Dear Maria (on hold)

Part 14

 I took Maria bed shopping with me; she'd decided that we (meaning me) needed more practice being a couple in public. I could hardly argue with her, I knew she was right. I hated the fact that I was so self-conscious when I was with Maria in public, hated that she felt like she had to ask me before holding my hand. I was so proud to have Maria's love, but while part of me wanted to tell everyone I met on the street that I was in love with her, the part of me which had been dominant for so long ordered me to hide our relationship from the world and continue playing the role of the heterosexual, submissive woman whose only ambition in life was to marry a well-off businessman and serve his needs.

I honestly didn't want a husband, I really didn't. I could do without the hairy back and bald spot, and the differences that inevitably arose when your partner was the opposite gender. I wanted none of that life, and I no longer tried to convince myself that I did. I wanted Maria. I wanted a wife to come home to, a wife to come home to me, I wanted to wake up next to Maria, to eat breakfast half asleep across the table from her, wanted to be with her day in and day out, to go through all of the changes that were a part of life with her, wanted to go through good times and bad with her. I wanted to be the one that was the cause for her smiles, and be the one to dry her tears and hold when she cried.

If there were ever moments that I doubted a future with Maria, my doubts dissipated as soon as I looked into the face of the woman I loved. There was a connection between us that had never existed between me and another person before, and I often wondered how on earth I'd made it to twenty-six without Maria.

Maria and I spent the day in all kinds of furniture stores, looking for the perfect bed for my house. It was infinitely more fun that I'd thought it would be: we lay down in every single bed that was a candidate, because we of course had to check and see if it would be comfortable for us both to sleep in. We'd toss and turn and even snuggle in the beds we lay down in, to the both the amusement and disapproval of the store clerks and managers. We'd been asked to leave Mary's Futons after pretending to fall asleep in their deluxe queen sized water bed. We had taken Maria's car, because mine was much too small to fit even a disassembled bed in it, let alone a mattress. We finally decided on a queen bed with an artfully carved yet simple pine frame, and had additionally purchased white sheets, pillow cases, and an enormous duvet. Miraculously, we managed piled everything into the spacious trunk of Maria's car, the mattress extending into the back seat.

It was about 7:00 p.m. by the time we made it back to my house, the sun had just set and evening was tiredly hunkering down over this part of the world. After eating a quick dinner of leftover pasta and salad out of a bag, we began setting up the bed in my once near empty bedroom, which only now actually had a bed in it. I had continued to sleep on my stack of futons, for several reasons: One, because I had grown so used to it and was reluctant of changing anything that was really working just fine, thank you very much; two, because I'd shared a bed with my ex-husband for the past five years, and the last time I had slept in a bed alone was after I'd had proof, proof that not even I could explain away, that he'd been cheating on me; three, because the futons still smelled like Chinese food, brownies and wine, and I couldn't quite bring myself to fall asleep without even just a bit of Maria with me.

As it turned out, I didn't have to. Fall asleep without even just a bit of Maria, that is. In fact, I got all of her; it was so late by the time we finished setting up my new bed (it took us forever to find the directions that were in English), that she simply stayed over. For the second time, I fell asleep beside Maria, my fingers interlaced through hers. After a (long) kiss goodnight, Maria curled up on her side, facing me. Our foreheads were nearly touching, and our hands were intertwined, resting between us on the bed up by our chests. Maria and I both slept with knees bent, so our bodies separated just before our waists, and reconnected out our knees. I slipped away into unconsciousness, and I'm sure that when I met the Sandman, Maria was right beside me, her hand in mine.

If there was any space between Maria's body and mine when we went to sleep, there certainly wasn't any when we awoke. She was pressed up against my back, curled around me like a comma. Her arm was draped across my waist, her arm warm against my stomach. I felt her stir; though I was awake, my eyes remained closed. She stretched her fingers, which kind of tickled as they brushed against my abdomen, and snuggled closer to me, pressing her face into my neck. Her lips softly skimmed my shoulder as she gently tightened her arm around me. I couldn't remember the last time anyone had touched me as if I were something precious, the invaluable museum piece they'd just been granted permission to hold. I used to lay in bed for one minute in the morning when I woke up, trying desperately to hold onto the dream, to convince myself that I was still asleep. This minute stretched into an eternity of moments, and I knew that for the first time, I wasn't dreaming.