There was something blessed in the intermingled sounds of the portable
fan and the consistent clicking of fingers on the keyboard. It was something
she had grown used to in the last few weeks since her breakup.
Who would have thought, a whole year down the drain over a situation
that could have been solved months ago. Naïveté, she thought. As brilliant
as she appeared to be at times, that was something that even she wasn't
prepared for. It was all gullibility, she thought derisively, pausing
to reflect a moment. When she realized where her thoughts were leading,
she closed her eyes, shaking her head.
"No, no! Enough of that!" she reminded herself aloud. "I will not allow
him to win even after all that's been sacrificed!"
Her fingers returned to the typing she found so much solace in. It
was truthfully the only thing keeping her sane, and that was a hard
to find commodity given the circumstances. It was one thing she could
focus on: her novel. The ultimate goal. It represented everything she
was and all she strove for in over ten years of her life. The opportunity
to cut her big book deal was a few chapters away, but on cue, drama
seemed to blow up at the wrong place and time.
Returning to the confines of her desk, computer surrounded by mounds
of papers and magazines, she continued spewing out her story. Save the
clicking, the entire house was silent, the soft whisper of the fan barely
making a dent in the sanctuary she called her room.
Suddenly, from the other room, the telephone rang softly, but enough
for her to jump in surprise. Her head turned to the room, listening
as the phone rang three more times before the answering machine picked
up.
"Well, if you got the machine, I'm probably not here. Even if I am
around, leave a message anyway. You know what to do."
The machine paused before sounding an unnaturally high pitch to signal
the message's start. She stood, walking to the threshold of the other
room, waiting for the voice to speak.
"Michelle? Are you there?" a soothing male voice asked.
Her hand crept to the edge of the door, a nervous expression plastered
to her face. Why him, of all people that would call, him?
"I guess you're not home," he continued after a pause. "Listen, I
was hoping that the two of us could talk -"
Before he could finish his statement, Michelle's hand reached to pick
up the phone, albeit hesitantly.
"Paul?" she asked hesitantly, unsure of what was about to take place.
"Michelle. . ." he breathed. Michelle heard the sigh escape his lips.
But what was really going on? "I was hoping you were home."
Michelle was doing her best to keep the mood light, but she knew this
was something major. He hadn't called her house in over a month, had
no real incentive to, either.
"It's been a while since I've heard your voice," he started, then
said, "I just wanted to break this unbearable silence between the two
of us."
"But Paul, you said we should have some time apart. And you were right,"
she admitted honestly. "I've done a lot of wrong, and I've spent the
last few weeks thinking about it all."
He took a deep breath, loud enough for Michelle to notice. She always
knew how sensitive he was when it came to relationships in general.
That trust was broken, destroyed by the callous act Michelle had committed,
even though she believed she was doing the right thing.
"I know that's what I said," he started, pausing to calm his racing
heart. "So, what did you come up with, doing all that thinking?"
She plopped on the sofa bed next to the phone, the cordless phone still
in hand. So, he wanted to know . . . everything? It was something she
was still thinking about, forcing her to truly examine her own beliefs,
her own standing on what a relationship truly meant, what her own self
really meant as well. Michelle tucked her left foot beneath her, leaning
against the chair's arm, praying physical comfort would help the difficult
words in her brain come forth.
"Paul, this could take a while. Are you sure you-" she started, but
was abruptly interrupted.
"No, Michelle," he insisted, stretching his legs out on his sofa as
well, preparing for the long conversation ahead of them. "I need to
hear this."
"Very well," Michelle acknowledged, staring up at the hospital white
ceiling panels. After a moment's hesitation, she started. "First of
all, I feel I need to tell you, I never meant to hurt you. Never. Perhaps
it was naïveté on my part that didn't let me see what was right there
in front of me, that . . .overbearing presence. Perhaps I blinded myself,
duped myself into believing that he could change, that things would
be better, even after last summer's events. But that is something I
would hope you can believe from me."
Paul's eyes narrowed, but softened at her words. "I know that, Michelle.
Go on."
"I've spent the last few months thinking, 'Why did I do any of that?
