My Word Is Law
By Marcy Greene
-------------------------------------
You turn your head as I go in to kiss you hello, which might be my first sign. But because the indication is unthinkable, interpretations are suppressed. I never not win, never not get my way – a product of a loving, smart, comfortable family? And so the turned head means something else. Fear? Bad breath? The idea that you don’t want to kiss me is simply not a possibility. So let’s get some food.
At dinner I do indeed get my way. You’ll do anything I want, you say so yourself. It’s my decision. But the funny thing about me always getting my way is that quite often I don’t know which way I actually want, when it’s set in my lap. It’s well and good to have to fight for my way, but to have it simply handed over. That can cause problems. I waver. And pick at my food.
It’s warm out – summer – so we sit on a bench in the park. Why? Am I going to make up my mind here? No way. I am going to be sensible and sleep on it. There’s no hurry after all, since my words will be the law, and you won’t be leaving for another month, anyway. I sit there, pretty relaxed, because even though the conditions of the decision are nothing if not heartbreaking, the decision is mine to make, and when things are in my hands, I feel pretty good, as a general rule.
We walk to my door. And now both of us waver. This goodbye has a tinge of finality that has never occurred between us before. Even though the decision is mine, and it doesn’t have to be made until later, and I don’t anticipate that it will be so drastic as to induce finality. Remembering how the evening began, I make sure you kiss me goodbye. You oblige (reluctantly?), which makes me wonder if the decision hasn’t already been made, after all. And not by me.
-------------------------------------
Marcy Greene lives in Washington, DC. She doesn't let this get to her most of the time. She can be contacted by sending an email here.
©
2004 Me Three