“No! No planning, just going! I need to escape from myself, and I’m not going to hang around for one more minute. Not a single one! I have to think about rebuilding my future—a future that, for some reason, I can’t see. A future that I seem to be fucking up, even now! Baaad energy, ya know. Gotta change it. I know I promised you I would abide by your wishes, but this, now… I just can’t.”
“Smythe—”
“Stop it. I’m leaving. I’m leaving,” Smythe said, holding back tears.
Artie walked toward Smythe and held out her hand.
“Don’t! Don’t feel sorry for me, don’t do another fucking thing for me, Artie. Just please leave me be.” Smythe grit her teeth, willing the tears to stop their flow.
“Baby, I won’t let you leave. I’ve got to make plans with my team. Just tell me where you want to go.”
Smythe walked past Artie into the bathroom. She grabbed an assortment of toiletries and returned to her bedroom, summarily dumping them onto the bed. As she turned to head back into the bathroom, Artie stood in the doorway.
Mustering as much patience as she could find, Artie asked again, “What is driving this, Smythe? Talk to me.”
Smythe stared at the space where Artie stood. She knew she would lose a physical confrontation, and she did not have it within her. Instead, through halting sentences, she finally conveyed her grief.
“I think I’m losing my mind, Artie. No amount of workouts, no amount of journaling, no amount of anything releases the tension. I’m trapped in this apartment, and my future seems to be slipping away from me. I just feel a bit lost right now, and I need to run away for a while. I’m sorry. I’m not brave, or courageous, or anything. I’m just tired. Please, just let me go. Please. I’m just so tired.”
“You’re the bravest woman I know.”
“I don’t need you to lie to me, not on top of how I already feel. Please don’t lie. I see it in myself. I disappoint myself every single day.”
“And every single day, you get up, and you move forward. That’s pretty damn brave. Do you know how many people just give up? The world is full of them. Your trainings are fantastic, and your writing is incredible. You seem to have written a mountain’s worth.
“I get it. There’s a lot going on. You had a death in your family earlier this year; one that I’m not sure you’ve completely dealt with. You’ve started your own business and, right after that, you witnessed a murder. And not just any murder. Because of that, you’ve got a bounty on your head. You’re living off of your savings; you’ve invested a lot of money in learning this year, and the amount of traveling just for that… I know it has got to be straining your budget. And then you’ve got me living under your roof and my team surrounding you and moving where ever you move. It’s a lot, Smythe.”
Smythe took a step back from Artie, touching the top of her sleigh bed.
“I just can’t do it a second longer. It’s not you. I appreciate everything you and your teams are doing. It’s 100% me. I just need a breather for a minute, and I need to get out of this city. So, before I talk myself out of being irrational, which I know this is, I need to do the most rational thing I can think of—pack a bag and get lost for a few days. Please, Artie, just let me go.”
“I can’t, and I won’t, Smythe. I’ve got a vested interest in you.”
Taking in a deep breath, her fingers splayed across the wooden frame of her bed, Smythe risked her next words.
“I’m also distracted and disrupted by you, Artie. Up until we met in the intersection, my life was one big quiet mess that I was just trying to sort out. I am nothing more than a simple woman of meditation, prayer, hope, and just a sprinkle of practicality. Everything I’ve ever done has turned into success, and I have only put in a modicum of hard work into it.
“A few months ago, before I met you, I started on this crazy journey. I didn’t know what I was doing, and, at times, it feels like I still don’t. The only thing I knew was that the work I was about to engage in was going to be massive—at least for me, anyway. In so many respects, it has felt like some sort of faith walk, and you know me. I am in no way religious! Not. In. The. Least. Yet, I seem to have this crazy connection to God.
“So here I am, out on a limb, working to get my bearings and calm my fears and the branch breaks. It breaks! My father dies, and then, right after that, I witness a murder.
“And the murderer. This guy is part of some sort of syndicated crime ring. Some big shot. And now, as an eyewitness, my life is threatened. I didn’t ask for this, and for so long, I fought against it.
“Then you came waltzing in to save the day, and I didn’t want saving. I wanted to pretend you weren’t there—that, at any moment, this would be all over, and I could go back to my quiet life. But you’re still here. You’re a constant reminder of the danger I’m in.
“And I like you, more than I should, and that’s a problem! Artie, I’m not at my best, and I’m not moving easily through the physical world right now because I feel disconnected from it. I’m just not at my best!”
Artie took a step toward Smythe. “Baby, you don’t have to be at your best—”
“It’s a scary place for me, and I hate being afraid! Yet, this same scary place is the place where I feel compelled to show up and have the courage to heal my corner of it. So, my retreat is the spiritual realm. There I can connect to something larger than myself. Find safety and sanctuary—because I am afraid Artie. I’m afraid of my own shadow right now. In so many ways, I’m just stumbling around in the dark.
“I’m sorry—vested interest or not, I’ve got to go. If it will take you more time than I have right now, I can hold off, but I need weekend trips away, beginning now.”
“Listen—”
“No, please—”
“Do you trust me, Smythe?”
“Trust you? Yes… I guess.”
“Then, if you trust me, hear me out.”
