She just stopped in front of me with her hand up and said simply, “I love you.”
I stared and she continued. “Baby. I know you’re sorry and you have to know that I’m just as sorry. I don’t think I made it to last Labor Day before falling in love with you.” She flicked her open hand at me and said, “Shush.”
“I know you love me even if it is not the same. If that’s who you are I know I can’t change it and I won’t try.”
Again with the “Shush.”
“Having you again as a friend, maybe again as a best friend, is enough for me. I want more and there may be times that I need more, but that’s enough for me. Now give me my fucking coffee.”
She knew I’d smile at the “fucking” and I did. I handed her her coffee—remembering that she took it black was not too difficult. We then walked—after they’d brushed against each other lightly several times, one of us, I don’t know who, took the other’s hand and so holding hands we went under the tracks, past the hospital, and to the lake—which is not really a lake but an expanse in the Bronx River with wooden bridges on either end—sitting down on a bench. Runners and strollers passed and I remembered that however fast she was she never disparaged another runner just as she never disparaged anyone else. And it was one of those things that I loved about her. Yes, loved.
A trio of geese splattered onto the water, disturbing a lazing swan, and we heard a few cars pass by on the parkway behind us.
Suzanne: The Lake
It was nice. I’d never sat by this lake before although I’d run by it plenty of times. It was peaceful and my Aunt lived half-a-mile away. I could run there in three minutes. And I could run, I realized, to Kerry’s house in under five. This is how runners measure distances.
We were both quiet. I knew that she was processing what I told her. On the train, I realized that what I had to say had to be the first thing I did say. I knew that her first words would be an apology. I watched her all semester and I knew—saw—how sorry she was. She did not need to tell me. Or remind me that in my stubbornness and victimhood I refused to give her the chance to articulate it to me.
I also knew that I needed her to know how sorry I was. Yes, it was her horrible two-seconds but the countless horrible seconds that came after were as much my responsibility as hers. More. When I knew how close we were how could I have just sprung that on her and worse how could I have thrown her out of my apartment and refused to let her come back to me? Every single class we had together, refusing to let her come back to me.
I was selfish. I could throw myself into other stuff—school, running—but I couldn’t, or wouldn’t, throw myself at her. I don’t mean in some act of desperation. I just mean tell her what I told her on the station platform. I love you and will accept your love in whatever form you have it in you to give it to me. Whatever form.
When, yesterday, she came back, knowing I wasn’t there and afraid to come when I was, I knew I had to take the chance of telling her.
And so we sat on the park bench in our own thoughts, sipping now and then from our cups. After about five minutes, and after a mom and dad had gone past with one toddler in a stroller and another on the dad’s shoulders, I felt her right hand on my left, a finger, perhaps unconsciously, rubbing my ring finger.
Kerry: A Family
As I watched the anonymous family pass I thought of my family and my parent’s troubled relationship and of Suze’s family and her unhappy relationship with her parents. I admitted, as I had long known, that I would never have an unhappy moment in whatever relationship I had with her.
I reached over to touch her left hand. Without thinking I ran my finger along her ring finger and smiled. I don’t know if she noticed.
Without looking at her: “We both fucked up. And we both paid for it. I lost seven months of being with you and, let’s face it, you lost seven months of being with me.”
Now it was my turn to “Shush.”
“I listened to you now you listen to me.” That shut her up.
“I love you. I noticed you in Legal Method. On day one. You sat in the last row and I couldn’t find a seat in which you were in my line-of-sight. Same on Tuesday, but on Wednesday I saw an empty seat right in front of you. I took it and I took it because of where you were. I just wanted to be near you. I still don’t know why. So when you asked me to be in a study group with you, I couldn’t believe it. I was just looking for a friend. And, well, I wasn’t ready for anything else.”
I still don’t know when I became ready. I had one serious relationship, with Steven, which ended badly. Was I straight? I had gone out with a few boys, not quite men, and enjoyed it well enough. But I never felt that I needed a man. I was still almost a virgin for god’s sake. A twenty-three-year-old almost virgin! It never bothered me. It just was.