The Forest for the Trees
I had a fucked up dream last night, man. Now, it's important you know that I don't scare really easily, but that fucking dream? It scared me shitless. I don't really wanna think about it enough to describe it to you, but suffice it to say that it was pretty much my worst nightmare. I just didn't know it, until I'd awoken from it in a cold sweat. Alone.
Jamie called me to say that she had landed in Minneapolis around midnight, and that she thought she'd be back to our room by two, at the latest. I saw two thirty before I tried to call and see what was keeping her, only to find her phone turned off. I don't know for sure what time I drifted off to sleep, but she wasn't back by the time I woke up. She didn't answer her phone when I called at eight, and I think she might have been avoiding me at the arena, too.
Then she breezed into my locker room long enough to tell me that she had to square some things away in Connecticut, but that she would meet up with me in Iowa. I didn't see her at the show, and I'm just hoping against everything that she's waiting in our room. I need to see her, feel her, smell her again. I need to hold her again.
It's weird, man. I mean, I know that Jamie and I haven't been together that long. It's right at six months, and things have been weird for at least half of that. But even though there's this tension, mostly coming from the direction of John and Maria, I find myself missing her when she's not around. I miss hearing her laugh when she is around. We don't laugh together nearly as much anymore as we used to. I miss that. And the way she tosses her hair over her shoulder when she teases me on her way to the shower. And the way she rolls her eyes when I say something she can't believe just came out of my mouth. I just miss Jamie.
Opening the door to our room in anticipation, my heart speeds up at the sight of her. Dammit, I'm not lettin' her get away from me tonight. I'm not waking up alone tomorrow morning, folks. No fucking way. "Fuck, you look good," I growl, barely managing to kick the door shut before moving to her the place where she sits at the hotel desk, clicking away distractedly at her computer.
She grunts in protest as I pull her out of her chair and wrap my arms around her in a tight hug. "Randy," she half-chuckles. Not what I was looking for, but I'll get a full-on Jamie giggle out of her before long.
Burying my face in her strawberry shampoo-scented hair, I lift her feet from the ground and then pull back just enough to capture her cheeks between my hands. "I missed you," I smile and press my lips to hers.
Usually, she'll forget everything she's doing for one of these kisses. Usually, I'll feel her arms around my neck and her body flush against mine. She's usually pretty easy to distract. But tonight, something's wrong. When I release her, she just turns around and sits back in her chair. "I have a lot of work to do," is the only excuse that she offers.
Work? She's passing up a reunion for work? Has she been talking to Maria or something? What the hell is going on? I would ask her, but her phone rings and she answers it without even looking at me. Without so much as holding up a finger to let me know that she'll only be a minute, and then she's all mine. Something's not right. I don't know what it is, but something's not right and I don't like it.
I hate not knowing what's wrong with my girl. The bubbling urge to grab her phone, hang it up, and demand that she tell me what's wrong so I can fix it for her makes it's way from the pit of my stomach. It's been a long time since I've felt that way. Been a long time since I've caught Jamie checking me from the corner of her eye like she is right now. Since she looked caged, almost scared. It's been a long time since I needed to feel this way.
"What the hell is going on?" I ask when she disconnects her call and drops her phone on the table. She just mumbles 'nothing' under her breath, but I don't like the way she angles her body away from me, like she doesn't want me to see her. Like I might see something I'm not supposed to. There's nothing I'm not supposed to see in Jamie. Our relationship isn't like that.
Sinking to the mattress, I try to wrap my head around what's going on. Five minutes ago, I was practically skipping down the hall to see her, so excited to just sit in the bed and watch television with her. Five minutes ago, she was the girl business ripped away from me. Now she's the girl using business to shield herself from me. I don't know why, or how, that happened.
"I want you to tell me the truth," she says suddenly, pushing away from the table, but staying firmly planted in her chair. About what? What does she want the truth about? I must look as lost as I feel, cause she just rolls her eyes. "About Tatum. About how you feel about her."
Tatum? This is about Tatum? Again? Jesus Christ, we've gone over this a thousand times, haven't we? When we were friends, I told her that I was letting go of the madness that was Tatum. Before we started dating, I assured her that Tatum was a part of my past. When Maria started all this 'reuniting' bull shit, I promised Jamie that she was the one I wanted to be with. "Jamie, you know how I feel about that whole thing." I think I might kind of be whining. It's not a pretty trait, I know, but it's what I do when I don't wanna talk about something. Sometimes I'm just an eight-year-old boy. I know it. You know it. Why deny it?
"Just," she sighs and pushes herself out of her chair, moving to my side and dropping onto the mattress. "One more time." Resting her hand on my leg, she tilts her head to the side. "Please."
Jesus God, I don't wanna go over this again. I don't wanna think about Tatum anymore. I don't wanna go back to that place. Jamie and I talk all the time about how healing and being healthy people is all about moving forward, setting goals and heading toward them, not living in the past. But how in the hell am I supposed to do that when she won't stop dragging me back?
"I loved Tatum," I tell her honestly, covering her hand with my own against my leg. When she doesn't pull away, I consider it a small victory. "There was a time when I thought that I would spend the rest of my life with her, but we were not right for each other." I reach forward, brushing my thumb against the line of her chin. "James, Tatum and I were codependent and out of our minds. We had passion, but that was about it," I tell her honestly all of the things I've told myself repeatedly for the last three years. "Baby, even if you weren't in the picture, Tatum and I would not have worked. We couldn't."