Artie’s eyes narrowed, and her pulse raced. With a speed in her speech Smythe had never before heard, she listened intently to Artie.
“My eyes are trained to see things in the physical world that most people don’t see. Most people don’t see the day-to-day changes that take place. Those changes are often subtle, and most people just don’t do subtle. Why? Because they have become habituated to their environment. Even though they are living in the present, that doesn’t seem to hold their attention. So, they look to their past and dissect the hell out of it. Or, they look to a future they could only hope will happen. They don’t see the present. But I’ve spent years to see things simply as they are. I’ve trained myself to see them. Why? Because my life depends on it, and if I’m hired to protect someone, like you, then their life depends on it as well.”
“But—”
“But you, Smythe, you see into the psychological and spiritual world. You behave and work in ways that I haven’t seen many people do. You have an insight that makes me wonder where in the hell it came from! It’s pretty impressive. I’ve watched you change the lives of people in dramatic fashion. I’ve watched how you’ve offered insight to a casual person in the grocery store that I know has the potential to shift their lives for the better. I’ve been there, as well as my teams, as you’ve delivered trainings. It’s downright shocking, Smythe. The material you’ve learned and weaved into stories to help people shift. It’s incredible.
“If only you would relax into your own present and the gifts that you have. But you’re so busy trying to build and protect your future from danger—real or imagined—that you aren’t concentrating on the things of your God in the present that pertain specifically to you. Focus on the problem in front of you! The past no longer exists, and your future is a choice. Logic and emotion will not fully serve you here.
“Do you not know you’re shouldering a burden that isn’t yours? Danger, real or imagined—that’s my job! My job! Do spiritual, Smythe. Do magical. I need it; the world needs it. Just do the next thing you’re inspired to do! Let me do the phy
sical. Leave the logic out of it. You’ve tried. Reduce your past emotion.
“So much has happened in the last few months. But it seems to me that you are living from the past, instead of now.
“You said you see a ‘God who cannot be held to the earthly traditions of man.’ You quoted that to me. You want to know what I see? I see your God who uses an ordinary person like you for the extraordinary.”
“And I’ve risked my very life because of what I know and see, Artie! I’ve invested my entire future!” Smythe blurted out.
“No, you haven’t. For there are endless choices in the present to obtain the outcome of your future. It’s always going to be risky, baby. In my world, life is just one big risk. But it’s worth it. Damn it! It’s worth it. Baby, you’ve gotta do life anyway. In the present moment. Don’t run. I’ve got all of the courage for the things you do not see in the physical world. But I don’t get the spiritual world. It scares me. You gotta have the courage in the spiritual world in the present for both of us. Can you do that?”
“Yes, but—”
“But what?!”
“No, Artie. You interrupted me, now I’m interrupting you!”
Pushing past her, Smythe walked into the kitchen with Artie following behind. Smythe poured herself another cup of coffee and turned to face Artie.
“You’ve had a few years to figure out your path. I’m just now redirecting mine, and I’m clunking around in it and I’m feeling awkward, especially with you in the picture. You’re beautiful, smart, funny—you’re pretty much a badass. You command attention. Even I was intimidated by your presence when we first met, and that’s saying something! I may look like I’m navigating things all right, but the truth is… the truth is I’m not. I’m just doing the next thing I think I am supposed to do, and guess what? I’ve grown weary. I need to stop and catch my breath and just be. And you know what else? I really need someone in the midst of all of this who will ground me, because, a lot of the time, I feel like I’m losing my mind. I find myself searching—”
Artie stepped toward Smythe with a haste that caught Smythe off guard. She pulled Smythe into her arms and held her tightly. Both hearts beating rapidly, Artie wrapped Smythe in her strength, and Smythe held Artie gently in tenderness. For some time, they stood silently in their embrace. As Artie began to slowly release Smythe from her arms, Smythe felt the release and allowed her lips to caress Artie’s neck with a gentle kiss. Artie gently reached out to caress Smythe’s cheek. Yet, in an instant, fear backed Smythe away from her.
“I’ve got to get a run in and go by and visit my mom. There’s no time for this. As I said, I’ve become distracted by you.”
*
* *
Smythe turned and walked into her bedroom and closed the door. She was visibly shaken and breathless. Her vision tunneled as she walked toward her armchair at the far end of her room. In an effort to ease her turbulent thoughts, she reached out toward the chair as she approached it, her hands firmly grasping the canted arms and seated herself. She examined the cherrywood finish of the narrowed spindles which held the arms in place. She touched the arms as though for the first time, allowing her fingertips to run along the uneven finish of the wood.
The chair was her first real piece of furniture. It was a near-century-old Stickley chair—a high-end piece of furniture characterized by solid construction and clean lines. Smythe found it in a local antique shop several years ago and became instantly intrigued by it. To her, it felt like an old friend. She expressed to her partner at the time that her only reservation was the color of the fabric, an odd hunter green. She feared it wouldn’t blend in with the couple’s décor. As she and her partner discussed the chair, they determined that the color was needed to offset the monochromatic whiteness of the living room furniture decorated by her partner well before they became a couple.
