“Having a chin, whiskers or granite like jaw means having the ability to absorb punches when you get hit with a big shot and stay standing, to remain on your feet despite seeing black flashing lights, blurred, double or triple vision and feeling a buzz that goes all the way to your toes. Some say you are either born with a good chin or not. Other says it’s a mental toughness that when your brain tells you to go down to the canvas you will yourself to stay on your feet.”
I had to figure out where to go from here. The mature thing to do would be to sit down and talk about it rationally; weigh the pros and cons, review the tape, re-strategize, and make an informed decision…
…so I did what anyone in my position would have done; I ignored it.
I took the hit, and kept on moving. The funny thing is that it seemed to work for a while. Nate and I went back to our everyday routine. His father started to respond to chemo, and our fights became less and less dramatic.
He even gave some ground. It was around this time that he claimed to be more open-minded because he landed closer to the middle of the political spectrum. He argued that one party could not be right all the time and, because he picks and chooses from both, he has a better chance of finding some kind of ultimate truth.
I pointed out several reasons that this assertion is flawed. First, this is the real world and one side most certainly could be right more often than the other, and there are factions within each party that disagree on many issues. Second, if what he assumed was true, and each side is correct exactly fifty percent of the time, then, mathematically speaking, he is just as likely to have chosen incorrectly as correctly on every single issue. He could very well be 100% wrong, rather than 100% right.
Lo and behold, I got through to him. We may not have come to any new agreements on the issues, but he finally agreed that neither of us was starting from the intellectual high-ground.
I was ecstatic that we had made a breakthrough. On the outside, when it came to the everyday conversations, our rhythm was greatly improving.
But the entire time, I was acutely aware that I was bleeding internally.
Do I love him? Am I pulling away because I know we aren’t right for each other? By staying with him, am I settling? If I’m even asking, doesn’t that mean something is wrong? If I ended things, would I be giving up on something great to chase some childish fantasy of love? Am I scared of commitment or am I scared of being alone?
Do I secretly know the answer, but refuse to admit it to myself?
Nate and I may have said “no mas,” but I was still beating myself punch-drunk.
It didn’t seem fair to ask him if he loved me when I didn’t know how I felt, but I had to know what I was dealing with.
So I waited for the opportunity to bring it up as subtley as possible. A couple weeks ago, when I was home for the weekend, we were at my brother’s house watching TV. Nate got into a snit over something my brother did, and he stormed out. Later, when everyone had gone home, he asked if I wanted to go get coffee, and I agreed. On the way to Greenville’s one and only 24 hr diner, I told him that the mini-fits had to stop.
He didn’t think his actions had been uncalled for and the result of this disagreement was a mature, adult conversation…or would have been if my primary objective were not covert and irrelevant to what we were discussing.
About ten minutes after we slid into the same side of our usual booth, I kissed him on the cheek and said as nonchalantly as possible, “I love you, Nate, but this is a problem.”
“I’m glad you do,” he said. Then, he kept talking about coffee and how inconsiderate my brother was. It had been months since the last L-word debacle, but if he noticed what I had just done, he didn’t acknowledge it.
I was hurt and relieved.
If he didn’t love me, I thought, then whether or not I love him doesn’t matter. Finally, I could let it rest, sit back, and wait for it to end.
It’s probably for the best, anyway.
0 Responses to “Having a Chin”