Road not taken

Friendship

So I tell him. I open with 'I'm not sure, really', but I have his attention and once I start, it's hard to stop. It comes pouring out, all of it. I talk about the first time we hung out- after the Redskins non-date, me trying to compensate, me trying to establish a friendship, and being surprised with how easy it was, how much I enjoyed myself. I tell him about my relief after he was rescued from that barn, the twist in my heart seeing him in such a bad shape. I speak of the inexplicable twinges in my stomach that I had looking at him sometimes, how I'd lose track listening to him lecture about this and that, catch myself wondering about the exact color of his eyes- green? Hazel?-, how I'd be looking at him, saying something and get distracted by the way he quickly touches his tongue to his lips. I talk about my pride as I saw him grow more confident, stronger, about how he grew from a friend I took under my wing to an equal who protected me when I needed it. I never felt the slow but steady shift in dynamic until one day I suddenly saw I needed his support as much as he needed mine. I tell him how it hurt seeing him in anguish for Emily weeks after weeks and to not be able to tell him, how terrified I was when he had been angry with me when he found out, when he talked about dilaudid again. I thought I'd really messed up, thought I'd lose his friendship, and the thought had been like acid burning through me. I say to him how every time he had been in danger, I had been this close to breaking.

Years of our friendship, partnership- I pick the most meaningful moments, the moments I felt something- the moment he held Henry for the first time and talked to him softly, when he said with quivering lips 'They can't just take you away...', the moment he lifted me off the ground with happiness when I was back, the moment he casually said he memorized a baby-delivery manual as soon as I was pregnant so that he could help me if I went to labor on the field, the moment when he was explaining some science thing and looked at me with wide-eyed wonder, awed at the laws of the universe, and I felt such a rush of affection I felt weak in the knees... I talk about the times I felt there was unmistakably something between us- all those times on the jet when everyone would be asleep and we would sit talking in soft tones, and I'd find myself sharing something I'd never told anyone, confess my darkest, worst moments, and he'd listen, he'd say something wise, or ridiculous and either way it would help; all those times we found ourselves in each other's arms, drawing strength and comfort... it amazes me how many of these moments, these times there are, and how vividly I remember them. And reliving them now- intense, bright- it seems unbelievable, impossible that I was able to ignore them, brush them aside, bury them under.

And yes, I talk about my choice. I talk about Will. Why he was the way I took, how the affection I have for him has always been more than real, how he had been exactly what I needed and I had been exactly what he wanted, and so it worked, it's always worked. What I don't say but what hangs in the air is Spencer and I, we would never have worked like that, like the neat home-marriage-husband/wife-children package, unless one of us sacrificed our career, changed our field of interest. Unless we could be okay with the fact that with this job, any child we might have had could as easily become an orphan in the space of a moment as other children slip on the floor.

Spencer leaves the couch, comes back with a bottle of water. I drink; I didn't realize how thirsty I am. How long have I been talking? I have no idea. My voice is breaking now. But still I talk- of when he was in prison, what I felt, what I realized afterwards, how hard I tried to put the thoughts away, how hard I had always tried, and now I was exhausted.

Not until he gently says, 'JJ' do I realize I'm crying. Sobbing. My face is wet with tears, everything is blurry, the impossible weight inside my chest smothering my heart.