Smythe had listened intently to her partner’s argument in favor of the purchase, but in the end, she had decided against it. She considered the chair too high a price to pay and settled for the sheer joy of discovering it, hoping to return to purchase a similar piece one day. Her partner, however, made a decision to later return to the shop and purchase the chair for Smythe as an early birthday present some seven days away.
That was then; this is now.
What was I thinking, I’m not ready for love. I’m just not “couple material.”
Smythe trembled at the thought of falling in love again, especially with Artie. She had not allowed herself to even contemplate love since the breakup of her previous relationship. She held herself responsible for its demise, watching as they grew apart and seemingly helpless to course correct the relationship. In the end, she walked away, moving out of the small apartment the couple rented, taking only her clothes and the Stickley chair with her.
She wrestled herself out of the notion of a future love and doggedly maintained her single status, even though her friends attempted to set her up with people they knew. She convinced herself of the many reasons why she shouldn’t date again: not good at relationships, relationships were too much trouble, and relationships restricted her ability to be free. In essence, she built a fortress of fear and lies around her ability to love, and she believed them.
A couple of years played out, and, with the help of a few friends, she concluded that perhaps she could at least entertain the possibility of another love in her life. Yet, each time she attempted, she found herself unfulfilled and once again retreated into a world where she held little hope for romantic love. Over the years, she built a sheltered life that allowed little time for friends, much less love.
And now, the distraction of Artie. How stupid could you be, Smythe! She’s your bodyguard. She’s getting paid to babysit you. Why would she be interested in you? You’re a fucking mess, and she’s observed it for months. Forget about it. Just pretend it didn’t happen.
While Smythe sat in her room, Artie slowly dressed into her workout attire and notified her teams of their destination. A few minutes later, Smythe emerged from her bedroom dressed for the gym, barely glancing in Artie’s direction, who now stood waiting for her in the kitchen.
“I’m ready if you are,” Smythe said, grabbing a water bottle from the kitchen bar top.
“In a minute. Smythe—”
“It’s ok, Artie. I’m sorry. Let’s just forget about what I said, and I’ll stand down from leaving for now.”
“I was going to say you have your T-shirt on inside out.”
Smythe stopped dead in her tracks. She could feel the heat of embarrassment fill every pore in her face.
“Damn, I do that so often! I usually catch it before I walk out,” she said.
She attempted to quickly take her T-shirt off, but the water bottle she held in her hand prevented its removal. Walking over to Smythe, Artie offered to assist her. She took the water bottle Smythe had been clutching, allowing Smythe to easily remove the T-shirt and turn it right side out before placing it back on.
“Smythe—”
“Please don’t, Artie. I’m feeling embarrassed enough.”
Artie, determined to have her say, placed a hand on Smythe’s shoulder and squeezed it. “I’d like to tell you that I feel—”
Yet Smythe would have none of it. She felt too exposed, fearing her feelings for Artie were nothing more than a childish crush that Artie would rebuff. She walked away and opened the door.
Artie bit her bottom lip and stared after her. Frustrated Smythe had closed the door to any further conversation, she sped past her, stopping Smythe from exiting the doorway first.
“Never walk out this door, unless, I, or someone from my team is in front of you!” she snapped.
Smythe nodded. She sensed she hurt Artie, yet moving toward the direction of love terrified her. She left for the gym in awkward silence.
After their workout, a quick shower, and change of clothes, Smythe and Artie drove in an uncomfortable silence to her mother’s home, deep in the valley. Smythe stopped a block away,
allowing Artie to rendezvous with the car in charge of surveilling her mother’s home.
After a day with her mother, Smythe returned home and spent a few hours reading. She could feel the words unspoken between herself and Artie. Feeling a need to bring closure to their conversation earlier that morning, she sat beside Artie on the couch.
“I’m sorry for my outburst this morning. It was uncalled for. I won’t happen again.”
“Smythe, I get it, I really do. You don’t need to apologize, and you certainly shouldn’t promise to never display your real emotions in front of me. It’s the first time you’ve let me into your world and what you’re really thinking.”
Artie paused, weighing her words carefully. Finally, she added, “Especially… especially about me.”
“Artie, I’m afraid of my feelings for you. I’m sorry, I just can’t have this part of the conversation right now.”
Smythe rose slowly from the sofa and walked to her bedroom, where she prepared to spend the rest of the evening.
“Smythe, what are you running away from?”
“From me.”
Lean In
THE FOLLOWING DAY, ARTIE MET WITH CAROLE AT THE TINY BISTRO where they initially met to discuss the “Smythe assignment.” This bistro’s location allowed for ongoing weekly meetings between Carole and Artie, providing both with an opportunity to clarify information not expressed, even in the most encrypted of emails. They initially caught up on each other’s families, but sensing something stirring in her friend, Carol waited for Artie to complete her security report. Finally, she decided to gently press Artie.
“You seem unusually quiet today, Artie. Anything you want to share, or that I should know about?”
Artie averted her eyes, contemplating just how much she wanted to say.
“I’ve been with Smythe for what? A little over six months? I must confess, I’m beginning to lose my objectivity. I may have to hand her over to Dennis and take a back seat.”
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