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She knew it wasn't anything that could really be determined just by her own smoked signals. She would have to wait for input from him - for something from him.
And, she still couldn't find the ball that was missing from the two he gave her in trade for her one. It was a feeling of resigned confusion that she now had. What if it went somewhere? What if it didn't? She was going to be left with her own self regardless of the ending.
But she wanted some company of course, and the water dish she had left out for the fawn was broken and the fawn hadn't yet shown up this morning. She had nothing she could do but have the gate open or hope it could jump again - this time in the opposite direction.
Florida had been such a fun start to the debauchery that she had kind of ended last night. Today, this morning, her face felt puffy and eyes crusty. She still wore the t-shirt he had given her. She wondered how long she would have it in her collection.
Much depended on his feelings which were a complete mystery to her. She also didn't feel she could communicate in a strong way. She was way too needy and in too deep. Did every single sentence she write have to start with 'she'. It was becoming boring to her to constantly write the same exact thing about a different dick: does he love me? could he love me? will I be rejected the more someone knows me or accepted more?
But, she recalled as always her sister's advice: instead of wondering if he liked her - she was supposed to ponder if she liked him?
The mushrooms that cost $5 from the Kroger were drying out. She was going to make something amazing from them. It really wasn't hard with mushrooms - they were just the easiest things to cook.
Would she ever cook for him? Her baking had fallen off so much. Was it a case of "at least you tried" or would it have been better to hide the fact that she was a lackadaisical baker? She had risen in the morning and done the labor of making biscuits twice. She had make cookies twice. Biscuits used to be so easy for her. She wondered what she had done wrong, and food was very important to this one. Oh well. She did know she was a good cook, but it was hard to exhibit that it seemed.
The omens of him coming to see her for the first time in Athens - that fire and that train. It intrigued her, but every time she had asked the tarot - it had come up very positive. Fuck. she was embedded.
Now she was going to try and be a little less limerence and try to find flaws with him:
Knowing what he felt was like picking strawed needles. He wore his cards extremely close to his vest, and she was dubious that this was behavior he would exhibit if he trusted her. She could pretty much tell he had the ability to be a huge human analyzer and trash talker - like she adored. So, he was holding back.
The hardest thing - for her - was the physical part. She used to be this annoying proclaimer and said things like "when you make love to me, it's more talking than we'll ever get. cuddling in the bed is the everything." - or some such. When he was tipsy, he was an amazing cuddler and effusive lover. The second to the last time had been one of her very favorites; but the last time had been again with the one-sided pleasing. She was invested in breaking open his reserve, but even when he left and she asked if she could really kiss him - she got the barest bit of tongue. And she couldn't understand how this had been his pattern. He was older than her - did he always hold back? that didn't make sense. Was he not passionate about her? possibly.
The deepening wasn't happening as much as she wanted. She didn't feel more confident to communicate with him - knowing his patterns - knowing his likes. She felt less confident - more cautious. When he called her on the phone when she was sober as a judge, there were silences. It indicated to her that both of them were suppressed.
He.never.asked.one.fucking.thing about her. The only thing he seemed really interested in was how she was saving. The rest - she could imagine that she babbled enough that he got a grand idea about what her life was like - but he wasn't a "how was your day?" kind of person. She had asked him on drunk for fourteen days Sunday:
"so, I'm not going to ask you this, but fuck it I am. Are you fishing or have you cut bait and you're interested in just me."
She was too nervous and she knows she's told you this already - but she recalls the answer reassured her. She found herself at the bar asking the same thing she had once asked her mother "is there anything you like about me." He answered "I like being in your presence." Yet, every weekend - it was a crap shoot: "does he want to hang out with me? or is this going to be the end of this beautiful ride."
This was all in addition to the things she liked about him. It was hard to quantify. He was so sharp and enigmatic. She suspected that he had analyzed the fuck out of her, but just wasn't sharing. She loved him. It didn't make sense. She loved him almost from first sight. Again and again, she'll tell you that "it was like I recognized him. I was in. He was there." And the tidbits he gave her "I looked for that jack white album with Loretta Lynn to send you." ... "I wondered if you were like that because you were a writer."... "but how did you skin your knee."... "I'm not going to give you more than this right now, but I'm not using you for sex."
And she was finally getting bored with being pleasing and waiting. It was time to fucking fry the mushrooms after the laborious task of cutting them up.
That's what's for breakfast.
And while making the mushrooms and linguine, she noticed there were now two baby deer trying to find a way out on the wrong side of the fence. She put a new bowl to replace the ceramic one that broke. She wanted to keep them alive, and she wanted them to be free from this fence. She tried walking in and out of the gate to show them - hoping they were watching from the backyard woods to which they had fled. She was sure it would weigh on her, and they were just babies. She couldn't help but think about Alyssa and the allegory or metaphor.
Oh life....
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