Chapter 10: Quiet

I remember. Another couple of days had passed. We still didn't have back much of our old form. Almost nothing even. I was free to move around in your bunker, who sometimes felt like a prison to me. But I didn't want out, escape or run away. Inside these grey walls, in which I sometimes wanted to disappear just to be able to think about how to make myself visible for you, I wanted my freedom back. The freedom to be bound to you, and know you bound to me. But we weren't there yet. I was still welcome, but not yet could you forgive me. And sometimes I wondered, if you were right. Maybe I needed you. But maybe you needed me, too. You still didn't see it, but you would.

I was sitting in the kitchen. Our place, at our time. Night after night, studying books that weren't even near as interesting as your peanut butter sandwiches. I respected your decision not to come anymore, because I knew one day we would restore our togethership. I would watch you and protect you and nip your aggressiveness in the bud. I was still your peace pole, I always will be, and no mistake in the world could ever change anything about that. And perhaps I was lost without you, perhaps I was sailing aimlessly like a boat without paddles, but at least I knew what is worth fighting for. I wouldn't push it, or force it, I would just wait here quietly, until you would be ready to look at me again, as if there was something in me worth seeing.

And even in your bitter disrespect for me, you were perfect. And I believed to have enough respect for both of us, and all of me made sense, because I had. I am created for eternity, and even when our We was currently threatening to die, we were still forever. Like the wideness of space and the depth of a sky full of stars and like a field that ends into the horizon and seems to go on forever. Of course I was afraid of the end. But our infinity was still big enough to be infinite. A little flame only, at the moment, maybe even just a tiny spark. But it was burning.

I remember, how I was sitting there and turned the pages of whatever book, as the air in the kitchen seemed to have changed suddenly. I lifted my head and found you in the middle of the room. Your eyes said it all, just not why you were here. And I wasn't sure, if you were here because of me, or despite me. It was as if it was all wrong between us, as if the world had fallen into an imbalance it couldn't handle, and chaos ruled and I couldn't read you as I used to.

You got yourself a glass and thoughtfully filled it with your favorite Scotch. I knew it was your favorite, because I know everything about you, and I had bought it for you. I stared at you and didn't care I wasn't allowed to. I couldn't see your face, but even your back told me, that you tried hard to hide your feelings from me. A secret hide-out, maybe a tree in your inside I couldn't see behind. And when you turned around, I saw your mask. You acted as if nothing had ever happened, as if it was all fine, or even worse, as if nothing of it mattered. The perfection of your pretend indifference hit me like the proverbial flash the unlucky man. And could I usually admire even this one talent of yours, I now only admired your absolute quiet.

"I've always liked quiet people. You never know if they're dancing in a daydream or if they're carrying the weight of the world."

(John Green)

Against all my expectations, you sat down at the table. You took a big sip out of your glass and looked at me. Really looked at me. Into my eyes. And it almost felt like the cut of a knife, like the big pain that demands to be felt. You grabbed for the book in front of me, eyeballed the cover for a second, turned some pages, with your eyes like a scanner that tried to find a reason for why I read it. You threw it back to me onto the table, almost too loud for all the silence. You gave me another look, raised your eyebrows, as if you wanted to ask a question. But you didn't say a word. The quiet over us like a dark cloud that couldn't manage to rain. I wasn't sure, if it would ever rain between us again, but I was sure, that all the rain in the world was better than no weather at all.

"I'm starting to realize that people lack good mirrors. It's hard for anyone to show us how we look, and so hard for us to show anyone how we feel."

(John Green, "Papertowns")