Boxes

-She’s made up her mind and she packs her things. Everything’s together and she has to separate hers from his. There’s no anger, maybe just hurt, maybe fear. She does it gently, as if everything he owned was somehow an extension of him, and she doesn’t want to hurt him. But she’s determined, now, to leave. Maybe she thinks if she stays she’ll be the one suffering the worst pain and her heart is already aching. It’s hurt too much already, not with him, but in life. Maybe she’s the one getting short changed, she thinks, and she can’t let that happen again.
She’s worked her way through every room, getting closer with each new set of things, to the door. The whole time, he’s been sitting there, patiently, the smoke’s swirls surrounding him. Maybe she can’t see through them. As she enters the last room, the living room, an ironic smile slivers across his lips. These smiles sometimes hide the pain. And he thinks back to the moments they’ve spent. It’s kind of sad, for whatever it’s been and whatever it was, there were moments that were, at least in his mind, magical. He puts his hand up to his eye and rubs the bridge of his nose. A laugh, an awkward laugh, as he sits there; maybe if he were younger he would cry. But he’s lived enough and he’s learned to deal. This is life passing, and I can’t stand in the way.
It’s been six weeks now, since he saw her on the train. They had a moonlit walk that same night. There was something there, something in the air, perhaps. It drew him close. It drew them close. They sat at a coffee shop after, for hours, words exchanged and their hands trying to navigate through the uncertainty almost falling into each other, but being always weary that the moment might not be there. Always afraid to give in, afraid to be vulnerable, but there was something there.
It was a night of possibility, the static in the air between them being challenged only by the murmuring of their hearts, whispering, this may mean something but always afraid to assert that it meant something. There was a short drive afterwards, the car carrying them, two, to her apartment building. She didn’t live very far from the coffee shop, where in a moment’s distraction he noticed how the smoke’s spirals circled off to the ceiling, lit by the halogen lamps.
It had been a moment of searching, waiting perhaps, for a sign. Funny, how when he wants a sign, he always looks up. She hadn’t noticed his eyes off to the ceiling in that moment, her stare had been cast out the window, off somewhere, maybe surveying the steps in life that lead her to that moment, in that shop. There was a smile there. He had almost smiled too. Not that he found a sign, as he was searching for, but that he was searching for one as the moments before that moment, might mean something.
The street, on which her building sits, was over run by parked cars. They drove around the block twice before he just settled on parking where he could only park momentarily. But it was only the momentary that was needed. And he walked her to her door and there was a kiss. Not the kind that says much, but a peck on the cheek. To him it said much. It was the look on her face as she drew away from him that spoke to him, and he smiled as he drove home. He counted the moments that might have meant something and to his amusement, even though their hands had only danced with the notion of falling into each other, he could still sense her scent, left somewhere on his palm. A quiet laugh. This too may mean something.
The next day, it was the thoughts of her that made him smile, and he smiled much that day. Not that he doesn’t usually, but it was easier and more frequent that day. He had seen something in her and the impression was still with him. Still, he held himself at bay, knowing that there are sometimes tendencies to allow emotion to run off with us. She too, thought of him that day, even as she spent the day with friends. But she did not mention him. Maybe it’s safer, she thought. Don’t allow yourself to believe what may never be. And she played it off well, when her friends asked her why she was smiling. “Just,” she replied, several times.
Every phone conversation they had, from that following day on, was never instructed by brevity. They spent hours talking and maybe it was more about hearing her voice and her laughter than it was about what they spoke about. This was their beginning, as they each started slowly to appreciate the other. For her, there was something sweet about his manner, something that drew her near. She laughed much as she felt it, and he held the phone close to his ear, not to miss the sound.
There were bedtime stories they shared. The silence of her sleep and he was happy, knowing she was resting, even though he could scarcely hear. The soft thank you, before her goodnight. There was something there, something growing. Part of the beauty of this world, perhaps. The subtle energy of days when we smile easily, it was there, manifesting itself between them, and in those moments drawing them closer to each other. Sometimes simply their hands in each other’s proximity, sometimes a hug, and often the kisses they shared.
What was the moment? he’s wondered during those weeks, that brought them to the conclusion that they should share the same space within some four walls, hers or his, it didn’t matter. He’s always known clearly and so has she. But they’ve both pushed it away a little, for whatever their reasoning. Maybe it was too sweet and too much a part of that other world, where dreams always manifest and never falter. Where smiles never shatter, never become replaced by the cascade of the soul.
They had been walking in the pale moonlight, the campus of his Alma Matter, desolate. Her hand had reached for his and he smiled. She shivered a bit, as there was a cold soft breeze sweeping across and in between the concrete pathways. He had pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. At that moment their walk together had slowed as they attempted to maneuver together through the walkways. His arms still around her, shielding her from the breeze. Her smile flourishing in the sparse light fighting it’s way through the tree branches overhead. She had turned, her smile aglow, looked at him with a sentiment in her that led her to kiss him. It was perhaps the sweetest of the kisses they had shared up ‘til then.
Maybe it was the moonlight, the full moon creating it; there was that same sweet scent in the air, as there had been on the night they met. The same energy that brought them close then. Maybe it had been reawakened and as they kissed, heir arms tightened around each other and they felt it. Neither of them wanted to let go. And they stood there in the dusk, each barely visible to the other, and it was then they could see each other most clearly. As they pulled back, both were smiling and they knew, there was something there. With a final kiss, he drove her home and that night they made plans, maybe in the back of their minds, to make that embrace more lasting.
That very weekend, a couple days after that embrace, they moved everything from one side of town to the other. Fairly quick, by any standards, as only a month had passed since their meeting, and only days since the decision. But it made them happy, then. They shared their first meal in their apartment, it was cold and more of a snack, but to them both it was the best meal they had shared between them, two.
The next morning, she woke laughing, which caused him to laugh. They had slept, his arms holding her. They sat there, their laughter quieting. Sometimes words aren’t needed, and neither used any, everything they had to say they conveyed through touch. And as the sun’s light broke in through the window, neither of them was aware of its presence. At that moment, there was something more important on both of their minds. Even as the boxes in the corners of each room gathered dust, they were lost in each other and the possibility of this new life.
Those moments together, now more, were an added lightness of heart and warmth in the day. Even so, he couldn’t help wonder if they had moved too fast and if maybe it was too much. She had the same thought in her mind, even as she recalled the laughter and relived the smiles. She held them away, reticent to give without a fear of ending. But there were still smiles, just less than there might have been, had the thoughts not been there. The thoughts stayed, even as the boxes were cleared away.
Even as they shared many ethereal moments; dancing in the silence of their living room as the sunset’s light faded away through their window, long stares and laughter shared at their dining room table, soft caresses and kisses between them in their bed, the reticence was there. He could feel it, and she knew it was there. Maybe this isn’t real, she thought, and started to pull away. She made plans and missed the sunsets, ate less and missed the laughter, slept less and eschewed the softness.
So when she made her decision, he understood. There’s nothing I could do. He knew what he’d given, is what he gives. There’s an intrinsic fear in all of us. He brought her new boxes and helped her pack. She went through each room, making sure all her little things wouldn’t stay behind.
And as she walks out the door, he lights another cigarette and thinks, there might have been more.