She turns her palm against mine and grips my hand tightly. "I went to see her. While I was in LA," she admits, and my heart starts racing again.
Tatum told her. That bitch told her about the kiss. I know she did. Where else would all of this shit be coming from? Now I not only have to tell her why I did it, but why I kept it from her. Dammit. "James," I start, praying that she'll forgive my indiscretion.
But she just put her index finger over my lips and closes her eyes, like she's the one who needs courage. "The spark's still there, Randy," she whispers. "I saw it in that restaurant. I saw it in her back in LA. Maria sees it, too." Maria probably sees little green men at night, too, but I don't think now's the time to point that out. "Hell," Jamie huffs, "John's fucked all to hell lately, and he can see it. Everybody but you seems to know that you were made for each other."
"Stop it," I plead. Stop telling me this bull shit that everyone wants to believe is true. Why is everyone trying to push me back to Tatum? Don't they think I would already be there, if that's what I wanted? "Look, if there's shit goin' on with us, let's lay it out there. If we have a problem that I'm not aware of, let's talk about it. But don't make this about her. She's got nothin' to do with this."
This time, it's Jamie's turn to look surprised. "You think we have problems beyond Tatum?"
I wish she would just stop saying her name. It's easier to not think about her when she's just a pronoun. "You've been distant for months. Avoiding me for the last week. Things are weird." I'm not stupid. How many fucking times do I have to say that? Can anybody hear me? Jesus. "You want your space, fine. I don't like it, and I don't want it, but I can handle it." She may be the one pulling away, but I'm the one that releases her hand and steps off the bed to hold up my hands in surrender. "Let's just stop making it about her, okay?" I'm counting breaths and trying to stay cool here. It's not easy, though.
"It's always about her," she whispers, meeting my gaze with glassy eyes, brimming with unshed tears. I would like to point out that it's always about Tatum because Jamie makes it about Tatum, but I those tears stop me in my tracks. Y'all know me well enough to know I'm a sucker for a girl in tears. "She's always there, Randy," Jamie goes on, her voice cracking. "In the back of your mind. She's a part of you." She looks at her hands and I see the tears begin to fall. "The biggest part of you," she adds in a voice that is barely audible.
"Was."
She wipes her cheek with the back of her hand and sniffles before looking back at me. "The part you don't want anymore?" I nod and she scoffs. "That's the problem, Randy."
What the fuck? Women . . . I swear to God, if any of you can explain this to me. I thought the problem was that Jamie thought that I was always thinking about Tatum. That's what she just said, right? But now she's saying that the problem is I don't want Tatum anymore? She is my girlfriend. But she's blubbering all over because I don't want my ex? "Huh?"
"I don't want you not to want that," she cries in exasperation, as though it should be obvious. Right. "That crazy passion? And the insanity? And the equal parts all-consuming love and hatred? The epic, mythic love that never really ends, no matter how many times you say it's over? Randy, I want you to want that!" She does? "With me."
"Are you on drugs?" I don't mean to ask it, but can you blame me? I mean, dammit. The last woman I knew that talked like this was higher than a kite most of the time. Jamie just screeches in frustration and stands from the bed, pulling at the hair on both sides of her head. "I'm sorry," I apologize quickly, immobilized still in my spot at the foot of the bed while she paces around. "But why, James? Why the fuck would you want me to want that?"
"Because I want that with you!" she explodes. I think, if she was closer to me, she might smack me in the back of the head. I don't know, but she says it like I should already know, and she usually pops me in those instances. Is it weird that I'm thinking more about whether or not she would hit me, than about what she just said? That's weird, right?
"I'm confused," is all I can manage to say. Because I am. And thinking of saying anything other than what I'm really thinking would just make me more confused right now, I think. Make sense? No? Then we're right on the same page, you and me.
As though taking the stage for some monologue or something, Jamie jumps onto the bed and looks down at me. "I love you, Randy." She loves me? We're not supposed to be there yet. Taking things slow. Seeing what develops. "In all of the ways that I'm not supposed to let myself love you. In all of the ways that I know you can't love me back." Did she stop so I could correct her? Because I see her mouth moving, but I'm still back at 'I love you, Randy.' "I love you in the irreparable, earth-shattering, forever kind of way that you love Tatum. And I cannot stop myself."
I know I'm supposed to say something, but I can't. I just . . . I can't.
She climbs off the bed and walks to me, grabbing both of my hands in hers and levelling me with a genuine, wide-eyed sincerity that nearly knocks me back. "I am begging you to just rip the band-aid off right now and tell me that you don't feel the same way. Let me be crushed, and figure out where I go from here. Just . . . I can't do this anymore."
Can't do what? Is she breaking up with me? Or waiting for me to break up with her? I'm gonna ask one more time, and somebody better answer my fucking question. What the hell is going on?
When I say nothing, she just shakes her head and grabs her purse from the desk. "Ya know what?" she sniffles and grabs the door knob. "Never mind. Forget I said anything," she says as she leaves.
Where'd she go? "Wait!" I call out as the door clicks shut. But I don't go after her. In fact, I don't move. Just look at the place where the bedspread is all rumpled because she was standing on it. Just a minute ago, she was standing there, telling me that she loved me. Not like a brother. Not like a best friend. Not like a simple, easy boyfriend. She's in love with me. And now she's gone, and the bedspread's all fucked up and I'm alone. Again.
Huh?