I was in my usual haunt being my usual self. Hair piled up behind my neck with a myriad of Victorian pins and a spare black pencil because I break my hairsticks so easily and have gone back to the old standard. Fingers laden down with rings rolling loose around my knuckles, bones shrugged into a thin black sweater over a dark dress, dark stockings and three-mile high platform shoes. Holding another black pencil with my thumb while I rattled off a pile of words on the keyboard, ones to be sorted later.
Humming along while the stereo roared in my ears , oblivious to every last potential nuclear holocaust that might or might not be occurring outside of my non-peripheral, complete and utter tunneled vision.
I surprised myself when I felt a presence, a perceived attention and I looked around and found Ben standing in the doorway, regarding me with a fascinated look, not daring to break the spell I can put myself under any old time.
I bit my lip, adding the snarly, toothy look of concentration that he positively adores.
There's a word for this.
For what?
You, with your hair up and the all-black dresses and shoes inside the house, the whole doll thing, the formal mourning clothes on bad days. It makes you who you are, right from the top of your beautiful head to those thin little spindle-ankles of yours.
Ah, so I should change?
Into?
Less scary clothes? Normal shoes? Jeans more often?
He came into the room and sat down in the spare chair and began to play with the contents of my bag, separating the Happy Meal toys out and testing out an errant sharpie pen, reading some scraps of paper, holding up a hearing aid that should have been in my ear but wasn't.
No. No, don't change a thing. This is who you are.
Maybe good people change for their loves.
When have you ever done that?
Never.
Exactly. No, they change for you. They want to become part of you.
No one has ever changed for me, if they did they would have become perfect. Instead of being perfectly flawed.
You think?
I know.
What about me?
You don't change, Ben.
That's encouraging.
No. You improve but you're not jumping through hoops to please me or to fit in.
I never needed to do that. You wanted to be like me. All hardcore and stuff.
Oh is that it?
Yes, that's exactly right.
I must be so transparent.
Admit it.
What happens if I admit it?
Nothing.
His face broke into a huge smile when I nodded, and then he bit the top off my chapstick for good measure. I've taken to buying the fruit-flavored organic lip balms just so the boy gets a nutrient or two.
You want to come to the rink with me?
Sure, just let me change.
You look beautiful, Bridget. Leave everything as it is.
I don't want to be cold.
I won't let you be cold, baby. You can wear my coat.
Sorry, it's not hardcore enough for me.
Hey, I can change.
Don't touch a thing, Benjamin. Just leave it all like this.
He's got the sweetest smile, you know. If I only had the words to share it with you.
