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INTELLECTUAL PRETZELS: DEATH AND ALL THINGS CONSIDERED "Love makes intellectual pretzels of us all." "Most humans have an almost infinite capacity for taking things for granted."
"Even monkeys fall out of trees."
**************************** A roll of distant thunder edges in on my consciousness, and I open my eyes slightly to see the flash of blue that lights up the room. The rain is falling heavier now, and my window's still open, but I really don't care. The thunder sounds again, and it's closer this time. I stare blankly at the ceiling, at the plaster mark that always looked like a dolphin to me, feeling suspended between sleep and wakefulness. Even between the barrier of blankets and clothing, he feels so warm and solid beside me. I can feel his chest rise with every breath, and his exhaled breath feels hot against my cheek. I close my eyes, trying to ignore the sensations building in me. I succeed for a moment or two, but then the thunder comes again, and something inside me answers. As close as I am to him, I still feel isolated - wrapped in this numbness that just will not go away, it seems. No matter what I do. I can't do this. I can't keep feeling so blank. I need to feel something else. Which is why I find myself reaching for him as the rain pounds outside and the thunder echoes down the street; reaching for him in a way I've never done before, in a way I never thought I would be able to. I don't think I fully realize what I'm doing, and I don't know if Josh realizes it as his arms close around me, as his body answers the needs of mine. And right now, in this moment, it doesn't matter so much. ********************************* I once read a quote in New York Times magazine by a woman named Sarah Bird. It read "Love makes intellectual pretzels of us all." Never have I read a truer thing. My mind seems wrapped up in knots now. One moment I'm sure of what Donna needs, the next she seems to be telling me she needs something entirely different. I guess that's just what love does to you. It makes you unsure of everything. But what you don't realize is that the only thing you need to be sure of is the love itself. I've never been so sure of anything in my life. *********************************** Okay, there's got to be an easier way to flip eggs. 'Cause the system I'm using now doesn't seem to be working. To be fair, though, I haven't cooked breakfast in years, and even then it was limited to throwing an English muffin or a bagel in the toaster. But I happen to know that Donna likes fried eggs and bacon, so here I am trying to be Emeril Lagasse. It isn't working. It's just resulting in my constant glaring at the frying pan and an occasional four-letter word. Why am I cooking breakfast? Good question. The answer would be A) I'm a nice guy, B) I'm the first one awake and it's just one of those morning after rules, and finally C) It's a morning after. I feel a little strange right now. Not that I regret what happened. Not in any way, shape, or form. I just think that maybe it wasn't the best time in the world for it. Honestly, I don't think I realized what was happening until it happened. And I don't think Donna did, either, or at least, I don't think she had clear motives other than the need to be that close to someone. Sex out of desperation is not a good thing. This could quite possibly be bad on several levels. But I'm not going to let it get bad; I'm going to make it stay good. That is, of course, assuming it's a good thing now. Could my mind possibly be running in anymore circles right now? No. Probably not. And I'm burning the bacon. Shit. I scoop it out of the pan and lay it on a plate covered by a paper towel to drain away the grease, like I've seen Mom do. There was a reason my mother never let me help in the kitchen. I am a walking disaster. I still remember the time I added powdered sugar to the pie crust mix instead of flour. We were eating apple soup for weeks. I can still remember how hard Dad laughed when he saw what I'd done. Mom had stood behind me, leaning against the kitchen counter, attempting to be more polite and stifle her giggles. But she didn't succeed, and I had to suffer their jokes for at least a year or so. Which was nothing compared to the jokes I made about his war with the squirrels who tried to capture his birdfeeder like it was WWII Berlin. I make a promise to myself that if I ever have children, I will make sure to joke with them every day. There's always been a sense of humor and fun in my family, and I intend to keep it that way. I hear footsteps behind me as I turn off the oven eye and flip the haphazard eggs onto the plate beside the bacon. I turn around to see a very stony-faced Donna, which in my experience definitely qualifies as 'not good'. She sits down in a chair almost mechanically, her eyes avoiding me. Okay, I can do this. It's going to be okay. I'll just ignore the fact that my stomach has now dropped so far down it's practically in China and my heart just skipped a beat. Maybe she's just tired.
