Every night before I go to sleep, I remind myself to breathe. I remind myself, because when the world is closed out by the blinds, and stillness permeates our room, in the silence I take inventory of where I have been, and where I am going. Without fail, I see her in both destinations of the journey. She was there in my youth, and with all hope, she will be there in my future. This steals my breath, and stills my mind. But, it wasn't always so clear.
In I Love Her, an explanation is given as to why I made the move back to Oklahoma. By the second day of my arrival, she was pulling up in the driveway. When I saw her, the emotion swept over me that I had carried for so many years. My arms instantly ached to hold her, and when she fell into them, I cried. I knew I missed her more than I have missed anyone. But, I hadn't yet been willing to explore love's intensity, or why it was she I loved so intensely. Before I could accept the truth, I would feel as if I were betraying our friendship.
In many ways, we picked up right where we left off. Nights lying in the driveway of her father's house, looking at the stars and wondering about God turned into evenings on her porch, looking at stars and wondering about each other's lives. The conversation was endless and easy. The laughter was boisterous and continual. I couldn't be around her enough, and at times, felt so selfish for imposing my presence in her life. I recognized life felt so much brighter when she was near, but I never questioned or wondered why. I guess I just thought I was lucky.
One evening, with a group of people gathered at her home, something changed within me. In a moment of playfulness, she pinned my arms back and straddled me while calling for someone, anyone, to tickle me into oblivion! It was the moment I knew. It was that split second of electric clarification. And, I didn't know what to do. So, I withdrew.
One thing about me that is both my honor and my tragedy is that I cannot convincingly lie. Oh, I can lie. Everyone can lie. I'm just inept at it. On the rare occasion I can sucker someone into believing an untruth, I'm so impressed with my deception, I blow it. "I have a confession," I'll say. "I'm lying." So, when she called me out about my change in behavior, I knew I was standing on a cliff from which I would be jumping all the truthful way down.
I cannot explain the degree of turmoil I felt. In my mind, she couldn't reciprocate. In my mind, my own feelings betrayed the trust of our friendship. In my mind, confessing I loved her beyond the sacred boundaries of our profoundly beautiful friendship would be the destruction of it. So, with a heaviness that bent my back, I choked through a confusing, panicked explanation. Before she could respond, I volunteered to step away from her life.
She smiled. It was a slow, gentle smile. The kind that begins in anticipation of comprehension fully evolving. A sweet smile that indicated she wasn't sure what to think, but of the emotions my confession evoked, anger was not one of them. She didn't feel betrayed. She loved me still. Although it was not immediate, she would eventually confirm I was not alone in my feelings.
Neither of us knew how to move forward. In truth, neither of us knew we would move forward. In the beginning, we chose not to act on our feelings, and were willing to attempt to let them subside. My motivation stemmed from the religious teachings in my youth, and she had not yet let go of her failing marriage. We were determined to respect both situations. It allowed me time to look within. Finally, in my thirties, I was willing to confront ideology bequeathed to me, stifling ideas that I never embraced as my own. I would face my own fears, and embrace my own hope. And, when I finished considering me, I would consider the impact this would have on my own friends and family.
Sometimes, I think, those who are opposed to same sex relationships, who are afraid or confused because these relationships are not the majority, cling to the idea it is only about sex. They dehumanize, discount and belittle the value of two people who truly love one another. But, what is shameful about a friendship of 20-plus years evolving into a loving relationship? Considering the paths we took separately, how can those (who are believing) not see the hand of God guiding us back to one another? Eve might have come from Adam's rib, but she is the pulse in my veins. You can survive without a rib, but you can't thrive without a pulse.