Needs Must

The ice cracks and jangles as he makes the G&T. She watches the simple ritual that has been played out between them a thousand times and she smiles. Neither of them are hungry. The Summer heat has put paid to that. The glasses are already sweating as he hands her the drink. He leads the way, out into the garden and the cosy seating in the shade.

A light aircraft clambers noisily through the baking sky. Calling back to them over its shoulder in a last ditch attempt to be noticed. He hears the men calling to each other on the nearby cricket field. The smack of willow upon leather and a futile cry to the umpire. All the while, the birds provide a backing track for them. Singing for their supper. Trying to attract a mate. Wailing their grief for chicks that never quite made the cut. Falling instead of soaring.

He takes her hand. His is wet with the tears of the gin glass. Cool, but not cold. She indulges him and smiles. The connection is there, but it is weak. Their feelings buffering and stalling as the signal drifts in and out. The atmospheric conditions are never ideal and the equipment needs mending. They’ve made do for far too long. Putting up with poor service.

Squeezing her hand in an attempt to bring life back from the brink. Emotional CPR. He decides he will broadcast the message of his soul in any case. Not knowing whether this is intended for her or for him. Doubting that she will listen. Wanting to be heard anyway. Believing that the universe will understand and perhaps in its understanding it will allow him to discern the meaning of himself at long last.

“Let me tell you what I want,” the sound of his voice impresses him. He sounds better than he ever has. Stronger somehow. In his head, he has always used the voices of famous actors to narrate the story of his life. Now he is branching out on his own and doing it for himself, as he always should have.

She looks at him. Her expression is suitable. Always has been. He’s only now learning not to read anything into it. That has been to miss the point. This is apt, he thinks, to tell the secret of who I am to someone who is not interested. Not in a meaningful way. He looks upon her and not for the first time he realises that he’s been travelling the wrong way down a one way street with no room to turn around. He needs to make room and if this isn’t how he should go about it, at least it’s a start. He’s looking at the map for a route out of here.

He's sought connection without realising that he’s been on a decade long quest that can never be completed. Not here. Instead, he has travelled further and further away from that which he seeks. Glamoured by a siren call that promised much and delivered only a void of longing that sapped his energy and broke him apart on harsh rocks of emotional unavailability.

Authenticity is the twin of his pursuit. The simplicity of these needs hurts. This is his all. To be himself and to be loved for that being. To share this lifelong purpose. To believe in another and help them in this life. To believe in better days and find them together.

“What is it you want?” she asks him. He smiles. The smile is rueful. It hides his need to address his reaction. To swallow it down. Her only interest in his wants is intelligence gathering. To use these things and to use him into the bargain. He is her life support. He is something to be used until he outgrows his usefulness. She is consuming him, but is it any wonder that more and more people are embracing the consumer culture that generations have been steeped in? He wonders whether she will even bother to recycle him. He decides that were he to allow her to reach the conclusion of her abuse of him, what was left would be thrown into the black bin and discarded upon landfill. In thousands of years his fossilised remains may be unearthed. Even then, no one will know the truth of him. They will misread the crushed and malformed artefact that he has become and this lie will perpetuate a hungry and deceitful snake of pain and shame that is humanity’s ruin.

Now he hears the birds chirruping and squawking . This is fitting, he thinks to himself. This is my song and I will sing it at least this once. He wishes it to be more than a song. He needs a spell to counter the dark magic that has trapped him here too long. As he begins, he imagines that he is starting again and he is speaking these words to someone who might just feel the same way. Surely if he can speak his deepest truths here, then he is destined to whisper them in instalments to someone he loves and who loves him?

He draws in a deep breath. An inverse sigh. His dark half rises up within him in that moment wanting only his silence. He sees that darkness in her and resolves to speak, even if he is not equal to the task. He must at least try.

“I want to be heard. Not only the words that I speak. My movements. My actions. My touch. I need to be received. That is where connection is. We all need that connection.”

He sips his gin. This is a beginning. The gin tastes good. He savours it. A jet plane flies over. A tube of escapism filled with stressed and tired people. He waits it out.

