Goodbye (Adjective) a parting

Not moving from the door, he looked at me, and said nothing. His beautiful pale blue eyes were clouded and sad, and in a moment of confusing role reversal, I wanted to comfort him. I remembered so many nights I’d wake up next to him, and see his bare back exposed to the night air, with the blankets off of his body. I’d run my hand along the length of his back and feel his smooth, cool skin, instinctively wanting to cover him and make him warm. So I’d sit up to reach the blankets that had been kicked away in his sleep, and I’d cover his body, up to his broad shoulders, sliding beneath the blankets to lay along his length, warming him with myself. And no matter how close I would lay against him, it was never close enough. Some nights after I covered him, he would roll over in his sleep, gather me in his arms and pull me against him, spooning me with my back against his chest, his leg nestled between mine. His mouth would rest on the nape of my neck, and I would feel his warm breath on my skin as he breathed rhythmically in and out in his sleep. Some nights I laid like that, awake, counting his breaths until I joined him in sleep.

This night, he stood there looking conflicted, sad, and saturated with something so heavy for him to carry. My natural protective instincts flooded me and I just wanted to put my arms around him and tell him that whatever is going on, whatever is happening … we can get through it. But I didn’t move from my spot because I knew he didn’t want my hugs. He didn’t want me. Not anymore. Unsure of what to say, I offered, ” … I made you a snack platter. And … and I made iced tea for you, too. I figured you’d be-” “No thanks. I don’t want anything,” he interrupted. “You don’t want a snack platter? But it’s the stuff you like, and I … ” and my voice trailed off.  We stood in silence, me looking at him, holding my breath, him with his head tilted, his eyes off to the side, avoiding me. He cleared his throat. “Well, I … are you coming in, or … ” I asked.  “Yeah, for a little bit. I’ll stay for a little while. I said I owed you a talk, and I do.”  Suddenly I didn’t want that talk anymore. I wanted to curl up in a ball with my fingers in my ears. Whatever he wanted to tell me only boils down to him not wanting me anymore. He walked toward the middle of the room and I stayed where I was, frozen, having no idea what to do. He walked up to me, blinked a few times and gently moved my hair off of my shoulders, sweeping it behind so it fell down my back. He placed one hand behind my hair, on my neck and his other hand was on my back, pulling me against him. I turned my face and laid my head against his chest; at 6’3, he is strapping and strong and we fit together perfectly … at least I used to think so. I heard his heart thumping in his chest. He was upset, I could feel it. I lifted my arms to encircle him and just dissolved against him at that moment. I felt myself melting into him, my eyes closed, breathing him in, feeling his warm solid body in my arms. Oh my God, I missed him so much. His arms tightened around me and he held me against him. It wasn’t a hug, it was a hold. He held me. I felt my throat tighten up, and burning tears pushed against the back of my closed eyes. My face scrunched up, and willing myself not to cry, I turned my face into his chest to hide, my forehead resting against his chest. Smelling his familiar warmth, I lost it and crumbled in his arms, my body shuddering as I tried to contain heaving sobs. He smoothed my hair and rested his cheek on the top of my head. “Sshhh…” he comforted me. I tightened my hold, imprinting him into my memory. “Please,” I said, “Please. I’m sorry. Please don’t go.” My voice was so small and weak. He said, ” … you have nothing to be sorry for. You’ve done nothing wrong. SShhh…” Sniffling and hiccuping, my words muffled into his sweater, I said, “Then why … why …” “Ssshhhh….” ” … why are you leaving me? Why won’t you stay? Why won’t … why won’t … ” and I cried against him with melting sobs, leaning into him, pleading with my body and my heart. I felt like a candle that was melting down, down, down with every drip that spilled from the top. He kissed my hair and moved my face to kiss my forehead. I looked up into his face and in a thin, tiny voice, I whispered, ” … my heart is breaking,” and it was. I could feel it breaking, and it hurt. I buried my face into his chest again, sobbing shamelessly. “So is mine,” he whispered, clearing his throat, muffling a small cough. He was crying too, and we stood there together, me holding on to him, as though the winds would tear me away … and him, very gradually beginning to release me. I could feel it. This was it. This was the beginning of the end.

