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Red Wine Conversation
“I don’t know why, but I just can’t do this anymore,” she said.
She said this as she joined him on the sofa in her living room, a glass of red wine for each. She curled her wiry self into the cushions.
“What? Now what’s wrong?” he said, rearranging himself to face her, shoes off and legs stretched to the collectible table.
“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just me telling you things have changed.”
“What are you saying – one day you’re happy with me and the next you’re sick of me?
“Maybe it’s that I feel pushed,” she said.
“Pushed?” He said this like it was a new vocabulary word.
“Yes, pushed to feel like you do. She let this sink in. “I’m not like you.”
“Well, now we’re getting somewhere. What do you think I’m like, oh holy one?”
“Look, if we’re going to talk, let’s cut the sarcasm. I’m trying to level with you.
You deserve that from me after all these months. I really think you’re wanting me in
every part of your life, all the time.” She took a deep breath, and a sip.
“So…what’s wrong with that? I love you,” he said. Like one and one is still two in his world.
“I don’t love you that way. I don’t want you with me all the time. Actually,
I like being without you.” She ran her finger around the rim of her wine glass, watching the wine vibrate.
“Maybe you’re just scared,” he said, and set his glass down on the nearest flat surface. He looked over at her, eyes on her eyes.
She kept her finger circling, and her study uninterrupted. “I’m not scared,” she said.
“Well, maybe scared of how much you want of me. You want to know? You scare the hell out of me.”
“You know, I know women who’d love to be wanted the way I want you,” he said.
“Maybe there’s one out there for you,” she said. Now she found his eyes, and stayed with them.
“I want you,” he said.
“And do you even care what I want for myself?” She said this as if she’d been waiting for her opening.
“I’d never stop you from anything you wanted.” he said.
“Why should that even be a question…you stopping me. That’s exactly what I mean,” she said.
“I’m lost,” he said, as if he’d scored a point.
“You are lost. You’re lost without me, and I don’t want to be wanted that way.”
“How do you want to be wanted?” he said.
“Look, I don’t want to argue with you about this. I don’t even want to explain.
You’re dragging me into some kind of weird conversation. This is exactly why I feel pushed.”
“Oh, yeah, pushed. Like wanting you is pushing you.” he said.
“Wanting me above all is definitely pushing. I happen to like being alone. I thrive on it.
But I know that for you, my being alone is just something you’ll handle, not something you’ll ever understand.”
“Why don’t you give me a chance?”
“I told you, I don’t want to argue,” she said.
“Hey, do what you want,” he said.
“You don’t get it, do you?”
“What’s there to get? You’re out there somewhere, talking your own language. You don’t need me to get it,” he said.
“Tell me something, Stan. What were you looking for in a woman when you met me?”
She put her own glass down now, rearranging once more, more squarely across from him.
“You! I wanted you!”
“Come on, tell me really,” she said.
“I’m not kidding. I was looking for someone I thought I could share my life with.
You know what I mean…do things with, everything. This is ridiculous,” he said. “ I was looking for what everyone’s looking for.”
“Oh really…you’ve asked everyone? You didn’t ask me.” she said.
“Now who’s hostile? You know damn well what I mean,” he said.
“No, I really don’t. I mean I understand what you’re saying, but I don’t see things like you do,” she said.
“You don’t want to share your life?”
“What does that even mean, share my life? That’s kind of Hallmarky,” she said.
“I’m never going to get anywhere with you,” he said.
She could tell his next move was a standing position.
“I feel the same way. I’m heading somewhere you never heard of…somewhere I don’t want to spell out,” she said.
“Now I’m lost again.”
“I don’t want to have to keep explaining myself to you. That’s what I’m afraid of, always having to soften the blow,
“Hey, Stan, I want some time to myself. Don’t worry, honey, I love you.”
“I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself,” he said.
“But you’d rather not, right?” she said.
“I can do it.”
“But you’d rather not,” she said, still sitting.
“I’d rather we took care of each other.”
“Like how?” she said. She was full faced now, feeling the nausea again.
“Like knowing what each other needs and wanting to do stuff for each other,” he said. “You really need to hear me say this?”
“And what about the stuff no one can do for me except me?” she said, ready to hear him say he was lost again.
“Hey, we all close the bathroom door,” he said. Such an easy point scored.
“This is a dead end, Stan. You need a different kind of woman,” she said.
“Maybe you don’t need a man at all,” he said.
“You may be right.”
Peggy Sapphire
Email: Peggy Sapphire
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