“You sound like your mother, Brian. I’m fine, I’m just not very hungry.”
When the meal was over and the dishes cleared, they retired to the living room and Brian started a fire. The only sound in the room for a time was the crackle and sputter of the wood burning in the fireplace. Emily eyes were fixated on a glass of water she was holding, Brian’s eyes were fixated on Emily, and Paul looked back and forth at the two of them. When he finally spoke, the psychiatrist’s voice seemed to boom. “I’m going to go and let you two talk. Don’t get up, I’ll see myself out. If you need me, I’ll be at home. Feel free to call.” And he was gone.
“Sweetheart,” Brian said softly, “I’m really worried about you. You’re pale, you look tired, your hands are shaking, and you didn’t eat much of anything. You say you’re not sick, but it’s obvious that something is tearing you up. Don’t you think we ought to talk about it?”
There was no argument for that, Emily knew that she would have to unburden herself. “I came here tonight with every intention of telling you that I didn’t want to see you any more. But now that I’m actually with you, I can’t do it. My life is a mess, and I think I’m losing my mind. I’ve been crying for six weeks. I spent the last three days trying to drink myself into oblivion, and you know I don't even drink. I’ve been trying desperately to get you out of my mind, but I take one look at you, and I can’t do it.” It was hard for her to speak as the tears streamed down her face and her breath came in spurts. “I love you so much, I just can’t do it.”
Brian had learned not to overreact when Emily made statements that seemed to imply that everything was awful. He knew that if he projected a sense of calm, he would be more likely to get a coherent picture of what the trouble was. “Why didn’t you want to see me anymore? Have I done something wrong? Have I hurt you in some way?”
“No, it’s not you. You never do anything hurtful. It’s me. I’ve been trying to figure myself out, to get down to the real truth, but it’s been so hard. I’ve added so many layers of insulation between the real me and the me I show the world, that I have trouble distinguishing what’s really true about me. I’ve been putting up a front for so long that I have trouble recognizing the truth when I find it. I told myself at one point that this relationship could never last because of the differences in our ages and everything, but that’s not the real truth. I thought it was the fact that there had been other women earlier in your life, but that’s not it either. I had to go back and ask basic questions. Why doesn’t this relationship work? Partly because I’m so moody. Mostly because I’m cold and distant and unresponsive. Why is that? That’s the real question, that’s what I had to get to the truth about. Why do I back away from you when I want you so much?”
“And why do you think you do that?”
“Because if you touch me, you’ll get past all my layers and see the real me, and the real me is a waste of a human being.” The self-disgust she was feeling was evident in every syllable she spoke. “I’m selfish and boring and childish. Your mother’s right, you know, I’m really not good enough for you.”
Brian knew at this point that he was fighting a very difficult battle. How do you undo damage done so long ago? A hateful father’s vituperations are powerful messages to counteract. Her whole self-image was warped. At the time of life when Emily was defining herself and finding her own worth, she was barraged by messages that told her she was a burden, and the messages were coming from the person she most looked to for love and support.
“I don’t believe that, Emily. I think that through your whole childhood you were told that you were no good, and you believed it. But, sweetheart, it wasn’t true then, and it isn’t true now. You’re a warm, caring, intelligent person. You say that you’re selfish, but I think you’re the most selfless person I know. You just finished spending Christmas Day at the soup kitchen. You say that you’re boring, but we’ve spent the last eleven months mostly just talking, and I have been completely fascinated by you. You say that you’re childish, but I think of you as childlike, with a sweet sort of innocence. I care about you, and other people care about you, too. Paul cares about you, he’s been as worried about you as I have. The people you work with all seem to like you. And you may not believe me, but my parents like you, too.”
The confusion on her face let Brian know that he was getting through to her.
“And far be it from me to lecture you on theology, but haven’t I learned from you that in our most basic selves, none of us are what we want or ought to be, but that it doesn’t matter, because God loves us and we should therefore love ourselves? Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to teach me all this time?”
Emily was drying tears and looking intently at Brian, “Yes, but I didn’t think you were listening.”
“I was listening, my love. Do you know that for almost a year now, I’ve loved you, and I’ve enjoyed being with you, and I’ve worried about you, but last night, for the very first time, I prayed for you. That was sort of a switch, wasn’t it? Emily, everything is going to work out for us. We’re going to have to work hard, both of us, in getting beyond the things that hurt us, but I am sure it’s going to be all right.”
“It’s so frustrating, though. I keep thinking that I’m making progress, and then I just lose my bearings, and feel lost all over again. When are you going to get tired of my problems?”
“When you get tired of mine. Everybody has times when things are hard. One of the reasons people reach out to other people is to have someone to hold on to during the hard times.”
It was a very long night. They talked about the things that Brian had experienced in his week away, the conversation with his father where reconciliation had begun, the church service where things had suddenly become so clear, the way that the world looks so different when viewed from a new perspective. They talked about the way that Emily had felt so alone with Brian gone and Paul gone, and the whole world seemed to be enjoying itself except her. They talked about why she had decided to try drowning her sorrows, and about how guilty and foolish she felt about it. They talked about Christmas and resolved never to spend another one away from each other.
