I closed my eyes and he placed two rocks in my hands…two heart-shaped rocks he’d found outside. The little girl in me almost died from joy; the twenty-five-year-old I am now told myself not to feel anything at all.
I looked back up at him and smiled, playfully mocking him for being corny. Then he walked away to switch the laundry from the washer to the dryer. I sat there. I sat there and held the two rocks in my hands.
I told myself to feel something…anything. I was prying at my heart to feel those two seconds of joy I’d felt when I first opened my eyes. Dear God… why am I so scared of being even slightly emotionally invested in someone? So scared of getting hurt I’d rather feel nothing at all.
We spent the whole day together. He kept saying things like, “We need to do this,” “We need to go there,” “We’re doing a good job.” I don’t remember the last time I was in a “we.” But every time he said it, I felt myself tense…defensive of my own independence.
I remember when we moved the dresser into the garage. He fist-bumped me, then gave me a quick kiss on the lips. That moment felt good, but I don’t want to admit that. I just don’t want to end up a fool…and I think a little part of him doesn’t want to either.
I can feel the push and pull between us sometimes. Out of the blue, he’ll say something sweet like, “I really enjoy your company and appreciate your support,” or he’ll bring me heart-shaped rocks and then he’ll make a quick joke so it’s not so serious. I do the same.
I guess we’re all trying to protect ourselves to some extent. At some point, it starts to feel like a tedious game you can’t seem to quit…it’s so hardwired from all the failed talking stages that you cover the pain. Maybe to the point where you could ruin something good. But I don’t want to do that this time.
That’s why I’m sitting here trying to force myself to feel. But right now, I feel nothing — nothing except contentment in my own company.
Content. I think that’s how I felt for most of the weekend with him. I enjoyed the quiet lulls — him pulling me close in the morning, half asleep; buzzing his hair off; the random hugs from behind; our cute little shower conversations; him popping my pimple while changing his mom’s license plate; me trying to wrestle him to the ground and failing epically; walking the dog late at night while staring at the moon; talking in silly accents; simply enjoying the peace of being mindless for forty-eight hours.