Talking about my arguments with people, no matter how petty the argument, is really not something I want to do here. It’s far too easy to put someone in a negative light, especially because I’m going to be biased towards myself since I understand my side of the argument before I’d even consider if the other side has a valid argument.
So of course I’m going to talk about an argument I had.
I mean, it wasn’t the first one, and it certainly won’t be the last argument I’ll have with J. This argument was more situational and in the moment, instead of being the result of built-up stress and what not.
Okay, so, it was nighttime, everyone was tired, it had been a long day by that point. A friend of his had stopped by, then a friend of mine said she was in the area so I convinced her to visit me. His friend left first, at which point I was a little more comfortable to bring out a side of myself that J and my friend were both used to. One thing lead to another, and I was hit on the head with a piece of wood about a half inch thick.
For me, thats when the fun ended, that very moment that I was hit on the head. I wasn’t really hit, per se, it was the force of gravity on a heavy object which collided with the top of my skull. But it hurt, oh god did it hurt, maybe not like getting hit by a bus or something like that, but certainly more than if that wooden object had collided with a more padded area of my body.
I expected an ounce of concern, someone to ask if I was all right. When I didn’t get that, at least in any form that felt satisfactory, I felt myself losing control of the situation. I abruptly hugged my friend and bid her goodnight before I headed up the stairs and went to my room. J spoke to my friend for a bit before she departed, then he came upstairs.
And that’s when the fight began.
I don’t even remember his first words. I just remember his next words were louder than the ones before. I left my room and walked down the hallway towards his room, and I stood outside while we went back and forth. Every so often, I somehow managed to inch myself closer to his room, to the point where I could feel his soft plush carpeting beneath my toes, a stark contrast to the painted wood in the hallway. Part of me wanted to be in his room, to cuddle beside him on his bed for a little while, but that would mean putting this argument behind us.
And he wasn’t budging. He complained about how I treated my friend. He complained about my actions in general. He claimed he apologized to me after I was bonked on the head, but I never heard it. The longer I stood there, the longer we fought, the more it seemed I should be remorseful. Unfortunately, remorse seemed to contradict everything I knew and felt to be true, that all of this started because I was in pain from being hit on the head and no one cared that I was hurting. And it added emotional pain to the physical pain I felt, and I couldn’t seem to get that through to him.
At one point I stood there in silence, just staring at him. He asked me if there was something I wanted to say, or if something was on my mind, something along those lines. I could feel my lip quivering; could he see that? At that moment, I wanted a kiss, didn’t matter if it was on the lips, the cheek, the forehead, or the top of my head where I got hit. I just wanted a kiss from him. I wanted this argument to be over, I wanted to be in his arms.
I wanted to feel safe with him again.
He sent me downstairs because I left a light on, at which point he slammed his door. That was the end, no more arguing.
I turned off the light. I remembered I had started to wash his coffee cup and lunch container while my friend was visiting, so despite being angry with him, I finished my cleaning duty. Not that it was really my cleaning duty; he never asked me to do it, and I just started doing it because it caught him off-guard to see it already done. More than that, doing things for someone is one of my love languages, which I did mention to him a few days prior. But I had debated whether or not to finish washing his cup and container, as leaving it unfinished felt like I’d be sending a message, not that I forgot or didn’t have a moment to start washing it, but that it didn’t matter enough to me to complete the task that wouldn’t even take five minutes. But yes, I finished cleaning the cup and container, then told myself it would be the last time, that I was done.
I came back upstairs and got into bed, however I had chained the door when I was downstairs. The other tenant, who spends most of her time away from here because of work, was going to arrive in the middle of the night. I got out of bed, crept down the servants steps so as to not be obvious that I was going downstairs again, and I unchained the front door. I noticed that my Mom’s guitar was still sitting on the couch, because I had taken it out of its case and we were playing it, so I put it back into its case and onto the guitar stand. I told myself I’d bring the guitar and stand upstairs the next day, that I’d figure out where to put it in my room.
I returned to the upstairs once more and climbed back into bed. Sleep was intermittent, and it seemed I woke up about every hour or two. At 5 in the morning, my bladder insisted that I got out of bed, so I crossed the hall to do my business and then came back to bed. However, J wakes up around 5 to get ready for work, and for the next two hours I was treated to the delightful sounds and aromas that go along with starting the day. I pulled the covers over my head, shutting out even the melodies being played on the guitar which I normally would have tuned into by moving closer to the source. I must have fallen asleep, because it was after 8 when I looked at the clock again, and then it was around 10 when I finally got out of bed.
