Hands Tied

In my defense I wanted to be there. I wanted to offer oversimplified answers to complicated issues; hear his frustrations, and listen in excitement to the riveting stories of the daily tedium of waiting for the mail to come. I wanted to kiss his forehead and rub his tummy as I pretended to give solace to a situation that was not mine to change. I wanted to take advantage of his time away by playing house over the weekends; ordering take out on Fridays; holding each other in our dreams as our spirits bonded by sharing secret intimacies that only come from bodies kissing crevices through the night; and waking early for breakfast on Saturday mornings to try out that new neighborhood café. I wanted to pay his hourly wage with lazy days and silly conversations about Batman, Battlestar Galactica, Script writing, Bruno, So You Think You Can Dance, and the affect of Atmosphere on the growth of the human soul. I wanted to supplement our finances, and take care of the transportation; I wanted to prove that I could pay an equal portion and do my best to pull the slack; to be a boy for a while. I wanted to put our grown-up pants on and man-up; proving that we were as good in the worst as we were in the better. I wanted to pucker my lips, cross my eyes, flip my wig, and say: “I got you babe!” I wanted to find the blessings in the chaos and turn to each other in the turmoil, so that when the moment passed (as they always do) we would be stronger on the other end.

But in his defense he didn’t see that as an option. His natural nature is to shut down. He was overwhelmed and felt like his hands were tied . . . and I wouldn’t wait.

But this is the world we live in. . . It is imperfect and flawed. Accidents happen. People lose interest. Things get lost in the mail. Circumstances change the way you were previously able to engage. And established self perceptions prevent us from being fully present for the other person’s needs. No need to blame. No need to change the truth of the situation. We simply need to take a moment to acknowledge the frailty of the things we believe to be so preciouse, and take nothing for granted; for this is the world we live in: truth is inconvenient, distance separates, intentions rarely count, and sometimes shit happens.

This I’ve learned to accept.
This I no longer fight.

But were the world mine. . .

To Be Continued.