Sweetest Downfall

It is 7:30 and the sun is shining.

We’d done some writing and caught up on emails Sunday night, then eaten the duck with noodles and gone to bed early.

Now, it was Monday morning, and the sounds of the workday were starting outside. I snuggled closer, glad we had no plans.

“Jefferson? Are you awake? Baby, can you hear me?”

He looks so sweet asleep. No snores, just peaceful slumber, a slight smile on his lips which I touch lightly with my finger. He flinches, and turns toward me, opening his eyes and smiling. Then he is gone again.

“I love you,” I whisper, as I kiss his forehead and slide out of bed.

I throw on my dress and go to the kitchen. I wash the dishes and wipe down the counters. I get a glass of water and walk to the living room. The Sunday New York Times sits, unread, on the couch. I pick up the front page.

I am reading a piece on the families of people missing from the London train bombings, several days earlier.

It breaks my heart.

Maybe it was the thought of something terrible happening to one of my children.

Maybe it's just the terrific uncertainty we've grown accustomed to in the wake of so much international terrorism, in the age of Homeland Security

Maybe it has nothing to do with London or 9-11 or Lockerbie or Entebbe at all. Maybe it is the knowledge that I have a short time left here, I’ve gotten comfortable in this space, and I don’t want to leave. I feel sad and then guilty. My life is good. Nobody is dead or missing.

I put the paper down and cry. Really cry. It feels good.

I hear Jefferson in the bathroom and quickly go to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

I make coffee and splash water on my face in the kitchen as Jefferson brushes his teeth.

I go out one end of the kitchen to meet him; he’s gone ‘round the other way to meet me. We chase each other in circles, never catching up.

“Stop!!” I finally say, laughing.

We meet in the kitchen, where the coffee is steeping.

“’Morning, sweetheart. How long have you been up? What’ve you been doing?”

“Not long. I did dishes and read the paper.”

“That’s just so…domestic.”

We laugh.

I ready the coffee cups while Jefferson turns on the radio. It is WFUV’s CityFolk Morning. We listened to the Big Broadcast last night while writing at our respective computers.

After the first coffee of the day, I am ready to work. Jefferson sits at his desk and I turn on my laptop, at the end of the dining room table.

I am struck by the familiarity of it all, “This feels so like Monday morning at home!”

When I am writing at home, I listen to the live stream of WFUV online. Jefferson usually has it in the background at his place.

“It does feel like Monday; it’s a good way to start the week, with this music, eh?”

We write, taking the occasional break to make more coffee or refill water glasses.

At around 3, I decide I can’t do any more. I go to the couch and start up again with the paper.

Jefferson sighs.

“What is it, baby?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just fielding IMs from various folks.”

“Hmm (ugly head beginning to rear…). You know, I think I’m going to go into the bedroom and read or something.”

“Okay, love. I won’t be much longer with this.”

“Take your time.”

I grab the Magazine and walk to the bedroom. I know who was online and it is starting to annoy me. The messages had been going on all day, all weekend, and would continue through my visit.

I guess it’s because, when I know that Jefferson has guests—especially sleepover guests—I try to give him space. I’ll check in, and we may have a conversation, but I always wish him a fun evening/weekend/whatever with whomever. I try to have respect for his other lovers.

It’s difficult to do when the lovers are not respectful or are even hurtful of our relationship and his relationships with others.

When they know how long it’s been since we’ve seen each other. When they know how far apart we are.

I sitin the middle of the bed, cross my legs and close my eyes. I can feel my indignation rising behind them. I take a deep breath.

Insecurities are starting to swirl in my stomach. I focus on them, one by one…

…and one by one they retreat.

I feel …lucky.

Lucky to be involved with someone who is as crazy for me as I am for him.
Lucky that I’ve managed to arrange the things in my life to come for this visit.
Lucky that he’s made room in his life for me, and asked me to consider staying for more days.

I’m lucky that I’m able to recognize jealousy, insecurity and irrationality, in myself and in others. Especially in myself. It helps remind me of my power over my emotions. It reminds me that there is a reason for feelings as intense as these.

It just makes sense.

And thinking about it now, with all that’s happened I’m not so sure I truly believe in luck.

I fit my earbuds over my ears and select a playlist on my iPod. The workers outside are drilling and pounding away at the building, but soon I hear nothing but the sound of my own breathing. And this song.


Samson

You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first
I loved you first
Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth
I have to go
I have to go

Your hair was long
When we first met

Samson went back to bed
Not much hair left on his head
Ate a slice of Wonder bread and
Went right back to bed

And the history books forgot about us
And the bible didn’t mention us
And the bible didn’t mention us
Not even once.

You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first
I loved you first
Beneath the stars keep falling
On our heads
But they’re just old light
They’re just old light.

Your hair was long
When we first met

Samson came to my bed
Told me that my hair was red
Told me I was beautiful and
Came into my bed

Oh, I cut his hair myself one night
A pair of dull scissors and the yellow light
And he told me that I’d done alright and
Kissed me till the morning light, the morning light
And he kissed me till the morning light.

Samson went back to bed,
Not much hair left on his head
Ate a slice of Wonder bread and
Went right back to bed

Oh, we couldn’t bring the columns down, yeah, we
Couldn’t destroy a single one
And the history books forgot about us
And the bible didn’t mention us
Not even once.

You are my sweetest downfall
…I loved you first.

(Regina Spektor, "Songs," 2002)

I play it for Jefferson later while standing behind him at the computer.

Never looking at the screen.

Not even once.



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Regina Spektor