[01-26-26] Some body loved me and I loved some body
We broke the news to our friends today. Well, a good chunk of them anyway. Mostly the ones we were planning our Colombia trip with.
After breaking the news, Nia got really sad. She lay on the couch texting with a sort of manic, preoccupied energy that made me wonder if she was receiving support or conducting public relations work behind that screen. Over the next few hours, each time I caught a glimpse of her, it was clear she had been crying. Or she was currently crying. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. I spent my time in the office only half-completing the running conditioning plan I had drawn up to do. I felt odd crouching over a yoga mat as if nothing was the matter. I figured I must look callous from the outside, looking in.
We sat down for dinner, ate, and planned our weekly meals as we always had. I brought a sort of productive mania to the conversation, trying to make sure we were set up for the week and the mania helped paper over the pain. I prodded Nia in her sad state along to plan a few of our dinners for the week. I said “How did you want to do meals this week?” She responded, defensively: “What do you mean, the way we always do them: together.”
“No, I know together, I just mean that requires us to plan what we’re going to eat, typically…” She resigned and we began to eat the takeout Thai food we ordered while we chatted about what went on the grocery list.
After dinner, I tried to find things to do around the house. I briefly took one of the closet doors off its hinges to see what it would take to make it open the other way before changing my mind. I watered all the plants and told Nia I would wash her half of the dishes. I cleaned the counter off. I put the cucumber on the counter back in the fridge. I said to myself “if I just keep finding things to do I don’t have to think about it” without fully acknowledging what “it” really meant in that moment. I thought of my mother.
I thought about how she would wake up at 5 AM most days for no real reason to clean and make elaborate baked goods for no real reason while we all slept. I guess, looking back, she did have her reasons. I felt close to her in that moment hunched over the dishes, my eyes dry as a bone, trying not to think about it.
All the while, Nia was lying on the couch with a towel over her eyes, not able to move from the metaphorical weight of the crushing sadness. I asked her, as casually as I could, “what’s happening over there right now?” to which she replied “I don’t know” and went on to describe what she was thinking in hazy detail. I asked her why she was thinking it now, when we had so much time left to live together. She said because it was different now. I feigned like I didn’t really understand without saying so directly, but obviously I did understand.
Feeling guilty, I managed to eke out in an almost-broken voice “you know, I am also going to be sad about this, it just looks different for me.” She nodded kindly and said “I know.” And I really felt like she did know.
I played video games on the couch after I was done with my suddenly-very-important chores, then, deciding enough was enough, made my way to the office to write my 1,000 words for the night. On my way, I passed Nia in bed reading. Suddenly, after a day of moving past each other awkwardly in our 1 bedroom apartment, her preoccupation with something that wasn’t the pain of our breakup made her seem more inviting. I sat on my knees to the right of her waiting for her to acknowledge me, and once she did, I gestured to her that I wanted to hug her while she was lying there reading.
The instant my body hit hers I started sobbing. Every cell in my body was realizing that this momentary comfort was going to be gone. The smell and warmth and welcoming of this body was going away. Some body loved me, and I loved some body, but love didn’t seem to be enough. The image of a cold mattress filled my mind as I sobbed a sob which almost sounded like a rolling laugh into her shoulder.
The tears rolled down my cheek and my mouth lay open, laying a depressing mix of tears and drool and snot into her characteristically pronounced collarbone. I cried for what felt like 10 minutes, just laying there on top of her. I managed to say “this sucks” and “I’m sorry” through struggled breaths.
It was tonight that I realized that I furrow my brow when I cry, and it made my head hurt. I rubbed my head while I tried to ease the strain. I remembered that I rubbed my head a lot when I am frustrated: it seems my body remembers what pain feels like and is soothing me before I get the chance to feel it.
I have nothing more to say, I am still crying now.