I backed up and covered my face with my hands, terribly ashamed at sobbing so unabashedly in front of him, to him, and I walked into the kitchen for a paper towel. This night wasn’t going to be a tissue night, I knew it would be a whole roll of paper towels night. Sniffing , wiping and blinking, I wiped my face and repeatedly blew out deep breaths, trying to calm myself down. I turned around and watched him walk into my bedroom and sat on his side of my bed. He sat there for a moment, debating. It was palpable. I knew he was deciding whether or not to stay or just leave. He doesn’t do emotion, that’s for sure, and what happened in the living room was an absolute first for us. I slowly walked toward him, and very gently and wordlessly lifted the pillows behind him, leaned him back and encouraged him to brings his legs up on the bed, so he was in his usual t.v. watching propped up position. He watched me, also wordlessly. Without breaking eye contact, I slowly untied his shoes and slipped them off. Still looking at him, I slowly placed his shoes on the floor and handed him the remote. He shook his head at me. “No,” he whispered. I set the remote down on the bed stand beside him, and stood there, my arms at my sides, my hands balled up into fists, awkward and unsure of what to do … afraid the wrong move would cause him to get up and leave. He looked at me with genuine and obvious conflicted feelings, and reached for my hand, as he would always do when I stood next to the bed. I reached over and met his hand and our fingers laced, warm and familiar. His face was pained. His mouth was closed, and he ever so slightly shook his head, answering something only he could hear. He pulled me over to the bed and I crawled up and over him, settling down on the bed beside him, in my spot, my leg draped over his, my head nestled on his shoulder. This is the nook I lived in when we were in bed together, a 3 year mainstay. He again turned his face to kiss my forehead and said, “I am so sorry, Shannon. I really am.”

Overcome again, I covered my face with my hand and shook my head. I whispered, “I don’t understand. Honest to God, I don’t.” I sighed heavily and choked back unshed tears. “What did I do?” “You did nothing,” he answered. “It’s just time, Shannon. It’s time.” “But why?” I pleaded. I sat up and tilted my face to look at him, my hair falling down in front of my shoulder. He lifted his hand, and wiped a tear that spilled down my cheek. His eyes were wet, too. It made no sense to me. “Is there someone else? … have you met someone else?” “No, Baby,” he said. “I haven’t. I just need to be alone. I need to be by myself, take care of myself, now.” “A person doesn’t just wake up one day and decide, ‘Hey, I think I’ll dump my girlfriend today’ … that doesn’t happen,” I argued. “Shannon,” he sighed, “Your life is very consuming. I do a lot for you,” he said, and interrupted, “But I don’t ask you to! You just do stuff, and I love you for it, you know I do, but now you’re punishing me for it by leaving?” Fresh tears streamed down my face, my chin shaking. I pressed the damp, wadded paper towel against my eyes and shook my head, taking jagged breaths. “Shannon, I am meant to be alone. I am meant to be single. I’ve said this to you a million times. I … I don’t want to have to … I don’t know … I just want to be alone. It’s how I’m wired. But I’m not leaving you, I’m not abandoning you. If you need help, if you get into trouble, I will always come to help you. We just … we’re just not … not dating anymore.” “So then I’m free to date other people?” I pushed. He wrapped long strands of my hair around his finger and sighed heavily. “I don’t want to know about it, but yes. I guess you are.” ” … you’re not seeing someone else? Really?” “No,” he whispered. “That’s actually worse,” I said. “Everything is fine, but you just don’t want me anymore.” “I will always want you,” he said, very sincerely. He tilted his head and really looked into my face. ” … I will always want you.” I looked down, sucking my bottom lip in, dissolving in tears again. ” … but I need to work on me, now.” I covered my face, shoulders shaking, crying silently, trying to hold it in. He placed his hand on my knee as I sat before him, and when I looked at him again, he was blinking his eyes, wiping his face and trying to hide the tears he was also spilling. “I don’t believe you,” I whispered. He looked at me and held my gaze, saying nothing. “I don’t believe you. There’s something you’re not telling me.” Still looking right into my eyes, he shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “I promised you I’d come talk to you, and I did. Let’s leave it here, now. Let’s leave it on a good note.”