What am I, stupid or something?'. I thought I was doing the right thing,
to make both you and him happy. But I couldn't make someone happy when
they want more than I could give. I-it just wasn't fair," her voice
trembled at the circumstances between the three of them. "I realize
that all the decisions I had made were really from my sense of insecurity.
I didn't want you to get in the middle of something that had nothing
to do with you, even though you always said it did."
Her body twisted into an upright fetal position, knees locked in front
of her. When her eyes closed a moment, a flash of the young man she
thought she knew appeared before her. Alex. Why did he have to want
so much from her? Why couldn't they just be friends? He had to have
more, always. Alex felt that Michelle owed him his chance. It couldn't
be, not with her heart in Paul's hands.
Paul kept a wise silence at her last statement, allowing her to continue.
"Inside, I can't stand the thought that I can't take care of myself,
that I can't handle my own problems. Everything else but social issues,
I have no problems handling. Just when it comes to guys. . . " Michelle
shook her head, fingers digging into the cushioning of the chair. "It
was then I knew the problems I had came from me, no one else. Everything
that happened was based upon a choice I made, a decision I made. I couldn't
go around blaming Alex anymore. So I started to study, find some kind
of center in me where I could bring out the strength in me I know existed
so things like this wouldn't happen again.
"I hated myself SO much, Paul. SO much. I hated Alex, and to some extent,
I hated you for not understanding me. It couldn't be like this, after
all the love I felt inside and after everything we'd been through, I
just didn't want it to end like this, because of this," she said softly.
He sighed softly, then spoke again. "It wasn't something I could just.
. . easily dismiss, Michelle. You did-"
"I know, I know," she interrupted, before he could say the words.
Sleep with him. "It took SO long for me to realize what I probably
already knew inside. But that too, I don't think you ever believed me
when I said that you could separate your heart and mind from your body.
It's not something you should have to do, but it can be done."
"Like I told you many times before, Michelle," Paul said softly, "you
shouldn't have to be put into that situation to do something like that.
I would hate to think that you would make such a separation if we were
to ever make love. Your whole heart and body and soul should be into
it. . ."
"And it would, because I. . ." she paused at the words. Did she have
the right to say them? Yes, she thought. Of course I do, because it
is the truth. ". . .because I still love you."
Taking a moment to reflect on the words, Paul's head leaned back against
the arm of the sofa, his heart racing. She still loved him. Deep down
he knew it, but somehow, he needed to hear the confirmation directly
from her. Love was someplace to start at, Paul thought rationally, but
it would take some time before he would be able to trust her again.
There was so much still wrong between them. Until they figured out what
that was, it would never been the same. Perhaps it never will.
"But, uhh. ." Michelle sniffled, unintentionally giving away her flowing
tears to Paul. "I finally found some peace inside of me, Paul. For the
first time in a long time, I found some peace. I came to realize that
this continuous drama had to stop, if only in my head. I forced myself
to deal with it, to see all the goodness that was before me. It sounds
cliché, I know, but it's true. There was this one time a month or so
back, I went to the City and it was raining. I never enjoyed rain so
much in my life as I did that day. I never really looked up, felt it,
touched it and basked in all that was there. I was too consumed with
what was going on my own little life. I couldn't keep thinking like
that anymore. It made me realize how narrow-minded I really was."
Paul listened intently to her words, not really giving Michelle any
indication that he understood all that she said. In a way, he didn't
understand, but he did. She was starting to find herself, and once having
that, she would find her way. Still, was she there yet? Did she learn
from all that had happened? His stomach abruptly grumbled, his hand
racing to hold his stomach. Did I eat anything yet. . .
"Michelle, hold on a second, ok?" Paul asked, putting down the receiver
to look for a quick snack.
"Okay. . ." she said softly, wiping tears from her face.
Disappearing into his kitchen, he turned up the flame under the half-filled
kettle of water. Ramen, he thought, that sounds good right about now.
While the water was heating, he picked up the other receiver in the
kitchen to continue their conversation.
"Okay, I'm back," he said, leaning against the doorjamb.
"Ok, Paul. ." she responded. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah, just fine. I'm making some ramen right now."
"Ramen?"
