It took everything in him to reign in his temper and calmly leave the room. I knew he did so, because when shit flew into the air, his face would become a placid slate--like a Greek statue, immobile and very still. His eyes withdrew from the situation, but as it happened times before, it was only a matter of seconds that he would spew everything, anything to lick his fleshly wounds. Anything to make himself feel better.
Honestly, this wasn't one of the reasons why I was still with him. I know, I know.
But...it wasn't as simple. Nothing that had to do with human interaction or connections, ever was.
***
It took him till the following week to even acknowledge me. We were sitting on the rickety kitchen table, with that offset stumpy leg that dipped every time we sat, when he grabbed my hand off the milk carton and said, "Em. Em, sorry." It was a quite confession, revelation he would say.
"Yeah." I took my hand out of his grasp and poured milk into my cereal. In my head I said, 'Whatever.'
***
He thought I was overreacting. He always thought this. When he left the toilet seat up, he thought I was insane for even suggesting to it being placed down for my convenience. Eventually he yielded but it took a bit or re-training.
I was not overreacting. I never did such a thing. I was complacent me, in my own doing, waiting for him to come around, waiting for him to be the sweet, salty person he was.
***
The topic came up again. We were on the couch, my head on his lap as he peered down, his beard scraggly and rough as he dipped further into my tentative touch.
"Let's not do this again," he replied.
I pushed myself off his lap and asked, "Why not?"
"Em. Em, you're making everything so haaard." He scooted to the edge of the couch, his salty side flavoring this a little bit too much. I was aware that his hand kept going to his chest, sweeping away invisible particles.
"It is not hard. This is not hard." I gave his a long glance. "Are you kidding me right now?"
"I'm not kidding. There is no kidding about this. Drop this okay, Em?"
The ball was in my court, I knew, I totally knew. I could push this further, suffocate the air we breathed until I could squeeze the last ounce of saltiness from him. Or I could drop it. Just drop it. Easy as that.
"Look," I started, "Things have been rocky. Yes, we can both be upfront about this." He scowled, his arms crossing, shutting my voice out. I only had a few minutes before he left the room. "I think you should do something for yourself, something selfish, something that will--"
I didn't watch him walk out, but only felt the cool air settle when the front door closed.
***
I wasn't in pain. Swear it. I was only terrified to leave the people that I loved the most, behind. I wish I could put them in my pocket and take them everywhere I'd go. Everywhere. Even the afterlife.
***
I did chemo for a very long time. Very long. He was at my side throughout it. But it grew too aggressive, much more than the doctor anticipated.
While he withdrew inward, his scowl mapping every inch of his face, to fill in the space I talked bigger, longer, louder. I would create fights, just because. I would hug whenever I could. I would drop my life for all the salty sweetness he would offer.
***
I lied. Everything was hard. Just. So. Harrrd.
The salty sweet of him was gone. Although his temper, evened out, while mine flared at the slightest glance.
It was I, who chipped away at it until there was a dusty powder left. I was sorry for that and much more.
***
Before I left, everyone was in my pocket. He had a reserved, special place next to my hip and I pat it, a reminder of what was left and what would crystallize after.
---
October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. Let us think of all the people that we know that are pulling and pushing through this difficult time.
