Monday, January 09, 2012

It wasn't all bad

I have the impression that I gave the impression that The Coach's visit was disastrous.

It wasn't. There was so much of it that was perfect and awesome and fun. And there was a lot of anxiety. So much anxiety. I spent his entire visit glancing over my shoulder, fully aware of how quickly the time would pass. That part wasn't perfect. It wasn't awesome. It wasn't fun.

He's been gone for almost a week now. I'm over the part where I mourn his departure like a crazy person. I'm past those torturous first few days.

It's okay now. As okay as it is going to be. Okay enough that I can look back on his visit and appreciate it. Instead of feeling like I am having my arm sawed off with a meat cleaver.

The things that I most loved - the things that I most miss, the memories that are the best to look back on - are the little things. The little, stupid things that are nothing. That are not grand gestures or moments that stop your heart.

Silly and small. My giggling, unsuccessful attempts at cracking his back. Him persuading me - cold feet and all - to walk on it, instead.

When he sang me his team's fight song. The way he stood behind me as I packed him up a sandwich bag of Christmas cookies to eat on his drive home. The unassuming way he stated "I like spending time with you" as he crushed me, breathlessly, into his chest.

The slow unfurling of his personality. It wasn't like that last April, at the beginning of whatever it is that we are. Now, tiny pieces of himself slip out every time we're together. I collect them, turn them over in my head. Wonder. How many girls know that when he clenches his fists, his knuckles all crack loudly - like the knuckles of a retired boxer? Does he tell everyone about the fan of his team who gave him an awkward, drunken bear hug? Or about his ridiculous lunch habits? Is he equally apt to share the humble stories of people not knowing who he is and what he does as he is about telling the ones that make him sound like a very big deal?

How he always asks about my job. Always requests the crazy stories.

I took him around the house on his first visit here. "This is a great house," he proclaimed. "This is the type of house that a coach should live in."

Standing in the driveway just before climbing into his car, pointing towards where I stood on the front porch, whisper-yelling to the neighbors. "I'm sleeping with her!" I waved and smiled to the neighbors -- none of whom were actually around -- and we laughed at our own juvenile behavior.

The way he told me about a rare book he'd been trying to find for his dad for the last 10 years. His reaction when I found him a copy. The way he dismissed my suggestion that he was only over to pick up the beloved book, rather than to see me. How he teased me when I insisted he wash his hands before browsing it. “Look what you’re turning into,” he chuckled, “somebody who cares about how books are treated.” And then he washed his hands just as I had requested.

His eyes when he looked at me – he was stretched out on his back, I was sitting cross-legged at the foot of my bed – and his voice as he interrupted whatever it was that we were talking about. “You look so pretty right now.”

It was the way he said it. It was his eyes when he said it. The way he cocked his head. The way the words came out of his mouth -- a little shy, a little confident. A statement that was little and insignificant and it wasn’t. Like so many other pieces of our time together. Nothing but something.

Not so different from our relationship as a whole, now that I think of it.

2 comments:

doahleigh said...

Love this. Why can't he be around all the time?

A said...

I ask myself the same thing every flipping day. Stupid job.

 
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