October 2, 2002
Belay Me
My arms ache. Perhaps because I went rock climbing, or, rather, did not go rock climbing, yesterday. Perhaps it is because today, unlike yesterday, I did not wake up with him within their reach.
Mike and I make up his bed, and I giggle as he tucks the sheet in hospital corner style. We situate both pillows and heads at the foot of the bed, prepared to watch both A.I. and K-PAX. Mike beams at me, the remote momentarily discarded, and wraps his arms around me. He makes something less like a sigh and more like a lovely little sound of contentment.
"What was that for?" I ask, my fingers busy at the base of his neck.
Mike shrugs, rather difficult when I am attached to him.
"This just feels good. Not having to take you home."
It was not magical, waking up with him so close. It was comfortable, it was natural. I was overwhelmed by a feeling of soft happiness, when, at seven o'clock in the morning, I rolled over and saw his face in the dim gray light. I wanted to reach out and touch him, wanted to smooth his sleep heavy brow.
At some point he kissed my forehead and bid me good morning, at another he complained of his arm being numb and asked me for grape juice. He remembers doing only two of these three things.
We drove back to Oxford for my Doctor's Appointment, which compelled me quite quickly back into the comfort of his arms. Gynecology. Excuse me while I cringe and think, were I male, I would be clutching my genitals.
Eww. Boys.
You know, if you bend a gummy worm in half, it sort of unbends in the same way a real worm would. Wicked.
I bit off his head.
Mike's, I mean.
Rock climbing turned out to be beyond me. I had to take a test to get certified to belay Mike, which I passed with help. So he climbed the wall. And I made sure he didn't fall.
Then it was my turn. I get half way up and start to freak out. I beg Mike to pull the rope taut and let me slide down. He urges me to continue. I ask again, and he lets me come down.
Once on the ground, I am persuaded to try again. Which I do. I get to about the same place, and without even looking down, I just want down. I tell Mike I can't do it, and he asks me to try just a little harder, to go just a little higher. I plead. I tell him I can't, I just want to come down.
So he lets me down.
He asks if I'm okay.
I say no and burst into tears.
And I'm such a wimp and no fun at all and wish I were daring and courageous and cool. But I'm not. I'm afraid of heights. I cry in public. I need comfort and reassurement.
For the next hour or so I balay Mike, and he keeps looking at me with these pouty eyes and asking if I'm sure that I'm alright, if I'm sure that I don't want to try again.
Yes, and yes. One of those is a lie.
I remove gratefully the climbing shoes and the harness. Mike and I go to Chipolte and get a huge chicken fajita to share. I apologize for crying. He apologizes for pushing me too hard.
We both deny the necessity for the other's apology.
Belaying is a beautiful metaphor, traumatized though I was when I did it.
You're anchored to the ground, and clipped to your waist is the carabiner, and clipped to that is the belay device, through which the rope is wound. The climber does exactly that: climbs, and you watch their ascent and pull the slack through the belay device. You never remove your hand from the brake rope. Never. And when they fall, which Mike did several times, you pull the brake rope taut and hold them in place in the air.
And I liked that. I liked being responsible. I liked taking care of him, worrying for him, encouraging him.
He told me later that he wasn't scared of the climb because he knew that if he fell, I would catch him. He didn't understand my fear. He didn't understand that it had nothing to do with him.
See, I wasn't going to fall. It wasn't hard to grip the little pegs and climb up. I just didn't want to be up there. I just didn't like it.
I can't be everything he wants. I just hope I'm enough.
He must know that I disappoint myself, too.
I know I can't capture it all. I know I can't remember everything, I know I spent two whole days with him and can remember only how it felt, and maybe not really what instigated those feelings. Likely nothing. It isn't what we did, it was just being there, with him. What happened isn't important.
Was it you who said it? If not, relish the gratuitous link. Twice, just because you're cool.
I don't expect him to marry me, just to date me indefinitely. Is that so much to ask?
He said he'd keep me.
Curious... do I ever make any sense? Certainly not to myself.
Help me take shape.
astera at 6:24 p.m.