GENTLENESS
In the beginning a girl told me that she thought it was sweet. 'Like that movie Pretty Woman. And in the end they get married you know.' It's not like Pretty Woman. We aren't in love and we aren't getting married. They didn't even get married, it was one of those fade to black, imagine your own happily-ever-after endings. I don't talk to her anymore.
The night we met was a very ordinary night; I was standing at the corner just like always. It was late, past two, and the streets were dead. I figured it was time to go home. I walked slowly, not in any rush. I've always liked this time of night, you feel like you're the only person in the world, that's how silent it is. I was almost home now, that's when I heard footsteps. Footfalls so silent I almost hadn't heard them. Looking up, I have a bad habit of watching my feet when I walk; he was about five feet away. Very close, standing still, just looking at me. Not with lust or disgust, only a quiet look. So I continued walking, a little more sway in my hips now, until I was right in front of him. Not quite in his personal space, but right there up against it.
"Hi there."
"Hello." His voice was soft. Strangely soft though, almost as if he wasn't sure he was doing it right. He looked as if he wasn't quite sure what to do next so I did it for him.
"Why don't you come with me?"
He just nodded. I reached out to take his hand but instead he offered me his arm. My first thought was a sarcastic 'how quaint', but I took it and lead him down the street. I realized that he was trying to be kind, but again, like his voice, it was as if he had forgotten how and was struggling to remember. I snuck a look at him as we walked. The eyes again held there soft look and under the harsh light of the street lamps he looked strangely familiar. Suddenly there was a sound from one of the surrounding buildings, a plate breaking as it hit the floor or something like that.
If I hadn't been looking at him at that exact moment I never would have figured out why I recognized him. At the sharp noise, his face, and the rest of him for that matter, instantly tensed up. He spun toward the sound, his arm raising. That's when I saw it. And figured out who he was. A Protector. I'd seen him on the news lots of times.
"It's only a plate." I said carefully, gently pulling his raised arm down with my hand.
"Of course it is!" He snapped harshly.
At this point I couldn't believe that I hadn't recognized him sooner. Ronald Sandoval. Special Agent. This face of tension, this was the face that the world saw. Tense because he was doing his duty of being ever vigilant in his protection of the companions. I must have been staring or something because then, muscle by muscle, as if forcing himself, he relaxed. I started to walk again, and he fell into step beside me. Taking my hand and putting it around his elbow. Carefully, I looked at him again, even closer that before. He was a man who needed tenderness, to be treated gently. In his life he faces harshness every day. Is given it and in return deals it back. That's why he's forgotten how to be gentle.
And so I treated him with gentleness. Later as he leaned back against a wall, with my head on his shoulder, I touched him gently. When he came, he let out a soft breath, and that was all. When he looked down at me his eyes were unreadable, and for a moment I was frightened. The last man I had been with like this wasn't able to handle it. Not all men can deal with kindness. The last, the blond one I recognized instantly from the t.v., had left me with bruises that took weeks to heal. As soon as that thought came into my head though I banished it. This Sandoval was a man who understood his need for gentleness. Understood and accepted it.
That was how it all started. Every Tuesday for 4 months. Kindness in weekly doses. Three weeks ago though, as that first night, he offered me his arm. Now I live here with him, more than an injection every seven days. I am the gentleness in Ronald Sandoval's life.
In the beginning a girl told me that she thought it was sweet. 'Like that movie Pretty Woman. And in the end they get married you know.' It's not like Pretty Woman. We aren't in love and we aren't getting married. They didn't even get married, it was one of those fade to black, imagine your own happily-ever-after endings. I don't talk to her anymore.
The night we met was a very ordinary night; I was standing at the corner just like always. It was late, past two, and the streets were dead. I figured it was time to go home. I walked slowly, not in any rush. I've always liked this time of night, you feel like you're the only person in the world, that's how silent it is. I was almost home now, that's when I heard footsteps. Footfalls so silent I almost hadn't heard them. Looking up, I have a bad habit of watching my feet when I walk; he was about five feet away. Very close, standing still, just looking at me. Not with lust or disgust, only a quiet look. So I continued walking, a little more sway in my hips now, until I was right in front of him. Not quite in his personal space, but right there up against it.
"Hi there."
"Hello." His voice was soft. Strangely soft though, almost as if he wasn't sure he was doing it right. He looked as if he wasn't quite sure what to do next so I did it for him.
"Why don't you come with me?"
He just nodded. I reached out to take his hand but instead he offered me his arm. My first thought was a sarcastic 'how quaint', but I took it and lead him down the street. I realized that he was trying to be kind, but again, like his voice, it was as if he had forgotten how and was struggling to remember. I snuck a look at him as we walked. The eyes again held there soft look and under the harsh light of the street lamps he looked strangely familiar. Suddenly there was a sound from one of the surrounding buildings, a plate breaking as it hit the floor or something like that.
If I hadn't been looking at him at that exact moment I never would have figured out why I recognized him. At the sharp noise, his face, and the rest of him for that matter, instantly tensed up. He spun toward the sound, his arm raising. That's when I saw it. And figured out who he was. A Protector. I'd seen him on the news lots of times.
"It's only a plate." I said carefully, gently pulling his raised arm down with my hand.
"Of course it is!" He snapped harshly.
At this point I couldn't believe that I hadn't recognized him sooner. Ronald Sandoval. Special Agent. This face of tension, this was the face that the world saw. Tense because he was doing his duty of being ever vigilant in his protection of the companions. I must have been staring or something because then, muscle by muscle, as if forcing himself, he relaxed. I started to walk again, and he fell into step beside me. Taking my hand and putting it around his elbow. Carefully, I looked at him again, even closer that before. He was a man who needed tenderness, to be treated gently. In his life he faces harshness every day. Is given it and in return deals it back. That's why he's forgotten how to be gentle.
And so I treated him with gentleness. Later as he leaned back against a wall, with my head on his shoulder, I touched him gently. When he came, he let out a soft breath, and that was all. When he looked down at me his eyes were unreadable, and for a moment I was frightened. The last man I had been with like this wasn't able to handle it. Not all men can deal with kindness. The last, the blond one I recognized instantly from the t.v., had left me with bruises that took weeks to heal. As soon as that thought came into my head though I banished it. This Sandoval was a man who understood his need for gentleness. Understood and accepted it.
That was how it all started. Every Tuesday for 4 months. Kindness in weekly doses. Three weeks ago though, as that first night, he offered me his arm. Now I live here with him, more than an injection every seven days. I am the gentleness in Ronald Sandoval's life.