There are, I believe, two diametrically opposed elements that narrate our desire to keep coming back to each other.
One is our not even remotely knowing each other.
And the other is knowing each other so completely.
He’s allowed one overnight visit every four to six weeks. Today he showed up after an absence of 21 days.
“That’s cheating,” I wanted to say.
But I didn’t.
When I am quiet and submissive, I am never sure if I am being considerate of his feelings— his life—or my own.
“There’s no food in the house,” I tell him.
“I didn’t come for the food.”
After he rests, we go out for dinner.
The hostess leads us to a table with two chairs opposite a booth. My son and I slide into the booth side.
“Are you all right with a chair?” I ask him, after the fact.
He closes his wide hands over the chair’s crest.
“Do you want the booth?”
He’s huge. Not just his physical body, but something about his presence. He towers over the young hostess, who is nervously waiting on us to get settled.
Eyes never leaving mine, he pulls out his chair and sits.
“I like this side,” he says, as our hostess relaxes slightly and starts to hand us our menus.
And then, “It reminds me of my time in prison.”
The sweet hostess turns and stares nakedly at him for a fraction of a second before blushing and hastening away.
I spread my napkin slowly across my lap, smoothing the soft fabric with my fingertips, fighting the tug at mouth’s corners.
When I gain enough composure to look up, I realize he has been staring at me the whole while, awaiting my reaction to his little performance.
This is a perfect example of our intimacy. A joke that makes no sense whatsoever, played on the unsuspecting, simply so that we can be pulled closer in each other’s orbit.
How pleased with himself he looks. And how it tears at my heart to see his looking such.
I can’t conceive of what I’d think of him now, had I not known him then.
Sometimes I try.
“Would I like you if I were meeting you for the first time?” I asked once, out loud.
“I doubt it,” he answered honestly and, probably, accurately.
He sleeps with his hands balled up in angry fists. He claims that he spent our years apart in the arms of whores. He’s abrasive and ill-tempered almost all of the time.
But somehow, when I look, I still see adorable innocence spilled all over him.
101 thoughts on “don’t touch me”
what an oddly beautiful piece. thanks for sharing. there were moments I thought something totally different from what played out. thanks for the good read.
The title is brilliant.
thank you so much. it’s actually my favorite part.
Do you mind if I re-post this story?
no, not at all. thank you for even considering it.
Through only the eyes of a mother…
Reblogged this on Dave.
Lovely. Unique. Unexpected. Delightful. Sad. Beautiful. All words that came to mind after reading this.
flattered. grateful. shy. tender. all words that came to mind after reading this. thank you so much.
I really love this piece.
thank you, searchingforchellie. it’s so nice of you to say so.
say, i just went to check out your blog and i couldn’t find it. am i missing something?
There has been a man in my recent life that reminds me so of this one. So descriptive. Thank you for this lovely piece.
i think you are the second or third person to say this. who are all of these men? *smile* i am glad to hear you were able to connect.
I enjoyed this piece very much. Good work.
hey thanks! i hope you and your husband enjoy your viewing of star trek. i adore benedict cumberbatch as sherlock…
Excellent writing! You squeezed years of emotion and frustration into so few words and made me feel the tension – as if I was there at the table!
You set a good pace and sense of unknown here … i liked it. Many congrats on being Freshly Pressed!
This is great. I just finished reading Wuthering Heights and in a weird way this reminds me of Catherine and Heathcliff.
ha ha ha ha ha! that is a fabulous compliment! I love that book, my favorite being these lines: “I wish I were out of doors! I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy, and free; and laughing at injuries, not maddening under them! Why am I so changed? why does my blood rush into a hell of tumult at a few words? I’m sure I should be myself were I once among the heather on those hills.”
I love that part too. After I finished the book I watched the movie version and when she said that I cried for her. Ha! I don’t usually get weepy eyed, but after reading the book I just couldn’t help myself.
i got so invested in the book that i was afraid to watch the movie afterwards. i figured i would come completely unhinged. but perhaps i could handle it now. which adaptation did you watch? i noticed a few. would you recommend it?
I watched it on Netflix through the Playstation and it was a two part series thing. Each one was an hour and a half I think. It was a PBS special. Lindton doesn’t have as big of a part in the movie, but since I had read the book I didn’t feel like I missed out on too much. I enjoyed it more than I thought I would.
I too know this man. Lovely piece, Congratulations on the distinction.
turns out he’s everywhere! *smile* thank you.
Reblogged this on Loreley Pelino.
Reblogged this on RavelBabe.
I found this on Freshly Pressed and thought how nice it is to settle down for a good read, for once, and not just download factual information. I don’t have a lot of time to read these days, unfortunately. But I was immediately drawn in. I can relate to her, yet there’s a surprising twist… and you managed all this and more in such a small space! Genius! 🙂
what a beautiful thing to say. thank you so much.
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