re still just a kid. There you were getting all sleepy eyed and it wasn’t even nine fucking thirty.
You then noticed me watching you in your carefree state. You cocked your head to one side and that smile escaped from your mouth. I wanted to trap it. You raised your eyebrows to ask, “What?” And I shook my head and exhaled heavily to tell you, “It’s nothing.” But you didn’t quite believe me, or maybe you did. Anyhow, you stopped reaching out for blueberries, and crawled over to the couch where I sat still and heavy like a man who had just had a very long day at work with more to come. You took my hand. Kissed it. You then sat on the couch, rested your head on my heavy shoulders. I could be carrying the world and all of its Goddamn problems, but I would always welcome your head.
You lifted your head and leaned in and whispered, “You are important.” After a short pause you add, “And you are incredibly important to me.” Your voice, if it was a flavor, would have been sweeter than sugar, smoother than honey, warmer than a cup of peppermint tea on a cold day. "Warmer than a cup of peppermint tea on a cold day"...? Jesus, when did I start thinking like this?
This could maybe all be enough. This all could be a beautiful little life where I just happened to stay humble.
But I want more than just this.
I hear you sigh, and it makes me happy because I know you feel safe.
But it makes me happier to know I can do better. And it makes me even happier knowing I will do better. Because in ten minutes, I’ll tell you i’m going to go out with the boys. You’ll believe me, because you wouldn’t be you if you didn't. Then I’ll go out, and I’ll meet her. I’ll get to know her. I’ll love her.
And she’s nothing like you.
She doesn’t wear overalls or walk around without the support of a bra. She doesn’t eat fruit while sitting on the ground. Her hair is long and she likes when I pull it. She’s not as curvy, but she’s light as a feather. She likes when I pick her up. She doesn’t get tired reading Calvin and Hobbes early in the evening while wearing ridiculously patterned socks. She stays up late in her lacy silk slips. She’s perfect. She’s…wow.