It occurs to me that I am currently participating in a culturally significant event, as I sit facing Angela, sipping my coffee and listening intently to her conversation. It is a brief interlude from the stresses of our location, and for many people (although not I), the time of year.
A recent session that Booth and I had with Sweets asked us to consider how good a listener we each are. I had always assumed myself to be so. After all, our ability to listen is a basic human sense and, despite impairment in a minority of the populous, a skill that is necessary to exist in society today.
He explained that, in order to truly listen to others, there must be no other thoughts disrupting our attention. I have exceptional focus and as such thoroughly expected to excel in this field.
However, when people talk about issues that affect them - where the laws of math and science do not apply - I make connections in my head, trying desperately to relate their experiences to my own, so that I may empathize with them.
I am not a good listener.
The implication that when we think about ourselves, and our own likely responses to the situation, is that we are not focusing on others is very true. I find it too easy to detract from a conversation and lose myself within my own thought's. Something to which I am usually oblivious. Not on this occasion however.
She has brought me here with the intent and purpose of Christmas shopping. What we are actually doing is nothing more than an indulgence into what Angela might define as retail therapy. Needlessly purchasing material goods to achieve a sense of fulfillment. The failed relationships that have tormented her in recent months have caused her to value perspectives of those around her as she seeks to understand why she fears commitment.
I understand those fears. It is illogical to give all of yourself to another person and trust them to care for you in such a way that is all encompassing.
At the center of the mall is a large Norwegian Spruce, some five meters tall. And despite the almost clinical lighting of the busy shopping mall it endeavors to twinkle. To sparkle and shimmer, attracting children and adults alike. A short distance away there is a elaborately dressed 'grotto' complete with it's own imitation Santa and elves.
Elves is wrong. What I actually mean is erotically dressed young women, that appear to have been employed purely on the basis of invoking a sexual response in those fathers left to attend to their children. If I am wrong in my assumption then explain to me why the queue is dominated by males with their pre adolescents.
"Bren? Are you still with me?"
Other female companions would be angry or upset at my obvious distraction but Angela's tone is soft. She understands me, and that in these circumstances I am perhaps not the best friend she could have. I myself am in no position to offer out advice on relationships or matters of the heart. But still, she knows I am here. And that I am not a good listener.
Unlike her.
"The tree." I say, not quite understanding myself why I find it inexplicably difficult to look away.
"It's pretty" she adds. "With all those shiny baubles."
Shiny baubles. The words hit me hard. Like a substantial volume of bricks.
"No" I reply instinctively.
Her expression questions my assertions as I turn to face her again.
"The tree" I explain, "would still be beautiful without the false trimmings. The artificial adornments that make it stand out to others do not thrill me in any way. It's sheer natural beauty and grace is outstanding alone."
My mind drifts once more and I am recalling a memory. Booth's birthday. The night that it seemed that he carried the weight of the word on his shoulders. And the night that, in front of all our friends and colleagues, I made a vow.
"And I promise that my eyes will never be caught by those shiny baubles again."
In making the birthday toast to Booth I was proud to call him my partner. I wanted everyone to know just how special he is. To see what I see. To understand just how important he is to me. Was it the fear of losing him again that made me realize this fact myself?
Sometimes, when we speak, or write, we do not fully realize the implication of our words until they have been offered out to the universe, and those who were listening have had opportunity to interpret our meaning. As a writer I have an editor, who looks at every single word I produce, to ensure it is relevant, and that it makes sense in every context. What I say through my novels is controlled.
What I say in the moment is not.
Sometimes we only hear ourselves as the words pass our lips.
That single sentence has played on my mind for some weeks now.
It was uncharacteristic of me to accept what Jared said of his brother without question. Perhaps I had foolishly believed that his deployment here in DC, coupled with an insight into both Booth and Cam had instigated him as an ally to our team. Our family.
Regardless of my reasoning, I was wrong. I know Booth. Better than anyone else. But it's not enough. I need to know more.
Is this what Angela insinuated when she said she would wait for me to catch up to my own reality?
My instincts are inspiring me to look back down at the queueing patrons by the grotto and I notice a very familiar little boy, patiently waiting with his father. What is the statistical likelihood of Booth and I being at the same location on one of the very few days either of us are not working? I pull my attention back to Angela. There has been something on my own mind I need to share.
"I am considering not going away for the holidays this year. I think it would be preferable...."
I stop myself abruptly. Do you see? It's happening again. The words we speak always need to be considered carefully if we are to convey the correct meaning fully. Smiling, I take a breath and continue, slowly, making every syllable count.
"I would very much like, this year, to spend the holidays with family."
I glance back down to the grotto. Parker is sat on Santa's knee, his father crouched beside him, sharing the moment. This is a picture of happiness, and I wish I could freeze time. I shake my head gently as I consider how irrational my thought process has become. Without warning, the focus of my attention stands and turns his head sharply towards me, and I have less than a second to decide if I should look away.
I don't, and his gaze meets mine as he flashes his best charm smile in my direction. I wave timidly, and he replies with his own frantic arm movements as he alerts Parker to my presence, and indicates that they are coming up to meet us.
Us. I am reminded how bad a listener I am as Angela speaks. She has taken the time to digest my words and observe my actions in order to compose her response to my statement.
"I'm glad, Bren." She pulls my hands into her own. "It's about time. You deserve to be happy."
Angela is a very good listener. Even when I don't say a word.
A/N - reviews are like early Christmas presents. Oh who am I kidding. They are so much better!