It was two o'clock in the morning when Brian insisted that Emily stay the night. She was so exhausted, she didn't argue with him, except to insist that she wanted to sleep on the couch and not in the guest room.
“I like this couch,” she said sleepily, “and besides I don’t want to stay in the guest room, because I don’t want to be a guest. I feel like I belong here.”
The last thing he said as he turned out the light was, “Good. I want you feel that way, because this is where you belong, where you’ll always belong.”
“I do believe I’m going to be sorry to see this old year go,” Emily exclaimed over a cup of steaming hot cocoa as they awaited the midnight hour on New Year’s Eve. “It certainly hasn’t lacked for excitement.”
Brian was smiling his wry sort of grin, “Never a dull moment. We’ll have to think of something to keep things interesting.” After a contemplative pause, he continued. “I wouldn’t trade this last year for anything in the world, so much has changed, and changed for the better in my life.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little scary, though, when so many changes happen in such a short period of time?”
“The trick is to think of change itself as a good thing. I have an idea of something we ought to consider for the New Year, Emily,” Brian said, deliberately keeping his voice casual.
“And what might that be?”
“I think we should get married.”
The look on Emily’s face would not have been much different if he had suggested they run naked through the Vatican in the middle of a papal mass. “You can’t be serious!” was the only response she could muster, and it came out as something of a squeak.
“Why not? I love you. You love me. Seems to me only logical that we get married and spend the rest of our lives together.”
“You know perfectly well it
’s not as simple as that. I’ve got all these emotional problems I’ve got to work through, and so much growing up to do, why I’m just a mess. I’m not in any condition to get married. You’d be miserable married to me the way that I am now.”
“Emily, you sound like the kid who doesn’t want to go to the first day of kindergarten because she doesn’t know how to read. If we wait until we’re both perfect people, we’ll never get married. Being together is the best therapy, the best medicine for both of us.”
“I declare, Brian McClellan, every time I think I’ve got you pegged, you come up with something out of the blue that just knocks me over. About this time yesterday I was ready to give up, and now you want to get married. I’m going to have to think about this for a good long while.”
Emily was spending another night on Brian’s couch in deference to the revelers who took their lane out of the middle of the road on this more than any other night. She lay there thinking about the staggering proposal Brian had made. It seemed impossible to her that he had suggested it, and even more impossible that she was seriously considering it. Phrases like “the right thing to do,” “the sensible thing to do,” “the honorable thing to do” bobbed around in her mind like so many apples in a barrel. The task of sorting it all out and knowing what the answer should be seemed monumental to her, frightening in its implications.
“There are so many things I don’t know about men. I wouldn’t know what a happy marriage looked like if I saw it. What about children? And what do you do when you live in the same house but you want to be alone for a while? What if I snore? I don’t know anything about being married, I don’t know how to be that comfortable with another person. There’s a lot of stuff I need to find out.” Noticing that the light was still coming from under Brian’s door, she decided there was no time like the present to begin her research. Picking up her pillow and blanket, she walked over and knocked.
“Brian, are you awake?”
“Yes,” and then after a pause, “Come on in.”
She entered timidly. “I can’t sleep.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“No, what I really want is to get some sleep. I’m lonesome in there. Would it bother you if I slept on the floor in here?”
“On the floor? Yes, that would bother me. It’s a big bed, and I promise to behave; come and sleep over here.”
“Are you sure it’s all right?”
“I’m sure. Come on, it’s cold and you’ll catch a chill standing there.” She lay down next to him and was asleep in an amazingly short period of time. He enjoyed laying next to her and listening to her breathe.
Brian woke in the morning to the sound of the shower running. As he turned over in bed to face the bathroom door, he saw it open and Emily emerge in his flannel bathrobe. When he wished her good morning, she started.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to wake you. I’ve been up for a while and I spilled coffee on my robe. I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed yours.”
“Not at all. I wish it did for me what it does for you,” he responded smiling.
Emily grinned and said, “I’ll just go in the other room and get dressed.”
“Aren’t you going to kiss me good morning?”
He had expected a friendly peck, but her kiss was warm and when she sat upright afterwards at the edge of the bed, she murmured, “This is dangerous.”
“Why?”
“Because laying there like that, you look so...” and she bent over him and kissed him again. She ran her fingers across his chest in ever-widening circles, and then suddenly stood straight up and said with some energy, “This isn’t right.” And with that she was gone into the living room.
Brian dressed quickly and went after her. He sat next to her on the couch and said evenly, “Sweetheart, you haven’t done anything wrong.”
“I don’t mean it like that. I mean it’s not right that I feel free to touch you the way I want to, but I don’t give you that same freedom.”
“I see. So, what are you going to do about it?”
