Change
She looked down from the balcony, watching his tiny figure cross the parking lot and get into the car. She sighed. Life had suddenly become so complex. Before, things had been simple, hadn’t they? She had gone to school, studied, played, grown. She had had friends, boyfriends, lovers. She began a career, owned a home, saved her money. And now he had entered her life. Everything was out of balance now. She loved him. That much was clear. And she was fairly certain that he loved her. He certainly behaved like a man in love – not like the many men or boys whom she had dated before.
They had only craved sex when they touched her, talked to her, danced with her. He craved her touch, her companionship, her whole being. They had wooed her with flowers, candy, romantic flourishes sold as such. He wooed her with thoughtfulness, kindness, and sincerity. They had sought her as a conquest, to be loved and lost. He sought her as a prize, to be treasured and kept for a lifetime. This meant love, didn’t it?
But being together meant life changes. Living together would involve one or both giving up their current homes, the secure nests they’d each built as a harbour from the world. One, or both, would have to change their location, move to a foreign place, perhaps even change jobs or careers. They’d have to make major decisions about finances, about plans for the future, begin thinking as “we” instead of “me”. It wasn’t going to be easy.
She sighed, and moved back into the warmth of the apartment. She looked around her at all of the things. TV, VCR, DVD, stereo, laptop, ipod, stacks of books and papers, pictures, photos, paintings, plants, souvenirs from the countries she’d traveled to, cds, her favourite mug with the tea still steaming inside. These things were familiar, comfortable. She knew how to program the VCR to tape a show, how to change the colour settings on the TV, how to find the subtitles on a DVD. His things would all be slightly different, foreign, bizarre. Would she ever be able to feel comfortable watching a soap opera on his TV that had, until now, only been used for rugby games?
Maybe she was being silly. First of all, it was just stuff. She’d learned years ago that stuff was just that. Stuff could be replaced, or not, and one could continue to survive. Secondly, people did this kind of thing all the time. Other people seemed to have no problems with the idea of finding a mate, finding that elusive person to love, and settling down with them. Why was it so hard for her to imagine? What made her so different, so independent, that this idea scared her? Ok, scared was going a bit far, but it certainly intimidated her to the point where she wanted to put off thinking about it. Delay the decisions that may be inevitable.
What would it mean to become part of a couple? Would it really entail giving up her independence, her freedom, her self? She had seen so many friends lose themselves to a relationship. Become different people. Half people, whose lives depended fully on the other person. Decisions couldn’t be made without both brains, occasions couldn’t be attended without both bodies. She dreaded that kind of dependence. She hadn’t been dependent on anyone but herself since reaching adulthood, and she was proud of that.
And then what? If they did end up merging their lives into a single space, moving in together and truly committing to one another, what happened next? Were children part of his plan? Did he want to create offspring, like most other living creatures on this planet?
This was all moving so fast. Her head was spinning. She sat down on the sofa. She had never wanted kids. She had actively avoided becoming pregnant since she first became sexually active. She had secretly prayed to a god she wasn’t sure she believed in on several occasions when her period had been late. And that one fateful time the condom broke, she had terminated her pregnancy without hesitation, without remorse, without considering any “alternatives” because to her, there had been none. What if children were a major part of his dream? Would they end like Monica and Richard on Friends?
Deep breaths, she told herself as she sipped her tea. This was getting ahead of herself. They hadn’t even decided to live together yet, and here she was, ending their relationship in tragedy. Perhaps they’d have an irreconcilable rift over ice cream flavours next week.
They had only craved sex when they touched her, talked to her, danced with her. He craved her touch, her companionship, her whole being. They had wooed her with flowers, candy, romantic flourishes sold as such. He wooed her with thoughtfulness, kindness, and sincerity. They had sought her as a conquest, to be loved and lost. He sought her as a prize, to be treasured and kept for a lifetime. This meant love, didn’t it?
But being together meant life changes. Living together would involve one or both giving up their current homes, the secure nests they’d each built as a harbour from the world. One, or both, would have to change their location, move to a foreign place, perhaps even change jobs or careers. They’d have to make major decisions about finances, about plans for the future, begin thinking as “we” instead of “me”. It wasn’t going to be easy.
She sighed, and moved back into the warmth of the apartment. She looked around her at all of the things. TV, VCR, DVD, stereo, laptop, ipod, stacks of books and papers, pictures, photos, paintings, plants, souvenirs from the countries she’d traveled to, cds, her favourite mug with the tea still steaming inside. These things were familiar, comfortable. She knew how to program the VCR to tape a show, how to change the colour settings on the TV, how to find the subtitles on a DVD. His things would all be slightly different, foreign, bizarre. Would she ever be able to feel comfortable watching a soap opera on his TV that had, until now, only been used for rugby games?
Maybe she was being silly. First of all, it was just stuff. She’d learned years ago that stuff was just that. Stuff could be replaced, or not, and one could continue to survive. Secondly, people did this kind of thing all the time. Other people seemed to have no problems with the idea of finding a mate, finding that elusive person to love, and settling down with them. Why was it so hard for her to imagine? What made her so different, so independent, that this idea scared her? Ok, scared was going a bit far, but it certainly intimidated her to the point where she wanted to put off thinking about it. Delay the decisions that may be inevitable.
What would it mean to become part of a couple? Would it really entail giving up her independence, her freedom, her self? She had seen so many friends lose themselves to a relationship. Become different people. Half people, whose lives depended fully on the other person. Decisions couldn’t be made without both brains, occasions couldn’t be attended without both bodies. She dreaded that kind of dependence. She hadn’t been dependent on anyone but herself since reaching adulthood, and she was proud of that.
And then what? If they did end up merging their lives into a single space, moving in together and truly committing to one another, what happened next? Were children part of his plan? Did he want to create offspring, like most other living creatures on this planet?
This was all moving so fast. Her head was spinning. She sat down on the sofa. She had never wanted kids. She had actively avoided becoming pregnant since she first became sexually active. She had secretly prayed to a god she wasn’t sure she believed in on several occasions when her period had been late. And that one fateful time the condom broke, she had terminated her pregnancy without hesitation, without remorse, without considering any “alternatives” because to her, there had been none. What if children were a major part of his dream? Would they end like Monica and Richard on Friends?
Deep breaths, she told herself as she sipped her tea. This was getting ahead of herself. They hadn’t even decided to live together yet, and here she was, ending their relationship in tragedy. Perhaps they’d have an irreconcilable rift over ice cream flavours next week.
posted by Deirdre at 1:04 a.m.
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