Friday, December 31, 2004
It isn't as though I hadn't spent hours pouring over every possible combination of outfits before packing and then rethinking and packing again. There are just a few pieces that can be expected to serve in more than one capacity. That's all.
And the little things that wind up taking up most of the room? Pretty much not allowed, remember? There are no nightgowns, no bathrobe. No panties. Only one extra pair of shoes, even higher heels than the ones I am wearing.
Not much in the way of makeup, because you don't like me to wear it. So a bottle of nail polish, a little mascara, a pair of tweezers (in case of emergency) some deodorant and a toothbrush cover my needs for this trip.
You are, for the most part, exceptionally lenient with me. You expect me to follow you without reservation, but you also expect me to be able to make most of my day-to-day decisions on my own. I've packed in accordance with my understanding of your desires for me, and while I will admit to more than my fair share of mistakes, I believe I have done the right thing this time. (On the other hand, I've been wrong before... and paid the price.)
I express this to you, and you take my hand and lead me to the parking lot. You put the suitcase into the truck, and help me up onto the seat. You go around to the driver's side while I lean over and unlock the door. You hop in, and after you make sure I'm securely belted in, we pull out of the parking spot. You haven't spoken since you got the suitcase, and I am now starting to feel as though I have made a major mistake. But you didn't tell me anything except to come. And my imagination is running away with me. Should I have asked for more information? Should I have requested a packing list? Did you expect me to try to anticipate any possible social situation?
I turn to you, tucking one leg under me on the seat. You are staring at the road, avoiding my eyes. I know your peripheral vision is good enough that you see me, but you don't turn your head, and you don't speak. I am suddenly so unsure - of everything - that although I know you hate it, my eyes fill with tears.
Finally, you reach for me. You pull me close and say, "You did well, little one." Of course, this just serves to open the floodgates, and within seconds I'm curled up on the seat with my head in your lap and your arm around me, weeping.
You hold me while we drive and I try to pull myself together so I can go and get the rental car. Soon enough the weeping stops, and I find myself with my head in your lap and your hand resting on my behind. We have been apart so long, and I have anticipated our reunion so much that I kiss you, through your jeans. You respond by caressing me, and I bring one hand up to open your zipper.
And the little things that wind up taking up most of the room? Pretty much not allowed, remember? There are no nightgowns, no bathrobe. No panties. Only one extra pair of shoes, even higher heels than the ones I am wearing.
Not much in the way of makeup, because you don't like me to wear it. So a bottle of nail polish, a little mascara, a pair of tweezers (in case of emergency) some deodorant and a toothbrush cover my needs for this trip.
You are, for the most part, exceptionally lenient with me. You expect me to follow you without reservation, but you also expect me to be able to make most of my day-to-day decisions on my own. I've packed in accordance with my understanding of your desires for me, and while I will admit to more than my fair share of mistakes, I believe I have done the right thing this time. (On the other hand, I've been wrong before... and paid the price.)
I express this to you, and you take my hand and lead me to the parking lot. You put the suitcase into the truck, and help me up onto the seat. You go around to the driver's side while I lean over and unlock the door. You hop in, and after you make sure I'm securely belted in, we pull out of the parking spot. You haven't spoken since you got the suitcase, and I am now starting to feel as though I have made a major mistake. But you didn't tell me anything except to come. And my imagination is running away with me. Should I have asked for more information? Should I have requested a packing list? Did you expect me to try to anticipate any possible social situation?
I turn to you, tucking one leg under me on the seat. You are staring at the road, avoiding my eyes. I know your peripheral vision is good enough that you see me, but you don't turn your head, and you don't speak. I am suddenly so unsure - of everything - that although I know you hate it, my eyes fill with tears.
Finally, you reach for me. You pull me close and say, "You did well, little one." Of course, this just serves to open the floodgates, and within seconds I'm curled up on the seat with my head in your lap and your arm around me, weeping.
You hold me while we drive and I try to pull myself together so I can go and get the rental car. Soon enough the weeping stops, and I find myself with my head in your lap and your hand resting on my behind. We have been apart so long, and I have anticipated our reunion so much that I kiss you, through your jeans. You respond by caressing me, and I bring one hand up to open your zipper.