“I love you. I trust you. I’m going to stop backing away from you.” As she spoke, she drew closer to him, kissed him, and took his hand and slipped it inside the robe. “I’m going to start taking chances, and acting on my feelings. Is that all right with you?”
He touched her lightly, gently, and in a voice equally soft and gentle, he answered, “Yes, my lovely Emily, it’s all right with me.”
January 17 marked the one year anniversary of Emily’s head-on collision with her destiny. It was very much on her mind as she went through the routine of her day. There was no snow this year as she made her way home at twilight. “My driving is just as cautious as it ever was,” she thought with a smile, “but I’m living more boldly than I used to.” She wondered if Brian remembered what day it was, or if that was something only women do, to mark the passage of time in particular portions, and see that passage as somehow significant . She was curious to see if he would mention it when he came to her place for dinner that evening.
She didn’t have to wonder for long. He was waiting for her at her apartment when she arrived, holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers.
“Congratulations,” he said. “You’ve gone a whole year without crashing your car into a tree.”
“Yes, and I can walk and chew gum at the same time, too,” she said smiling. “Thank you for the flowers. That was sweet of you.”
After a simple meal of chicken soup and home-baked bread, they snuggled together on Emily’s sofa to watch a college basketball game on television. Brian was always amused by Emily’s propensity to get caught up in the action of the game. There were certain teams that she referred to as “her boys,” and she didn’t hesitate to tell her boys what to do if they didn’t play up to her exacting standards. “If you can’t shoot free throws any better than that, let’s get somebody off the bench in there who’s been practicing at the line a little harder,” she would exclaim.
Brian’s opinion about basketball was that it would do until a real sport, namely baseball, got started.
When the game was over and Emily’s boys had been victorious, they settled down to listen to Andres Segovia play the guitar on tape. In an interlude after some fairly passionate kisses, Emily put on her “I’ve got something serious I want to talk to you about” look. Even in the dimly lit room, Brian recognized the expression of concentration that came into her eyes on such occasions.
“Brian, do you mind if I bring up a sort of sensitive subject?”
Stroking her hair meditatively, he responded, “I’d like to think there isn’t anything we can’t talk about.”
“Good, then look at the way you’re sitting right now. You’ve got your left hand behind you like a child hiding a stolen cookie,” she said. “That can’t be a very comfortable way to sit.”
There was a measure of impatience in his voice when he said, “Number one, I don’t have a left hand. Number two, I’m perfectly comfortable. And number three, does it really make a big difference to you how I sit?””
At this, Emily began to stroke his left arm as well as the prosthetic device at the end thereof. “You think of this as a poor substitute for what you used to have. But this is the only way I’ve ever known you. To me, this isn’t a thing, it’s your left hand. When I see you keeping it out of sight as much as you can, then, and only then, does it become an obstruction.”
Brian took a minute to digest this, held up his left hand, and seemed to examine it closely. “When I first got out of the hospital, I was totally unprepared for the way people, especially women, reacted to this. I felt like the villain in Peter Pan. Women seemed to be repelled by it. It may be that I was reading that reaction into the situation because I was so uncomfortable about it myself, but I know that even now, people stare and it makes me self-conscious.” As he finished, he gazed into the darkness, seeing nothing.
Emily moved to the floor in front of him so that she would be directly in his line of vision when she
spoke. “I know that people stare, I’ve seen it happen. It doesn’t matter to me what anybody else thinks. There is no part of you that I find in any way unattractive. I never thought I could ever feel about a man the way that I do about you, and I’m reveling in it.”
“I’ve noticed,” he said, drawing her onto his lap. “I see your point, and I’m all for it. I really think that I look at myself differently since you ran your car into that tree; the way you react to me has changed my self-image. Sometimes when we’re doing something like working on a crossword or making dinner, you get this look on your face, and I know that I’m about to be kissed. It’s a delightful feeling.”
“And I suppose it thrills you to know that you’ve corrupted a stereotypically prudish librarian into a seething cauldron of passion?” she asked melodramatically.
This was too much for both of them and they collapsed into hysterical laughter.
“Do you ever feel like life would be easier if we didn’t have so many choices?” Emily threw out the question into the Sunday afternoon discussion like a referee throws up the ball to begin a basketball game.
Brian was comfortably ensconced in an upholstered chair with his feet up on the matching ottoman. He had been thinking that a nap might be just the thing, but he answered without opening his eyes, “How do you mean?”
“Well, say for instance that you want to go out to eat. You can go for Italian, Mexican, Chinese food. You can get hamburgers, fried chicken, or barbecue. I went the other day to buy a pair of sneakers. All the ladies in the library wear them, even at work, they say it’s more comfortable when you’re on your feet a lot. Well, the clerk in the shoe store asked me what I wanted the sneakers for. He said that there were different shoes for walking, for running, and even for going to the mall. I wound up not buying any at all.
Paul was sitting on the opposite end of the couch from Emily and voiced his opinion. “It seems to me that it’s better to have too many choices than too few.”
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