Clandestine Confessions

“I am not who you think I am.”

He released his grip on my hand to turn down the volume as he spoke. Michael Learns to Rock now a barely audible hum in the background of a conversation that arrived so abruptly my mind did not fully comprehend what was happening.

•

We were ten minutes into the hour long drive on the Capital Beltway, approaching the bridge to cross over into Virginia. He was driving me back to my apartment to grab a few outfits to keep at his place.

“I can take care of the rest of the items. Just let me know what shampoo you use.”

It had not even been twelve hours since we titled ourselves and already he was rearranging his life to fit me in it.

I had not asked nor had I been asked. It was an assumption of which I did not refute.

I knew how to be hidden. How to sneak out of houses so nobody knew of my existence. How to be listed in a phone under a different name. How to park my car overnight at a convenience store to not have it be spotted in a driveway. How to scour the floor for any strand of hair to ensure no piece of me was left behind.

Invisibility was my desired superhero power growing up and there adult me was turning a childhood fantasy into reality.

Under the guise of “love” – what I once thought was supposed to be the rebellion to disappearing.

Shrinking myself was my mind’s specialty, in the disorder and in a tragic turn of events, relationships too.

So, when this man enters the picture letting me be seen, how could I say anything but yes?

I was hoping he was the chosen one to break the curse placed on me. The provider of the kiss to restore my visibility, and thus, break me free from the shackles of my mind too.

An unfair amount of pressure to put on his love (although one never disclosed to him) but having grown up on fairytales and rom-coms, that kind of hopeful romanticistic thinking was engrained in me.

•

He took his eyes off the road to look into mine. They were already on him; my gaze fixated on him ever since last night:

The spontaneous trip to Georgetown – walking the tree lined streets. The string lights so meticulously twirled around the base and branches, evenly spaced and seemingly not one bulb out. A steady and sporadic snowfall to accompany the frigid air, but ever so perfectly matching the magic of the evening. The atmosphere had not yet lost the hustle and bustle of the holiday season, a type of chaos that brings calm. Everyone in the brightest of spirits and with the most gracious of hearts. The soundtrack to the evening becoming the man on the street playing his trumpet, spontaneously yelling “Welcome to Georgetown” between tunes (at times that surely did not call for a break in notes). What would inevitably turn into an inside joke for the remainder of the relationship.

The ice skating – where I fell HARD (my body and my heart) and released into the world the most joyous, straight from the depths of my soul laugh. My proof that even mishaps can be creators of bliss, that our moments of imperfection can be holders of intense beauty. Our flaws can be life saving and life giving if seen through the lens of gratitude, if released in the safety of humans who will embrace you not despite them but BECAUSE of them. He was right there to offer his hand to pick me up, and the notoriously independent me embraced the help. I tried, for as long as I could tolerate, to choose this new path of surrendering control, to allow another human into my world. But my mind vociferously screamed at me to retreat with the ever growing evidence he could not be trusted with such a responsibility.

The cupcakes to celebrate my 7 year anniversary of saying yes to life – that lead us on a hilarious hunt all through the town to find candles for me to blow out, ultimately stumbling upon a CVS that was having a sale on them – buy one, get one 50%. The other pack we would use for my birthday cheesecake a couple months later. We found a secluded spot outside of the skating rink, right by the water, the green and red Christmas light display providing the perfect ambience for this commemorative moment. He gave a speech expressing his gratitude for me deciding to give living another try, saying how proud he was of me for how far I had come. Can I say the taste of the cupcakes were worth the 45-minute wait in line? Not particularly. But for his words, I would have waited an hour more.

The midnight diner trip – a small dream on my “one day I will” list I had shared with him a couple weeks prior. It was on the drive to there when we made our relationship official. Pancakes becoming our first meal as boyfriend and girlfriend, and in 23 months, also our last. But those ones made by me as an apology meal for ending our relationship. My tears falling into the batter, onto the counter, down my cheeks onto my shirt.

Although it was a necessary decision, it did not negate the heaviness of emotions following through with it. This ending was not from a lack of love, which is what made it even more painful. It was an act of survival, although one I had yet to believe I earned. As someone who lived most of her life living to die, I battled with feeling like I could have kept going. I endured worse before.

“I am so sorry. So so sorry,” I said as I shakily, fearfully handed him the plate of chocolate chip pancakes in the middle of our kitchen. “You deserved better than me and what I could give.”

Not even an hour later his clothes were out of the closet. I came back from a walk to find our shared life had once again become two. Just as quickly as he moved me into his, he moved me out of it.

It would be while sitting in that diner booth, he would ask me for the first time, “You sure you want to do this? We are so incredibly different. This will not be easy.”  

My arm was wrapped tightly around his, my head nestled on his shoulder. I subtly traced a heart on his thigh. “I am most certain. This is all I ever wanted.”

Or so I thought. My mind calculating the calories of that meal as the words escaped my lips spoke a different answer. One I brushed away.

“We can deal with that later,” I thought to myself. My choice to ignore it would have a large consequence just mere hours later. With the mental math performance being too subtle of a clue, my mind went louder and larger – as in an anxiety attack in the library while he studied. Minutes after, I presented to the external world a photo of the city with the caption “living the dream” all the while my inner world was screaming “danger ahead”.

But why?

Was this a warning sign or a response to fear of something good happening?

Why do I not trust myself to know the difference?

What does my mind know that my heart does not?

Once again, “We can deal with that later,” I thought to myself.

•

And then the car ride would come when he would ask me the same question from the diner. The repeat inquiry should have been a giant red flag to walk away, but I was committed.

“You can still say no to this. I am giving you the opportunity right now to walk away.”

“No, I see you. I know who you are. I am in this.”

Was I lovestruck or delusional? They both feel the same. And no matter what the cause, I was still colorblind.

“Okay, but just remember this. I warned you.”

Unfortunately for him, I remember everything. But fortunately for him, I choose to recollect them only after it is too late.

It was then the sun shone through the passenger side window, directly hitting the silver Hulk hand keychain dangling from the ignition. As the light reflected onto my jeans, my soul lost some of its own.

“Did I speak too soon?

Will this be the first yes I regret?

Is he just being too critical of himself?

I will be okay, right?

Breathe, Jenna.”

He turned the music back up to a different sound playing than before. It was not just songs that changed since the conversation began. My grasp on what it meant to be loved and to feel safe did too.

As did my trust in my heart, further validating why I previously let my mind do all the talking.

“Show me what love is, haven’t got a clue…” ironically blared through the speakers.

Apparently, me either.

He grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight, offered me the wink that stole my heart from the very start.

And with that little gesture, I tucked away this memory, hoping to never have a need for it to be accessed.

But what I would come to learn soon is that not all hopes can be fulfilled.

No matter how hard we try.

No matter how much we change.

No matter how much we love.

And my goodness, did I have a lot of it to give him.

•

To be continued…