I took a shower. I got dressed. I did the litter pan. zit was at least 12:30 by the time I went downstairs, and by that point I was already thinking about what I was going to do with my day so that more of my things would be out of his sight, and what I would do with myself so I didn’t have to see or deal with him. I was sad, possibly even depressed, I wasn’t moving quickly at all. I grabbed a stack of crackers I had near the sofa, and then returned them to the kitchen. Wow, one item moved at a snail’s pace.
As I walked into the kitchen, I noticed there was something written on the note magnet where I jot down my schedule. Ah, I’d have to remove that magnet, because he’d see it and think of me. And yet…
“Crazy Lady, Thanks for washing my cup and bento set. Have a good day. J.”
I cried. He never really thanked me for washing his stuff before, at least not like that. And calling me Crazy Lady was a term of endearment, it wasn’t as if to say I was being crazy. Suddenly, I didn’t know how to go about my day.
I made a trip to the Korean bakery. It was payday, and J never stops there no matter how many times I’ve suggested he should go with me. After getting a few things, I walked to the Asian market nearby. I wasn’t there for too long, when I had the idea that I should make miso soup. J has said he likes miso soup, which doesn’t surprise me based on the instant packets of the stuff that linger in the pantry. However, I’ve never made miso soup from scratch, and already I was making it for someone else’s approval… if I decided to go through with it. I returned to the house and put away my food purchases, as I had perishable items, and time to kill if I was thinking about going out to eat dinner.
The fondue restaurant in the mall had a Thursday night Ladies Night special, so I decided I’d treat myself. As I was waiting for my appetizer of cheese fondue, I got a text from J asking if I’d be willing to chat with him while he was on his commute back home. I had my headphones, I could have taken a call and still had my hands free, but I knew his commute was an hour long and I knew I’d be spending most of my dinner time being the rude customer on the phone. I texted him back and said I was “out and about,” and that I would talk when I got home.
At first, it was if nothing had changed between us, it was like normal. Sometime later, I said to J what I had realized earlier that day, that if he had just kissed me on the head where I got hit, I would have been fine, I would have been better, and it might have saved a lot of arguing. About a minute or later, he did kiss me on the top of the head. I looked at the clock that was in my sight and noted the time.
“Well that was 23 hours too late,” I told him.
“No it wasn’t. I was at work for about 8 hours, slept for about 6 or 7,… really it was only about 2 or 3 hours late.”
“Mmhmm…” I smirked.
When I asked what possessed him to write me the thank you note, he said that normally he’s scatterbrained and forgets to say something. I find it a bit hard to believe that he forgets anything, as he’s admitted he can recite movies verbatim after seeing them only two or three times, and he remembered more details about our fight from 2011 than I had even recalled. So I wonder if he noticed that I hadn’t finished washing his things, as he’s actually good at noticing things for a guy, and then it meant a lot to him that I finished doing the job despite having argued with him. But I’m a hopeless romantic, so we’ll just take his words at face value and I’ll stop deluding myself.
Because remember, J isn’t interested in me romantically.
Which I don’t think is entirely true. I’ve been listening to The Beatles’ If I Fall a few times since J played it “for me.” It’s a song about being cautious in regards to falling in love, not wanting it to be in vain but wanting to go all-in if the love is actually reciprocated. Today I had the option to choose a song, but I told him that it was his choice instead, so he played yet another song I’ve never heard before, Save You by Matthew Perryman Jones. It’s a song about being in two states of being, or having to decide between two things, and the singer is asking the listener to make the decision for him, asking, “wouldn’t that save you?” Sometime prior, he played Audioslave’s “I Am The Highway,” a song that suggests the singer is more than he’s being viewed as by a partner, that he’s not just one of many things that come around again but instead he is something greater that’s always there when everything else moves along. I know I’m looking into it too much, but J seems cautious, conflicted, and he wants to be everything to… someone. Let’s not get our hopes up, because I do want to see him happy with someone. And I always feel like he’s happier to be around his ex when she stops by, or at least that he doesn’t look at me the same way he looks at her,
Regardless, I know not what the future holds. I do know he had me try on a mens’ fleece jacket when we were shopping about two weeks ago, and only recently did I consider the possibility that he did that as a means of sizing me to buy me a jacket of some sort. And this was after looking at leather jackets and discussing what we liked about different styles. There was a significant lean towards the idea of me wearing a jacket like the one Jessica Jones wears on the popular Netflix show, so I wonder if that’s going to happen. Of course, that all came before I fell in love with a leather jacket that had a dragon embroidered on the back, when I was already telling myself I didn’t need any more jackets.
Ah, well, as it usually goes with me, it’s now his move. Let’s see how things play out. At least our arguments are getting more civilized, so maybe things will work out favorably.