I’m at work and there are a thousand things I should be doing, and right now I’m not doing any of them because I have to write this down, out of fear that if I don’t do it now, I’ll put it off, I’ll lose the moment and it will be lost forever.
Ok, here goes.
I want to tell you that it’s no longer a case of “I think I love you.” Replace the word “think” with “know”.
Sometimes clarity slowly emerges from uncertainty. Other times it hits you right in the face all at once. Well, I’m nursing some good bruises on my face right now.
It happened because of yesterday. Yes, I know, we didn’t do anything out of the ordinary yesterday, that’s what you’ll say. I’m sorry to disagree, but yesterday was completely out of the ordinary. A phone call. Tales of cramps and lying in bed – I sometimes forget, since you’re a few years younger than I am, that you’re still in that age range, for your cycle. Sweat pants? No make-up? Not good company? I heard all those words, and in the end, you still were good with me coming over. Bring some Thai soup and those glass noodles, the rice vermicelli.
That was not ordinary. We’ve known each other only two weeks, and out the window goes the need to be at our best, to impress, to primp and preen. Sweat pants. Cramps. Bringing you some Thai.
Eating soup together on the futon while watching a documentary. And you burped too, a really good, loud one. Served us right for eating on the futon and not sitting up properly at the table – you took in too much air while eating.
Keeping it real, you said. I agree. But that is so not ordinary. Not after two weeks.
No, it wasn’t the keeping it real part. It wasn’t even the part where you sang for me – I can still hear you say “people pay me good money for that” or words to that effect. Beautiful singing, but I don’t think that was when that moment of clarity came.
Or the kisses either. Oh my, those kisses. Gentle, slow, sometimes our lips barely touching, but always coming back for another kiss, equally gentle, equally tender. I love those kisses, but that wasn’t where the uncertainty ended either.
It snowed last night. You kept looking out the window and saying it was romantic, in a way that could only happen in Canada – I’m not sure any other nation would look outside at snow and call it romantic.
It snowed and by the time I had to leave, it was late and about five inches had fallen. You looked outside and saw “romantic” – I look outside and tried to remember if I had gloves in the car.
We kissed after I opened your screen door and the sliding glass door, just before stepping outside into the cold and the dark and the falling snow. We kissed and we said goodnight. Then the glass door closed and the screen door closed, and I walked to my car. I looked back and couldn’t see you inside, so I opened the trunk, found my scraper and brush, and began to clear off my car, brushing away nearly half a foot of snow. Scraping the ice off of my windows. Doing it without any gloves and doing it with my heart still inside, behind your sliding glass door.
That was when the uncertainty ended. The door slid open, and you came out. You put on your boots and a coat and you came out and watched me brush the snow off my car. You said you wanted some air. I think I said you weren’t that good a liar. I think I said it was because you loved me.
I know it was. Nobody wants air that badly. I know why you came out. I know why I can still remember that moment when you came out and stood there as if it were happening over and over again now, and not just as a memory.
That’s when the word “think” was replaced by “know.”
There really are a thousand and one things I need to be doing here at work. But they will all still be here, and I’ll still get them done, even if I take this moment to tell you about last night. About getting hit in the face with clarity.
The kisses are incredibly beautiful. So is your singing. Keeping it real? I love it. Bringing you food and trying to take care of you? All good too.
But I want you to know that the moment it all became clear for me, perfectly clear, was the moment you proved that you are completely different from any woman I have ever known.
I used to think that love felt like someone giving you shelter, when you felt yourself coming in from the cold.
Now I’ll forever know that love is someone leaving their own shelter and standing outside together with me in the cold.
