There was a man at work. I'll call him Cheerful, for that's how I'll remember him. That's how we first met, you see, he was the overly cheerful boiler room guy. I liked him. He was smart. And interesting. But on my part, there was absolutely no attraction. He didn't look his 36 years, but there was something in his face that made me see him almost as if through glass. I would never touch him. He might as well have been half a world away. I didn't understand it at the time but I do now. I know now what was in his eyes. Hunger. He had half a mind to enjoy my mind, but that wasn't the part that motivated him. It was his hunger for... everything south of my mind. The more obvious it became, the longer the distance grew between us. Until he suggested we find a small corner of the hospital and make out and I hit him. Slapped him right across the face. "I am not a cheater!" He knew I was in a relationship, to suggest that I would ever betray The Gentleman was a slap across my own face. He looked down at his toes, suddenly a hurt boy, and said, "I know. But I am." And walked away. I knew I'd have to be careful with him after that. I didn't want to make it a big deal, but I had no desire to see him or be around him anymore. Not because I was tempted in any way, but because it wasn't healthy. It wasn't right, to be friends with someone like that when I'm in a relationship.
I thought, perhaps, that due to the frequency we saw each other at work, he would be like the others. When the novelty wears off, they get used to me as a friend and we don't have an issue any longer. Instead, he did something no one else has ever done. He very kindly asked me to delete his number, and that we part ways. I was shocked, and yet I felt a warmth in my belly. He was doing the right thing. He was running away. He said as much. He couldn't handle it. I was... so proud of him. I deleted his number the moment he walked away, smiling all the way.
Because just before he did it, I had realized something about myself. My temptation wasn't to make out with him in some dark corner of the hospital, but to comfort him. In time, there was a hurt behind the hunger that tugged at my girlish heart. There was an emptiness and a pain, in his voice, in his eyes, in the way he held his head. And my instinct is to comfort. To offer a kind word, a hug, merely some attention. But for the first time, I knew that I couldn't help. My attention to him would be toxic. It would never be seen as the love and comfort I meant it to be, but a poisonous flirtation. I could not help that man. It was not my place.
And from that realization came another that I was not expecting. I suddenly had so much affection I wanted to pour on The Gentleman, I wanted to cuddle into his side. I wanted to tell him all the things that fear keeps trapped in my throat. I wanted to kiss him and feel his arms wrap around me. I wanted to make sure that The Gentleman never has a broken heart, or feels neglected, or is in want of attention or comfort. I want that still. I can't do anything to help the cheerful man with the sad eyes. But The Gentleman... that I can do.
No comments:
Post a Comment