The force of that submission

Do you remember the night I fell to pieces?

The night I tried to show you what this was doing to me? We are going to have this out! I said years too late, because I was trying to be brave, trying to make a demand, instead of always, always waiting for your sign to light up.

We stood opposite each other across a bed we had tumbled through the night before, and you told me you didn’t need to hear this, you folded your arms and spat words at me, and I could not move you. Even when I turned out my palms, even when I said I would take second best, if you would just take more care with my heart, I could not move you.

Do you remember how I disintegrated with the force of that submission, how it shook me apart to stand before you like that? And do you remember how, moments later, you pushed me from the room?

I begged – Just let me stay until I can breathe. But you had dinner plans – They’re waiting you said. (Funny just how you’d kept them waiting the night before). I sat in that hotel lobby after you left, and I sobbed for an hour. A grown woman reduced to lost and wailing child. It was a stranger who said Are you okay, lady? and put me back together. You ate three courses and said nothing at all.

Two weeks later you wanted to know how I was going.

How did I ever let you back in?

#

if memories are supposed to light the path ahead …

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3 thoughts on “The force of that submission

  1. This is heartbreaking. The nakedness of the submission, the honesty of the memory. (We’ve all been to places like that, but we don’t all face them so plainly.) Nicely written.

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