Forgive me readers, for I have sinned. It has been four months since my last Standoff...

Chewing Glass

She snores.

It's not a rendition of a truck driver's drunken sound, of course. That would be disturbing. Rather, it's a soft sound, one I'd never admit to enjoying. I don't tease Emily about her open-mouthed deep breathing because it does, in fact, assure me she's still… well, breathing. This little nugget into my guy-psyche is one of many things I'd shave my legs before tell her. Partly because she's a girl who needs details and therefore I'd have way too much explaining to do. But mostly because I have a man's tongue connected to a man's brain and we just don't say certain things. Electric shock usually follows.

When pressed, I would say the most un-guy statement I hear is "I can't live without her." Heard only in the movies, naturally, since real men don't voice that kind of sentiment. Not without steel pliers squeezing certain sensitive parts. And some women have really big pliers. Even then, spouting such words is like chewing glass.

Unless the woman is leaving. With the signed sports memorabilia. And the porn collection. Then we chew and swallow.

Overly romantic, sappy sentences are generally written for us by Hallmark, this saving us from having to speak syrupy lines until there's no other recourse. And then we lie. Lies have been ingrained in men's DNA since Adam. And if our forefather had ever willingly said 'I love you' to Eve, it wasn't spectacular enough to make it in to the Bible. Mind you, with a world to populate, they might have been too busy for actual speech. I have no such excuse, since she and I are alone in this bed, which is essentially the same as being alone on the planet. Except for that rowdy neighbor I hear just coming in. How many times can someone trip over the same coffee table?

Equally cringe-worthy is the "I'd die without her," idea. It's one thing to struggle through life without someone, but to profess death over losing them? Okay, so you think you can't live without her. In reality, you'll still live, though maybe not as cheerfully. But to die without someone? What kind of guy says that? And what bar does he hang out in, because I'm not drinking the water there. No, he would probably frequent small cafes on poetry night.

The snore halts for a minute and the silence bothers me. Pushed up on an elbow, I can see the side of her peaceful face, willing the lips to part again. Watching a woman sleep isn't a non-guy action. Only the confession of it is treading into metrosexual territory. Emily loves that label and tries to find something in me that meets the criteria. But I wear skater clothes and put nothing in my hair and can drive stick and… let her find one bone and the hound will never let it go. That would be the point where I might resort to mocking the snoring. But the snoring means breathing, remember? And breathing means life. Life continues, here in my bed. With her.

I can't live without her.

And it shakes me to put that sentence together, even just in my head. Not because it isn't a proper guy-thing. But because it's true. It wasn't supposed to be true. I shouldn't care about anyone that much. But the theory has been tested already. When we broke up. I didn't indulge in much sobriety during those long nights without her and her snoring. There weren't many happy thoughts. Or any, really. There was no life in my life.

On cue, her breathing deepens into those soft sounds that I think I might need to be sane. The break up was hard for her too. I've said I loved her. Said it first, actually. Not sure why I'm suddenly taking pride in that fact. But there's still something not quite healed about us, like she's waiting for the next blow up. Arguing, our former means of exciting conversation, has been avoided just in case it leads to the destination it took us to last time. Singlehood. I hate all this hesitation, this egg shell dance we're no good at. But the option scares me.

I'd die without her.

The un-guy, movie-only, metrosexual things I'd never imagined I'd say are now all I want to say. Does anyone have spare glass? We have a bandaid on this relationship right now, merely covering the wound. Nothing feels solved. Which is what keeps me awake, watching her as though she's about to vanish. Again.

Once again the snoring lets up and Emily shifts to look up at me. Her eyes catch the beam from the streetlight as she tries to figure out why I'm hovering over her. Don't ask. Don't ask.

"Tell me what you're thinking," she asks in that unassuming way that shows she expects no real answer. I'm a guy, after all. She was enjoying that fact not too long ago.

But I don't want to be that guy. The one that lives on snark and eats insincerity. But I also don't want to strip myself of inherent, comfortable maleness and roll around in emotional jello. Still, hatred of that bandaid makes me confess.

"I tried. But I couldn't live without you."

Painful? Yes. Like ripping off the bandage in one swift pull while swallowing all that glass. She looks shocked. That makes two of us. Damn, that glass is sharp on the way down.

The balm comes in the form of a kiss and I feel her tears on my skin. I hate making girls cry. It's like killing a puppy or something. But it doesn't affect the progress of the kiss one bit, evidenced by her hands going to wonderful places in appreciation for my words. I hope she remembers them verbatim, because she's never gonna hear them again.

One swipe of the knife at my manhood is enough, thanks.

Thank you for visiting this little story. Feedback is always appreciated and I will work on my penance for being gone so long!