Fragile: Life in Lyrics

It looked like nothing, little more than a paper cut, but she couldn’t stop the bleeding. She pressed a dry napkin against the cut until the bleeding stopped. She saw her husband; he’d never come down for dinner. He poured them each a glass of red wine and she followed him out to the deck, even though she thought it was too cold to sit outside. She didn’t like to miss their ritual if she could help it but in recent years, this place after dinner was where he was most open, most relaxed. Maybe she’d go to bed and read.

“You do what you can for him but keep your distance. You’re his doctor, not his friend. It’s a professional relationship.” Her husband said. You think I don’t know how to keep a professional distance?

But after the fight last night, she was weary of angry words. It was the old argument about how he was too hard and she was too easy. Thinking about it, she couldn’t even remember who said what, the memory was just an angry blur. They’d been up late arguing and finally come to grudging peace before bed. She didn’t want another night like that.

“Don’t be mad. I just want you to protect yourself.” He said and her annoyance dissolved instantly. She knew where the professional line was in terms of behavior, of course. But she didn’t seem to have a stopgap internally, didn’t always know when or how to stop caring on a personal level. It left her feeling drained sometimes, though she was better at protecting herself that she had been when she was younger. She looked back with regret, thinking she could count on the fingers of one hand the times she’d done.

Their house was always dark. Everyone was always talking, yelling from room to room. Chatting on the phone, speaking in loud voices, laughing, arguing, goofing around. She never really sounded angry, not in the way he was used to. Even when she was scolding, she always seemed on the verge of laughing.

There was something deep within him that clung, held on tight. I didn’t want her in my head anymore. Even saying it now, remembering how she’d looked at him, he felt sick. He’d hung around her house for hours, almost went to see her to apologize, then ran off when she came out and spotted him, too afraid, ashamed, confused to say what he wanted to say. All the words and emotions jammed up in his throat and his chest. All he could think to do was run.

“You always had that feeling, like you’d failed a test you didn’t know you were taking. No matter what answer you give, it always seemed to be the wrong one. You’re not sure what the point of that exercise had been, unless it was to make you feel more like shit than you already did.”

You have to talk to them. Get to know them. Let them get to know you. That’s all it is. They just want to talk. Every girl who met you fell instantly in love, if all you had to do was choose but he’s the kind of guy who disappeared in a crowd, the one you never thought about, who never said a word.

You couldn’t get a sense of how all the separate parts of yourself fit together. When you work out, you get a better sense of your body. You’ll get to know yourself better. You had to admit, you did not get off on the physical effort the way they seemed to. Pumped with adrenaline, ready and raring to go. Just felt like lying down.

Notes for some new lyrics or poetry...

There’s a secret place where we can be free

Where the world will close its eyes to us and we can be

Like the womb or the tomb

We are alone together

It is a beginning and an end.

If he tried to say anything like that to her in person, he’d go red in the face, maybe even start to cough, make a total dork out of himself. She posted all her new lyrics and poetry. It felt that this gave him a direct window into her soul. He knew, maybe better than most because he could read between the lines. He thought maybe he knew her better than she knew herself.

Slowly, the dawning, the memory of the evening, crept into his consciousness. This would usually be the moment when he rooted around on the floor for his clothes, crept naked from the bedroom but he didn’t feel the urge to do that. He turned instead to look at her, the lines of her. She was pretty, in a real way. She didn’t have the kind of beauty that washed off, got stale, smeared on the pillow but age had revealed the mettle of her beauty. It would not fade with time. Her breath smelled of peppermint, which told him that she’d gotten up to brush her teeth after he’d drifted off. There’ was something about that, something nice.

There’s something about you. I always feel like I’m going to shop up for work one day and you’ll be gone. You’ll have gotten on to that thing you’ve been meaning to do all the while you were doing this. Every day I see you, I’m a little surprised. You know what I mean? She’d said it with a certain kind of wistful sadness that touched him, that flattered him. He liked that she saw him this way.

I do know what you mean, so what is it? What is this thing you’ve been meaning to do? I write. I’m a writer. When he looked back at her, she was smiling. Not laughing, not giving him that good luck, don’t quit your day job derisive kind of smirk. I knew it. He felt something shift inside him, something moves and start to grow. The look on her face made him want to be what she clearly thought he was, someone with a secret talent, someone who was marking time until he got his big break.

Her place was cute, with some thought behind it. He noticed these things, the kinds of things other men missed. The details told the story, revealed the person. He liked that she cared about herself. About where she lived. This was a good thing the heat of her body, pulled her to him. She moved to him easily and wrapped her arms around him.

How did I get this lucky? This pretty, kind woman, so sweet and smart, seems to actually like me. Somehow she’d been overlooked, her value diminished by the time she’d remained on display. He wanted to secret her away, claim her, before she realized her true worth and shunned the meager things he could offer her.

Later, she slept and he lay beside her charged with energy, filled with something he almost didn’t recognize, it had been so long. He felt at home, as comfortable as if they’d been dating awhile. He felt alive.

#Fragile