"Yes, I'm a little hungry," he said, rubbing his stomach for reinforcement
of his words. "But go on, I'm listening."
Michelle shook her head. Here she was, confessing her thoughts to him,
and he's only thinking of ramen. That's Paul for you.
"Paul, you know, all those times we saw each other after May, I didn't
know what to think or say around you. It was so awkward. I felt that
you hated me, and in truth, I don't even know what you think right now.
Or what you were thinking the last few months, for that matter. But
this isn't about you-"
"Michelle, Michelle," he chided, "This is the thing. It DOES have everything
to do with me, just as much as it has to do with you. All of this is
about us, isn't it?"
"Us?" Michelle parroted, trying to understand where he was taking
this.
"Yes, us. You're just as confusing to me sometimes, as you say I am
for you. Did you ever think about that?" he asked curiously.
"Well, I know I'm no bed of roses or anything-"
"Exactly. But there's a lot I don't understand. . ." he started, his
voice trailing off. Paul's eyes fell on the kettle that was starting
to steam. Once turning it off, he picked it up and poured the hot contents
into the small bowl of dried noodles.
Michelle could hear the water in the background, so she paused to let
him finish before he dropped hot water on himself. A second or two later,
she continued speaking.
"Paul, what don't you understand about me? Tell me, please," she implored.
"It feels like you don't tell me anything you're thinking."
He closed his eyes for a moment, a foot resting against the kitchen
counter while his back was to the doorjamb. Is our communication level
so bad that we don't know what's going on with each other?, he wondered.
Was it my fault? No, there were a lot of emotions running between both
of them without the unnecessary placement of blame.
"All right, Michelle," he conceded, then continued, "I don't understand
why you hold your independence so closely to you. It is important, yes,
but you can't expect to have anyone be close to you if you don't give
some of it up. . ."
Michelle sat up at the word she'd held on to so dearly for a major
portion of her life. Independence. It was the tenet by which she lived,
never needing anyone, being continuously self-sufficient, and never
owing anyone. It was a lonely existence, truth be told.
"Can I be honest with you, Paul?" she asked.
"Of course. . ."
"I know I always told you how important my independence is to me,
but there was a moment when I realized that I had already given up some
of my independence. I just never admitted it to you. I just went along
with the façade that I still had it within my grasp," Michelle admitted,
her hand pressing against her heart. "That time when I told you I loved
you, it was then that I felt that. . .armor of mine, start to fall."
"So why did you keep going on and on about how you couldn't let me
help you when it came to Alex? Why, Michelle?" he asked, frustration
creeping into his voice.
She took a deep breath. The heaviness in her heart was starting to
weigh Michelle down. "Because I'm stubborn."
"Tell me something I don't already know," his sarcastic remark inching
its way into Michelle's already wary mind, but Paul quickly retracted
it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."
"Paul, I really didn't think it would go this far. I didn't want it
to come to a point where you both would force me to choose between you
two," her shaky voice edged out. "I didn't want a fight."
Paul lowered his foot and reached for the ramen, then a fork. "You
know I would have helped you, Michelle."
Tears brimmed at her eyes. "I know, Paul."
"Are you still afraid to let me help you?"
"No," she replied, "no, I'm not. If I hadn't been so stubborn before,
all of this probably would have been avoided."
He lifted a forkful of noodles to his mouth, quickly eating them before
the juices ran down his chin. Michelle could hear him eating away, but
she didn't mind him eating and talking on the phone at the same time.
"I don't know about that, but I think it would have been a little better
than things are now."
"That's a question," Michelle started. "Where do things lie with us,
Paul?"
Paul took a sip of the ramen juices before putting the bowl down. "I
don't know, to tell you the truth. I'll admit that I miss you very much.
Very much," he said longingly. "But that won't help us solve the problems
that still lie between the two of us. That is something that only time
can fix."
Michelle sighed deeply. She knew what the answer would be, the same
response he gave her when they broke up. What about their families,
their friends. . .the people that had become so staple to both their
lives? How did they see all this? At that point, it made no sense to
worry about something she couldn't change. She was tired of playing
like she could handle all this pressure, and as much as she wanted Paul
back in her life, it was up to him if he would let her and perhaps someday,
forgive her as well.
