r- sits in my candlelit living room reading jorge borges. he sips from a glass of my good californian whiskey. my dog and i lay on the sheepskins nearby, listening. i finish a cup of half chamomile tea, half milk. a bit of honey. i think about how r- is a teacher and try to imagine what his classroom looks like. i bet it’s not too bad. he recently upgraded to a room with a window, and lamps. he tells me one of the kids’ first comments about the new room with the window is that a school shooter could see them a lot easier now. it’d probably be my first thought, too. america! where our bodies are a beautiful country.
i wonder what r- is like with the kids. i wonder what he thinks i was like when i was a kid. i wonder if he sees the child in me.
i read him some of my favorite poems and wonder what i look like while i’m doing it. i imagine myself as something angelic. backlit, blonde, bright eyes. i read slowly. i watch him hang on every syllable. i savor it.
he talks about faith and god, brings up prayer. he says he’s been asking god for magic, for a miracle. he says he thinks i’m god’s answer. i tell him we can pray if he wants, so we do. i say the prayer. i ask for grace. i give thanks.
it’s after midnight and i tell him i need to go to bed and he agrees, but before he goes, he tells me he loves me. says he really does. i’m sitting on my yoga ball now. i saw this coming from a hundred miles away. i’m not surprised. i’ve been waiting. he foreshadowed it earlier in the day, at the beach when he said he falls in love easily – on the street, at the grocery store. i’m not special in light of his love, not in the way one might think. he tells me i’m very beautiful. pretty? something like that. says it’s in my eyes. says they’re like rainbows.
i don’t say it back. tell him it would mean something different coming from me. that’s my way of shirking any real responsibility for his love. that’s my way of not accepting it as true. i’m not a vulnerable person in this way. i mistake this type of vulnerability as weakness. i question his judgement and i have doubts, even though he seems so genuine. i wonder what my therapist will say about it.
r- says he didn’t like being away from me this afternoon, after we left the beach and i went home to nap and get ready for the show we went to later in the evening. says he didn’t even like it when i walked away for a few minutes while we were waiting in line to get lunch.
it makes me wonder if he’s a jealous man, and i think there’s a chance he might be but is likely very adept at managing it. he is a teacher afterall. and there’s no anger in his heart. he’s taurus. i’ve said it before, i’ll say it again – taurean men love me. i try to keep my distance from them most of the time. this is how it always goes. they confess their feelings and i feel guilty, like i’ve fooled them, sold them a dream i could never promise.
i once read that as an earth sign, you should imagine taurus men as a rock – solid, steady. and cancer women, we’re water, wet with emotion. we’re like raindrops. and there’s a slight crack in the rock, this is the taurean man’s heart. and one night it rains, a cancerian woman comes along. then it gets cold outside, emotions enter the chat, and the raindrop freezes. it becomes ice, it expands, it cracks the rock wide-open. the rock doesn’t know how to handle it, it has no choice but to surrender, to become anew. this is what happens. i see they’re solid, i rain my feelings onto them, then they combust from the inside out. they don’t understand. they love it.
r- and i say goodbye on my front porch. i press my pointer finger to my lips, kissing it, then press it to his. he kisses it back. this is my best attempt to soothe him, to show him i see him.
i tell him to think about his love for me, tell him to email me about it.
i think he will.
—
lately, i feel savage in a way i haven’t in a long time. i’m constantly sizing men up. how could i destroy this one, i ask myself. what would it take to get him on hands and knees? would he crawl? would he beg?
i hate to tell on myself but i think it’s probably pretty obvious any way you cut it. it’s in my eyes. look closely, past the rainbows, and you’ll see it. i’m bargaining. i’m placing bets on weak hands. i’m willing to take the money and run. i’m ready to see some action!
i call j- the next morning and tell her about r-. tell her he read me late-night-jorge-borges. she thinks this is funny. “you would find a man in the midwest who wants to blow jorge borges,” she says. we both laugh hard.