"Donna?" She's still not meeting my gaze. I've got this feeling in the pit of my stomach, and it's not especially pleasant. I don't have any regrets...but does she? Oh, God. How could I be so stupid? "Donna...please, just look at me." But she doesn't. She sucks in a breath, closes her eyes for a moment, and then says "I'm sorry." Huh? "For what?" I ask, confused. "Josh," she sighs, "don't. I know what happened last night, and so do you. And we both also know that it's a bad idea." Damn, damn, damn. "Donna..." She holds up a hand. "Let me finish. I'm sorry. It was my fault. I started it. I just...I needed someone, that's all." That's all? Finally, she looks up. For the first time, though, I realize that I could always tell what she was thinking by her eyes - because now I can't. There's a guarded look in them now, like she's shut something off. This can't happen. "You don't need to be sorry, Donna," I say, taking a step closer to the table. She pushes up from the chair and walks over to the cabinet across the room. She opens it without saying anything, retrieving a coffee mug. Staring at it for a moment, she then crosses and places it on the counter by the coffeemaker, raking a hand back through her hair. "Just don't," she whispers, and my breath catches at the sound of pain in her voice. I can't just let it go. "Donna," I start, "I know with everything going on that this is - " "It's a bad idea. It was a mistake." A mistake?! "No, it's not," I insist, "you needed me and -" Donna turns around. "I just needed someone. Anyone. I don't want your pity, Josh!" Who said anything about pity? "Donna..." "No, Josh! I don't want to be some pity-fuck! I'm sorry it happened, and I'm sorry that this has to be between us, now. I'm sure if we try hard enough we can get back to normal." What the hell is she saying? Has she completely missed the fact that I'm love with her? I thought it was pretty obvious. "Donna," I try again, but she cuts me off. "I need some air," and with that she opens the back door and steps out onto the slate patio. Into the cold rain in her t-shirt and pajama pants, without a coat or umbrella. Is she crazy? Or is she just hell-bent on giving me a heart attack? Both, probably. Damn it, I will fix this. I slip on the boots by the backdoor that must belong to either Jake or Alexander, because they're two sizes too big. I trod out onto the patio where Donna's still standing, staring at the yellow oak leaves that are shaking in the steady rain. The chill to the rain makes me gasp, but Donna doesn't seem to notice. "Donna! Please come back inside," I say, my teeth chattering. She either doesn't hear me or just doesn't want to. "Donna!" Again, no response, but I think I can see tears on her cheeks. Oh, hell. I reach out and grab her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at me. "Listen to me, Donna. You're not a pity-fuck, okay? I'm not here out of pity!" "Then why the hell are you here?" she shouts back, her voice breaking. I close my eyes for a moment. Better now than never, I guess. "I'm here because I care," I say, "I'm here because I love you." "You what?" she stares at me like I've just grown an extra head. "I love you!" I shout, "I'm in love with you, Donnatella Moss, and it isn't going to change, so you'd better get used to it!" She's still staring at me, trying to comprehend what I just said. Suddenly, she just starts to laugh. Actually I can't tell if she's laughing or crying, and I think it may be a bit of both. And I think I am, too. Donna throws her arms around me and I wrap mine around her waist, brushing the wet hair out of her eyes. "I love you, Joshua Lyman," she says. We both laugh again and then we're kissing. I can taste the rain on her lips and the toothpaste in her mouth and I don't think anything has tasted so wonderful in my entire life. "Are you both insane! It's freezing out here! Get inside this instant!" We break apart, startled. My mother is standing there, and umbrella in one hand and the other resting on the handle of the sliding glass door. "NOW!" she shouts, and let me tell you, the woman can holler. Where do think I got it from? Once we're inside, she throws towels from the laundry room at us. "Idiots!" she exclaims to herself while Donna and I try not to laugh again. "Absolute idiots. Imagine, with no coat. At this time of year. Morons!" She whirls around to face us again. "The next time you feel the need to work out a problem, please do it in a place where you won't catch pneumonia, please?" "Yes, ma'am," I say automatically. She swats me and then starts laughing. It feels so good to laugh now. It feels so good to her Donna laugh again. My mother reaches over and kisses Donna's forehead. "It's about damn time," she says, "I thought I'd be in a wheelchair before you two realized what was going on." I pull Donna close, unwilling to let go at least for the moment. She leans into me, and that sinking feeling that had taken up residence inside me finally disappears. Mom takes one look at the stove and nearly screeches. "Joshua! Who let you near an oven?" "It was my fault, Sarah," Donna explains, "I let him wake up first." I sigh, exasperated. "I'll make the coffee." "You'll bring me a cup, right?" Donna asks with a smirk. I'm so grateful to see her smile that I don't even mind it when she starts to make fun of my eggs and charred bacon. I adore her. ********************************* I'm in a very strange place right now. But strange in a good way. Josh is arguing with his mother over something to do with bacon. Apparently, he wants to redeem his cooking skills, which I frankly don't think is possible. He keeps looking over at me with this little smile, and I feel my heart jump every time. And I keep wanting to laugh, because it's all so ridiculously wonderful. I want to laugh, because I swear to God I can hear my mother laughing. The concept of guardian angels no longer seems fictitious to me. I can feel her with me now, I can feel her hand behind all this. It's exactly the kind of plotline she lived for. And I wouldn't put it past her to let nothing keep her from seeing her children happy. Not even death. For the first time, I feel myself beginning to heal. I'm no longer numb; I can feel everything with such clarity it could almost be heartbreaking. I feel alive.
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