Acquiesce

It was amusing how contentment set in briefly after the long overdue breakup. Feigned satisfaction packaged in brightly colored cellophane and wrapped tightly with a gaudy shimmery ribbon. The concept evaporated in seconds, right after I heard his voice on the other line. I had resigned myself to our just friends accord despite the lingering patter of my love starved heart whenever the image of his face accompanied the soulful styling’s of Mayer Hawthorne’s rendition of The Impressions classic that awakened the cell that never strayed far from my sweat soaked hands. Six months had passed since the last business trip and our awkward evening spent over drinks and untouched meals. Three months clicked by before I finally had enough of his indecision and he had grown tired of my lack of self esteem. Only a month and two days crossed off the calendar in remembrance of the day I shed my body weight in tears and asked, “Why am I not enough.”

I had lived through heartbreaks in the past, survived disappointments in the opposite sex, and recovered like any woman. I compensated with pints of ice cream and comfort food prepared by my grandmother’s hands, but something about saying goodbye to him, made me realize how foolish I had really been about our arrangement. Me admitting nights spent buried in rented sheets, were just the result of an overactive imagination and a neglected libido, forced me to confront my personal delusions head on. The writing was on the wall the day we first met. It was detailed in the hand at the small of my back and the whispered promises reserved only for my ears. He just wasn’t that in to me and building my hopes and dreams around a sexual adventure on the plush mattress of the city’s only five star hotel highlighted the naïveté I still possessed. I was still the stupid little girl with glasses and an overbite, nursing the unrequited crush on the captain of the football team.

Not only did I lack esteem in myself, I didn’t have an ounce of self respect. The request was made and I came to his rescue; a friend in the time of need, a ride from the airport, and the former lover voraciously praying for a second chance. Instead I was more like the idiotic fool who was a glutton for punishment.

Now there were meetings to attend, sessions requiring facilitation, and a need for our infallible connection to be showcased for colleagues and peers alike. It was a return to the synonymous comfort that brought us to the tumultuous relationship from our past. I rode to the airport in silence, my hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, as I silently fought with the side of myself dying for the opportunity to see him again. Flipping through radio channels, were not only a diversion, but a method of preservation. The longer I avoided the songs that caused my mind to fixate on images from times supposedly forgotten; wasabi on his nose that eventually met the flat of my tongue, underground clubs where we danced to pulsating beats programmed on exorbitantly priced fruit termed PCs, and nights I didn’t believe my voice would crack if it climbed another octave under the weight of the pleasure he bestowed.

Hapless…Hopeless…Fool was I…

I saw him when he descended the stairs and took a deep intake of breath. His bluish green orbs were tinged with the remnants of sleep, the collar of his shirt stained by his in flight cocktail, and a half smile twisting the left corner of his mouth. There was a distinct change in the rate of my pulse when he raised his hand in a quiet greeting. My feet froze to the spot I inhabited. My traitorous heart beat a thunderous rhythm along the cage formed by my ribs.

Our hello was civil; a nod of two heads, murmured questions and answers about the flight, and a pregnant pause destroyed by the sound of his carry on falling to the floor. Tentative arms wrapped around my frame and I lifted the curves he had worshipped faithfully in the past to the tips of toes. I brushed my lips against the taut skin of his neck and relished in the slight shudder I detected in response to my extended greeting. His grasp tightened and the pressure of the water mounting behind my lids, threatened to destroy the display of will I worked so hard to perfect.

His hands rested on the swell of my hips, long after the embrace ended. His eyes scanned the lines of my face, but the words I needed to hear never came. I reconciled my dreams with reality and reached for his hand, “We better go.”

Finally I realized, not everything, was worth fighting for.