"It's nice in here." Don't sound so surprised, Liv. He's not a dumb jock. He's a sensitive, caring man. And he's the other professional, or training to be professional, listener. I need to talk. I need to tell someone about you, honey. If I'm going to be here for Angie, for Orli, I need to carry you more lightly. I'm not leaving you, just...letting you move on a little. "May I stand for a little bit?" Moving toward the window. Looking out. Hand on the glass. Cut. To the chase. To the bone. To the heart. "Jake? How-how comfortable are you with...with clinically gross stuff?" How well do you do with a year of horror, and pain, and loss? Because I need to go back there, and come out whole on the other side. And I can't do it alone. "I...May I have a glass of water?" Pushing off the glass, leaving a faint palm print, testimony to strength and brittleness, softness and flexibility. Going to the couch, sinking down into it. Closing my eyes, resting my face in my tented fingers, supporting the bridge of my nose on shaking fingers. Realizing I haven't cut my nails in...a week. This is the first time I've had anything sharp on me in...in a long time. Since you were little, Miles. Since before we knew what was wrong. When I only knew that my nails made you bruise easily. "Thanks." Taking the water, watching him watch me.
You're welcome.jake_campFebruary 6 2005, 07:05:59 UTC
She looks tired, bone tired. Pale. wilted almost. Cried out. And no wonder. But let her tell it. Let her be in charge. You'll learn a lot, Jake. I know.
"What's on your mind, Liv? On your heart, on your soul?
Now I see why Angie, and Scarlett, even Jared. encouraged me to come. This room is about comfort, not sybaritic debauch, but coldmilkandwarmcookies, lapandstory comfort. Jigsaw puzzle on a rainy day comfort. I can talk about you here, Miles, and you will be safe, And so will I. "Is that your bear?" pointing to a large, slightly battered stuffed brown bear sitting on a low chest in the corner. "Yes. Want to hold it?"
I don't know. Do I dare? Will I cry more, or less? Does that matter? "Yes, please." It has a pleasing roundness to it still, resiliant, not too firm not broken, the fir still long enough to play with. Mass enough to fill a lap. "Thanks." Sigh.
"Jake, how much do you know about what's gone on the last two weeks, with me, and with Angie?"
And he's the other professional, or training to be professional, listener. I need to talk. I need to tell someone about you, honey.
If I'm going to be here for Angie, for Orli, I need to carry you more lightly.
I'm not leaving you, just...letting you move on a little.
"May I stand for a little bit?" Moving toward the window. Looking out. Hand on the glass.
Cut. To the chase. To the bone. To the heart.
"Jake? How-how comfortable are you with...with clinically gross stuff?"
How well do you do with a year of horror, and pain, and loss?
Because I need to go back there, and come out whole on the other side.
And I can't do it alone.
"I...May I have a glass of water?" Pushing off the glass, leaving a faint palm print, testimony to strength and brittleness, softness and flexibility. Going to the couch, sinking down into it. Closing my eyes, resting my face in my tented fingers, supporting the bridge of my nose on shaking fingers.
Realizing I haven't cut my nails in...a week. This is the first time I've had anything sharp on me in...in a long time. Since you were little, Miles. Since before we knew what was wrong. When I only knew that my nails made you bruise easily.
"Thanks." Taking the water, watching him watch me.
Reply
But let her tell it.
Let her be in charge.
You'll learn a lot, Jake.
I know.
"What's on your mind, Liv?
On your heart, on your soul?
Reply
I can talk about you here, Miles, and you will be safe, And so will I.
"Is that your bear?" pointing to a large, slightly battered stuffed brown bear sitting on a low chest in the corner.
"Yes. Want to hold it?"
I don't know. Do I dare? Will I cry more, or less? Does that matter?
"Yes, please."
It has a pleasing roundness to it still, resiliant, not too firm not broken, the fir still long enough to play with. Mass enough to fill a lap.
"Thanks."
Sigh.
"Jake, how much do you know about what's gone on the last two weeks, with me, and with Angie?"
Reply
Leave a comment