I stood up to get water and when I returned, he was sliding out of his jeans. “Is it ok if I stay tonight?” “Yeah,” I whispered, relieved. “Ok,” he answered, peeling his shirt off. He lifted the blanket and slipped into my bed, in his usual spot. He sighed heavily again, and laid there, both hands covering his face. He rubbed a few times and ran his hands through his hair, looking around the room, distracted. Thinking. He looked at me, and patted my side of the bed. “You coming in?” he asked. “Yes,” I whispered. Suddenly very shy, I turned my back to him, sitting on the bed, and pulled my shirt off. I felt his warm hand rubbing my back in slow circles. I sat there, and closed my eyes. He unhooked my bra and tugged the straps down my arms, and off, where he let it fall to the floor. “Shannon,” he said. I looked over my shoulder at him, tears streaming. “No more crying, Baby,” he said, pulling me into the bed, to lie along side him. I laid there, in my nook, feeling his smooth skin, inhaling his scent, absorbing him into every pore. He reached over and clicked off the light, and plunged us into darkness. I felt his hand on the side of my face, so gentle, and then he closed his mouth over mine in a soft, deep kiss, just like our first kiss. I could feel my heart spilling out as I reached my arms up and around him. Deepening his kiss, he cradled me in his arms like he never ever did before. He had never held me like that. He kissed my eyes, my forehead, my cheeks, my mouth, and he rested his face against my neck and breathed, “I’m so sorry, Shannon. I’m so sorry.” I felt his warm tears streaming down my neck and that’s when I knew.  I knew.

We spent the night together in my bed … our bed … slow dancing one last time as only we could, like neither of us ever had with anyone else. He held me against him, whispering to me throughout the night, smoothing my hair, touching me, drowning me … unselfishly giving me all he had, almost apologetically, and I responded breathlessly, soaking in his presence, hating the hours that slipped past, because they would soon rob me of him, again.

And when at last dawn broke, I lay beside him, cradled against his body, panic rising in my chest as our last minutes ticked past. His mouth was resting on my temple, breathing softly, and I said his name … he answered, “Hhmmm,” and I felt the vibration of his deep voice in his chest, against my cheek. ” … I love you,” I said.  He remained silent, his hand slowly drifting up my arm, and back down, his fingertips grazing my skin. Wrapping his arms tightly around me, he kissed me again and rolled me to my back, where he laid his head against my chest, holding on to my body, and this time, I cradled him. I stroked his hair and turned my face toward the window, fresh tears streaming. The sand in the hourglass had just about run out. The grey light of early morning revealed the rain running down the window, in long patterns, the soft tapping on the glass filling the room. I squeezed my eyes shut, hating the irony. “Please don’t cry,” he whispered. I stroked his hair, feeling the soft waves in my fingers, memorizing the softness and texture, desperate to stop time. He exhaled deeply, as if letting out breath he had been holding. He sat up, his back to me, not looking at me. “I have to go … ” I laid there on my back, both hands covering my face, feeling the flutters of panic rise. I began breathing rapidly as the threat of tears stabbed at my eyes. “No you don’t. You don’t ever have to go. …. please don’t go.” My voice broke at the end, giving way to my breaking heart. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, bent down to pick up his jeans and slipped them on, standing up with his sweater in his hands. “You can stay. You can stay forever. You … you … please …” I whimpered, barely audibly. With his back to me, he said, “I need to go,” “Oh God,” I breathed, “No, no no … just stay for coffee … I’ll make you coffee … ” He slipped his wallet and keys into his pocket, and turned to look at me sitting there with the white sheet piled around my waist, tears streaking my face, my hands folded tightly in my lap. He stood there looking at me, wordlessly, his eyes reflecting the emotion I could barely contain. He leaned over, taking my face in his hands and he kissed me. I sobbed into his mouth and reached my arms up around him. His hands pressed my face gently and he kissed me again, slowly and deliberately and obviously, for the last time. He pulled away, stood up and turned to walk out. “No! NO!” I cried, “Let me walk you out … ” and I threw the sheet off of me and scrambled out of bed. “Shannon … Please don’t.” And he turned and walked out of my bedroom. I heard his footsteps cross my house. I heard my front door open, and then close. And just like that, he was gone. I stood there in the silence, holding my breath, my heart pounding in my hollow chest, staring blankly ahead … waiting … listening … but he was gone. I turned toward the bed and gently laid back down in his spot, still warm from where he was. Unable to control my shattered heart for even one more second, I turned my face into his pillow, inhaled his warm scent and sobbed until there was no sound left, no tears left, no hope left. And there I stayed in my solitude, completely alone in every way, until my morning alarm chimed, breaking the spell. I reached over, and shut it off, feeling the weight and the ache of grief, heavy in the center of my chest. I slowly sat up, exhaling wearily, and got out of bed. I walked to my dresser, my eyes fixed on the framed picture of us. I reached over and opened his drawer, still full of his things, and I slipped the picture, face down, into the drawer and slowly closed it. Wiping my wet face with the back of my hand, I walked to my closet and selected an emerald green dress, and tossed it on my bed before turning around and heading to the shower.  The show must go on.

To be continued …