“I find myself thinking of knights of old. To stand for truth. Honour. Respect. To protect what is good and right. Some women still want that. I haven’t got a charger. I can’t even ride a horse. My armour is my love. I want that to shine through. I want to wrap my arms around the woman I love and for her to feel loved, cherished and protected. I want to be there for her. I need us to share the moment and to understand how very special that is.

“I want to lift her up with my belief in her. Support her in her endeavours and give her a place in the world that is safe. That is her home. Our home. To give of myself freely so that she can always trust in me and the life we have carved out together. For her to lay her head on my chest and find peace as she hears a heart that beats in unison with hers. A heart that is as much hers as it is mine.

“To be a half of a whole and find comfort and inspiration in a connection that continually grows deeper and deeper as we find ourselves at last. To lay vulnerable and openly in each other’s arms and express our dearest hopes and dreams knowing we will not only be well received, but that we will make of these our shared vision and life plan.

“To serve those I love and be rewarded as I see them flourish. To know that they are there for me as I am there for them. I want to be a certainty in the lives of those I love. I want to be loved for who I really am.

“I want to lose myself in the eyes of the woman I love and in losing myself, find the real me. Dare to be who I was always meant to be. I need to do this for me, so I can be there for her in the realest of senses. I want to love with everything I have and everything I am. And I want some of that to be reciprocated.”

He pauses his outpouring and raises his gin to his lips. Watching her as he drinks. His mouth is dry and the gin is a welcome visitor. He looks upon her and realises that he no longer wishes that she was the one. For too long has he wanted the impossible. Now he is making it possible in this release. He is speaking his truth and she neither cares nor cares to understand. There is a growing certainty within him that there are those that do understand. And there is no need for him to explain himself to them. This is the truth presenting itself to him now. All he will ever need are words of affirmation and to speak his love in all that he does. He does not have to sell himself to anyone. All he has to do is be true to himself and the rest will happen. His tribe are out there, not so very far away, and they are waiting for him.

He smiles as he places the glass down. He has forged meaning here. Begun a narrative that lights the way forward. The words he has spoken are a statement of intent. They will live in his actions. All that he wants is to love and be loved. To be open to another human being and listen to their song. To find a way to harmonise with them without compromising himself or them. Now he knows that there is no compromise in giving of himself freely. That he must continue to do this no matter what.

Already he feel feels bigger and yet lighter. A part of something that he has always been a part of. His connection is there. He feels it. He is connected to life via love. He has dared to shine in this moment and that is all that counts.

She looks upon him, feigning something like interest, but he can feel the heat of her anger and her defeat. He knows he is a naive man. Always has been. He believes in life’s simple truths and at times, his belief in love seems to have held him back. Now he sees that it also prevented him from falling too far. His love was a boundary that protected him from the darkness that threatens to consume.

He smiles at her and squeezes her hand one last time. He knows that he will never reach her because she simply will not allow it. Never has and never will. He thought he could love hard enough for the both of them. He had embraced the fact that love and truth always prevail and used this as his reason for being. The power of love and truth is an incontrovertible fact, but it is not a spell that can be cast wilfully upon others. These things are a choice and the choice was always hers, not his.

Remembering the serenity prayer, he embraces love and truth, heart and soul. This is his choice and this is the sphere of his control. Choosing truth and choosing to love as deeply as he can. Learn to go deeper and live all the more for it.

He raises his glass and grins sheepishly at her. His inner child making a rare appearance in her presence. It has learnt to stay hidden when she is around, “cheers!” She taps his glass with her own, but does not look him in the eye, nor does she drink.

This is goodbye, but in her prison of denial, she refuses to see that. The singular and circular dance she has practiced since her broken childhood is an avoidance of attachment. The irony is that she also has no clue as to how to detach.

“You are a funny bugger at times,” she says, adding, “that’s why I love you.”

He nods and hides the wave of pity and sadness that surges towards these words of hers, for she does not love him and never has. She sold her capacity to do so a long time ago and with it, she sold so much more.