Connections

She lay upon him, fully clothed both of them, completely upon him, her head on his chest, his heart beating in her ear, his chest lifting with each purposeful  breath, her bare toes rubbing gently on his bright white socks.

His heavily tattooed arm wrapped snuggly around her, his right hand on the small of her back. She moved just a bit and he held her closer to him, “Don’t. This is perfect. Don’t move,” he said without opening his eyes. And so she relaxed and sunk back into him. His left hand rested on the side of her face. She felt small.

His arm grew heavy on her as he began to sleep. She looked up moving only her eyes careful not to disturb him. He only slept soundly when was with her. Prescriptions, over-the-counter sleep aids mixed with natural remedies were frequent cocktails but they never worked well.  She would wake up and find texts from him at 3 or 4 in the morning. She felt a certain pride in her ability to get him to relax enough to sleep beneath her.  And the way he held her, she felt safe, diminutive, and fragile; he could easily overpower her and have her if he wanted. She would not object. But he was content to just hold her and sleep.  

They had a connection. More than a friendship, they were confidants, two strangers that were meant to meet, to console, encourage, entice and calm the other.  They met by chance one warm afternoon, she spoke to his friends first, and as he listened to the conversation unfold she noticed him watching her. Not just watching but observing. He didn't belong with his friends.  He was different. He was quiet, observant, deliberate but never condescending. He had an uncanny ability to read people. He was easily bored.  To get his attention you didn't just have to catch his interest, you had to intrigue him. And she did.

He gave her his number before he left. And when she finally texted him the conversations were immediately deep,  personal, raw, vulnerable and authentic. There were hundreds of texts that first week. He spoke freely of his girlfriend and she told him of her newly broken heart. She easily shared secrets with him she had held for years. And he was just as open with her.  Maybe the anonymous nature of texting put him at ease or maybe it was just that they shared a strange and undeniable connection rooted in sadness.  He sent her pictures, so many pictures; his mom, his dog, his girlfriend, his car, the gaping, fleshy, deep and bloody gash across his wrist taken over a hospital sink, blood swirling around the stainless steel drain. He said when he came home from deployment, “they gave me something that my brain didn’t like.”  She simply wrote back, “I am glad you are here.”  They never talked about it again. There was a simplicity between them.

When they met that warm afternoon  he was sliding into a depression, something she too was familiar with and something he had struggled with all his life but that was amplified after returning from his deployment and compounded by his family pressuring him to make decisions in life. 

Depression has a color, an aura, a smell.   If you've had it you can see it on people, you can feel it when you hear them speak and see it dripping from the text of their Facebook posts. Depression can be contagious. Normally she would have pulled away for fear it would latch on to her, but she had an immediate connection to him, and he to her. He told her how each day it was getting harder and harder to feel anything. One night, he told her that he had watched videos of animals being abused for hours because he said it enraged him. And as awful as it was, rage at least was an emotion. Without the rage he said he couldn't feel anything anymore. 

Nothing in those months could make him feel. He told her that his foot tapped incessantly and his fingers moved restlessly seemingly playing invisible piano keys on the nearest flat surface with anxiety and that it was driving his coworkers mad.  He told her it was getting hard to work and so he’d been staying late to catch up.  He hadn't had sex or masturbated in months. He had been forgetting to put the dog out. He texted these things to her as a matter-of-fact, he was growing stoic.

The thousands of texts between them were never sexual.  It was by all accounts the beginning of an authentic friendship. Months went by before they saw each other again. When they finally met they talked for hours until the early morning hours, drinking water and sitting indian-style on her couch. They faced each other with a connection so intense, never breaking eye contact all the while his phone buzzing with unanswered texts from his fiancee.  When he finally left it was with a simple hug.

He had consciously decided to try not to feel, because even laughter, lust or sex could lead to feelings of self-loathing and pull back the thin scab on his psyche that kept the violent memories of war at bay. But, overtime, he couldn’t resist. She had awakened in him a light, a vulnerability, a wanting for a connection.  It was unexpected. A text on his way over one night that read simply, “Like going grocery shopping while hungry,” was her only clue. She opened the door for him and he kissed her, no warning, no asking permission. Just pulled her close to him and kissed her. It was a strange kiss. "He’s trying too hard," she thought, "and he’s nervous too." She told him to calm down, relax. She assured him that he didn't have to show off  and felt his shoulders drop. He pulled his lips off hers slightly and took a breath. And then he kissed her again. This time she felt it, it was him, and she led him inside to the couch where they lay intertwined watching movies and sharing gentle kisses until the early hours of the morning.  

Overtime he began to send her pictures of him hiking, skiing, enjoying Easter with his family; his dog forced to wear bunny ears. He had it seemed managed to get the cloak of depression off of him.  Sleep was still an ongoing problem. He only slept well when he was with her.

But tonight he needed her. His anxiety had been growing the last few weeks. He had texted her early in the morning. The day would be busy, lots to do but he would be over later, “Midnight. Please stay up.” it read. And so she did.  The last few weeks she had spent reassuring him of their friendship, telling him that she would always be there for him. That there on her couch, with her he would always have a place. By now it had been just over 2 years that they had been falling asleep next to each other whenever he needed to feel her touch to settle the restlessness inside him. 

When he got there he was dressed nicely in his Burberry shirt and dress pants. But she already knew that because he had sent her pictures throughout the day. He really was handsome with his dark hair that was beginning to grey on the sides and deep brown eyes, broad shoulders. There was a single lamp on, and the glow of the TV. There was some small talk, “You look nice.” “Thanks” “How was your night?” “Good” “How was the food?” “Not bad, Gram said she makes a better sauce,” and  with that his shoes were off and they made their way to the couch, tired, leaning on one another, comfortable and mindlessly staring at the TV.

And there they lay. So much being said by the contented silence, by each peaceful breath. So very much implied by his simple act of being able to fall asleep with her in his arms, to relax and just ‘be’ in her company.  They slept deeply and still, perfectly fit together and warm under a blanket. She dreamed.

It was the alarm on his phone that woke them at 4:30am. It was loud, jarring, there was nothing gentle about it. He quieted it quickly without unwrapping  her from his arm or losing the warmth under the blanket.

They lay there quietly, he kissed the top of her head and after some time with a deep sigh he began to lift her up and wriggle himself out from under her. Sitting on the edge of the couch rubbing his eyes she knelt behind him with her arms around his neck. “I’ll see you in 10 days,” he said and turned giving her a gentle kiss, keeping his eyes open and letting a smile spread across his face.

“I’ll miss you, have fun,” she said with their lips still touching.  She walked him to the door. “Send me pics,” she said. “Of course,” he answered and put his arm around her waist and pulled her close, lifting her to her toes and kissing her again, this time their eyes were closed, and he lingered there, she let out a soft sigh and rubbed his back, he squeezed her too tightly.

They  separated  and she went flat-footed, he was a good 6 inches taller than her. “I'll be back before you know it,” he said and gave her a wink. The sun was starting to rise. “It's a beautiful day for a wedding," she called to him as he walked off the porch. "Honeymoon is only 10 days, I'll text you when we land," he said and he blew her a kiss.