Reservations and Nightmares

“If I had some… reservations about my relationship and told you I wanted to try a relationship with you, what would you say?”

I hiccupped. He couldn’t have possibly said what my ears had heard, could he?

I almost laughed, but I was afraid of what the laugh might mean to him. And to me.

We’d been in a similar scenario before, years before. But then it had been a marriage proposal and as much as my being screamed for me to accept, my mind crawled to it’s knees and asked the logical question. Asked if the proposal was a symptom of watching one of his brothers take that walk down the aisle. My question broke the magic of the moment, and it was gone. Like the residue of a burst bubble it clung to me, to us, invisibly. Maybe that’s when I started to feel the change. But the question never came up again. And I still dream dreams dredged in regret that I hadn’t said what my heart had begged of me.

So, I stepped toward this new question lightly. I was terrified, trembling, and on the brink of tears thinking of all the things I should say, needed to say, and wanted to say. The real question was, how would I answer? How could I? Why hadn’t I seen this coming?

I was afraid to hope, but prayed none of these things were evident in my voice. He knew me too well, but his distraction with the asking of the question kept him from pointing out the elephant in the room.

“Uh, I don’t know.” I cleared my throat, hoping to ease the squeak. I needed time to think; to really think. About what had been, what hadn’t, what could.

But the scary part of me wondered, “What if it’s all a trick?” It really wasn’t fair to him that I wondered. He’d never given me a reason not to believe in him. Sure, I knew plenty of other people who probably shouldn’t trust him. But, me? No. He’d be honest with me to a fault. I’m sure there had been occasional lies to spare my feelings (though he denied them).

I wanted to cry. This moment represented years of hopes and dreams and love. But I’d never been so close to what I really wanted. Material gains mean nothing. Location is just what you see outside of your window, where you go to earn a paycheck, where you rest your head. I’d asked one thing of life. I’d asked for him. And here he was, quasi-offering himself to me.

“Why?”, I queried. I couldn’t help myself. If I told him the truth right away, I might not get a chance to ask later. I could hear the tired preparedness, the practiced nonchalance in his reply, “No reason. Just wondered.” It was a lie. I knew it and I was surprised. I knew he’d lied before, but to be caught in the boldness of such a lie. I struggled not to scoff in my disbelief. I could hear the people around him and knew the moment he’d chosen to ask the question was not a moment in which I could get my answers. I bubbled with curiosity as a small rage began to burn in my throat. But I swallowed it. Hard. Putting aside all the thoughts and feelings that were choking me, and bidding him a pleasant evening. I couldn’t sleep that night. And by the next morning, he knew it, too. I sulked silently for days. And then, I realized the only solution I had. I told the truth. Would I explore the possibility of a relationship with him? Absolutely. Not a single doubt in my heart or mind. I didn’t tell him that, of course. I just said it was a “highly probable yes.” I didn’t sleep any better for the rest of that week. I was practicing my patience in the most heartaching way. And then we began another week. No answers, no sleep on the horizon.

I was at work. It had become a struggle to even show up, let alone show the same enthusiasm for a job I actually I liked. Not hearing from him felt like a window shade had been pulled over my normally sunny outlook. My co-workers told jokes that could hardly produce a smile, let alone my usual peals of laughter. But I couldn’t explain to anyone, couldn’t admit to myself, that I’d dimmed my shine in protest of his lack of communication. I half-sulked through my work day, and forced cheeriness was even more difficult during my free time. Time that literally meant I was free to bury myself with questions and wonderings. I knew I had to get myself together, but part of me relished in the sulk, soaking it into myself for future reference.

I had just gotten home, grumbling to myself about nothing at all and flipping moodily through the mail. The only mail with my name on it had a vaguely familiar return address written in very familiar handwriting. The inexplicable semi-script that had written me nonsense notes and jokes and things of that ilk in the past. I carried the envelope, my bags, and myself up to my room where I sealed myself inside before opening the envelope. I told myself to be calm, that there were only so many things that could be in the envelope. But a tremor coursed through my hands as I opened the envelope to find a letter. I put it down and sighed. I was always a fan of writing. If I couldn’t get face-to-face contact I always preferred something in writing. I didn’t know if that’s why he’d decided to write, but my soul was touched just the smallest bit. I unfolded the sheaves of paper, pleased that he’d actually written and that there was more than one page.

I’d read both sides of the first page before coming anywhere close to what I’d been looking for. He was… saying so much to me. We’d always communicated well, but there had clearly been a lot that he’d never been able to tell me. I’d waited years to hear what he was now telling me. And now it meant nothing. An experimental notion to test waters he’d never meant to travel.

No idea how I got in this position. Again.

I dreamed a dream of you. It was a sweet dream... while it lasted. Sadly, I awoke to my nightmare... I miss you.