"I understand," she begrudgingly replied. At that point, Michelle simply
didn't know what to do. The further apart they were, the less likely
of any kind of reconciliation. What held him back so much from her?
Aside from her transgression, what else made Paul wary of her?
"I don't think you DO understand, Michelle. That's the problem," he
pointed out. "But I can't make you see that. You have to do it for yourself."
Ambiguity was the last thing she expected from Paul, but he was right.
One couldn't learn the hardest lessons in life by someone telling you
what the problem is. You had to see it for yourself.
"Is there anything else you don't understand about me, Paul? I'd like
to know so that I have some markers on this unnamed highway we're traveling
along."
Paul thought for a moment, and then his eyes sparkled with knowledge.
"There is something. Why do you get so angry so quickly? Maybe you don't
realize it, but even though your anger is short-lived, I feed off your
emotions," he stated, his voice a little softer than before. "My emotions
aren't as quick as yours are, Michelle. I don't think you understand
that."
"My temper? There's very little I get angry over, Paul. What are you
talking about?" she wondered with a high level of confusion. "Usually
whatever I'm angry over is something trivial and not even worth staying
angry. You'll know when I'm really angry."
"But even if it's something trivial, your feelings are very strong
in that moment. It's hard to just let it go like that."
Again, she sighed. Was there so much wrong with her that Paul had a
veritable cache of things to draw upon? In her eyes, Paul was as close
to perfection as there was. Despite all that, she recognized his shortcomings
as a person, but never spoke of it. Maybe that's where her mistake was.
"Goodness, Paul. I wish you had told me how you felt about that before,"
she said matter-of-factly.
"Yeah, well . . . at least it's being said now. Perhaps we can work
from that," he offered, his hand unconsciously slipping inside his right
pocket. "Together, this time."
Michelle rose to her feet at this not-so-hidden meaning. Together?
'Together' only meant that he wanted to try again with her. Her prayers
were being answered on this unlikely phone call, after four long months
of soul-searching. Was he serious about his proposal?
"Are you saying what I think you're saying, Paul?"
Instead of answering her question, he asked, "I'd like to see you,
Michelle. Do you-"
"Yes!" she answered without caring to listen to the remainder of his
question. "Absolutely yes."
"But I didn't even finish the question!"
"Does it matter?" she asked, smiling. "Besides, I'm working on my novel
right now. I have plenty of time."
"How did you know I was going to ask you if you had time in your schedule?"
he wondered, arching an eyebrow in question.
"You forget so easily," she pointed out. "We may not have been around
each other for the last four months much, but I know you very well.
That much hasn't changed."
"I suppose not. So when would be good for you?"
"How about Friday night? We can go to the City, to the park?" Michelle
pondered, reaching behind her neck to massage her muscles. "Ahh. ."
"Are you all right?" he inquired, but Michelle grunted her positive
response. "Just my neck. It's a little sore from laying on this sofa
so long."
Paul chuckled softly. Still sitting in the wrong positions, eh Michelle?
His eyes fell on the entrance to the house, where he heard the grating
turn of a key. Seconds later, the door creaked open, bags of groceries
peeking around its edges.
"Let me help you with that," Paul held open the door for his mother,
taking two of the heavier bags from her and emptying its contents on
the kitchen table.
On the phone, Michelle heard everything, but remained silent as Paul
helped his mother. That was a woman she had so much respect for, but
hadn't the courage to speak with her regarding her son. It was an awkward
situation, and that would take a lot of time for Michelle to get up
the nerve to apologize.
"Hey, Michelle, I'm gonna have to go, okay? But we'll get together
on Friday. I'll give you a call when I get out of work," he reminded.
"Sure," agreed Michelle. She knew she was reaching out on a limb with
what she was thinking, but to go along with the whole premise of their
meeting on Friday, she said it anyway. "Paul?"
"Yes, Michelle?"
"I love you . . ." she whispered, her fingertip lightly caressing the
speaker end of the telephone.
After a moment's pause, Paul said, "I love you too, Michelle. Always."
Click.