There are moments in my life that I can peg as the exact moment in which I changed. The moment I grew, learned something or re-adapted to my environment to be able to move ahead to the next phase. These are the moments with which I mark time, the moments that are strung together to hold the lights shining for me.
I had one of those moments last night.
My cheek burned red and hot scraping across his. His fingers traced a line down my arm to my hand, leaving goosebumps, the hair raised up from my skin like it does when I'm feeling fear or anticipation.
He laughed softly, his eyes bending into crescents, breaking into silent mirth. He waited for the goosebumps to fade and then did it again, with the same result.
Incredible, he said.
I nodded. I didn't say anything. I just watched him while I waited for the color to leave my cheeks. I waited to see if my flesh would become accustomed to his touch. I noticed I was holding my breath and so I stopped and tried to breath deeply but I know the moment I stopped thinking about breathing that I would hold it again.
He was doing it too. Holding his breath. Rocked by his effect on me and stunned by a physical response so basic and visceral it warmed his heart to the very core.
He broke the spell and apologized for burning my skin. I shook my head, willing him back under the spell but it was shattered.
He kissed me. I returned it once and then deferred. I saw his eyebrows go down and then soften and I knew he was wanting to protest but not willing to risk an argument and I liked that so he got a second kiss. One that didn't end easily. The one that took the breath I was holding and used it all up.
Then he turned and looked out the window. It was late. It had started to snow, again. The dark skies were dotted with feathery snowflakes skimming on the wind, spiraling down, landing everywhere. Covering our mistakes with a fresh coat of pure.
He walked me back down the hall and when we got to the door I started to close it and his look changed.
Why are you closing it?
I don't trust myself.
Does it matter anymore?
I closed it on him in response and slid down one side while he slid down the other and his fingertips came under the door and I grabbed them and held on.
I'm just not ready for this.
I don't even know if he heard it when I whispered it. I just know that his hand was there until I woke up this morning and then I imagine it was gone because he had to go to work or maybe he went to bed or something way smarter than sleeping on the wood floor pressed up against the door like I did. I knew when I woke up I had made the wrong choice once again, picking misery over warmth, solitude over companionship and the dark over the welcoming light of his room.
And so I called him at work and I told him I fucked up. He said knowing I was asleep on the floor bothered him worse that the rejection and that we could talk tonight if I wanted to or just let it go and everything would be alright. It was then that I realized that I can mark the moments that others grow and change too, because that was so not the old Ben that I love last night. It was some new guy that I know by heart but hardly recognized.
