Between The Lines

Perfect

She hasn't smiled once at me today. She came in about an hour ago, her forehead in knots, gave me a quick "Hi, coach" and a perfunctory kiss on the cheek then sat at the farthest corner of the room. She put her earphones on and acted like she didn't give a care in the world. I let her be. She didn't look like she was ready to talk to me or to anyone. 

We were the only occupants of the room and we were waiting for other people to come in. One of the producers came and greeted both of us. She smiled her widest and chatted with him about the show we were about to do. She was even laughing at some of his jokes. A few minutes later, he excused himself and got out of the room.

I look at her and her poker face is back, like nothing happened, like she wasn't laughing just a few minutes ago. What is up with her? Is she angry at me? Did I do something wrong?

One of her actor friends came in to wish her luck on a new project she was just given. I observe her and it was exactly the same. She was all smiles and giggly during the conversation but when the person left, she was back to her don't-talk-to-me look. Clearly, this has something to do with me, right?

I wanted to ask her what was wrong but I couldn't. Wouldn't. I was afraid of what her answer would be. I looked back on the last conversation we had but couldn't find anything that stood out. We were sharing ideas on how we would handle this corporate event that we were about to do. We said goodbye to each other with smiles on our faces and a shared excitement for our next collaboration.

So I let her be all throughout the preparation for our numbers. I didn't ask her anything that wasn't necessary. I let her have her silence although it was disconcerting me.

I had to remind myself that I also have moods like that when I wish people would just let me be and not talk to me. She looked liked she needed the space.

Our first set ended and her disposition didn't change even when we performed. She was still as unsmiling and as unapproachable as she was backstage. It was like she was doing it for the sake of doing it, 'cause she had no choice, because the show must go on. The viewing public might not see anything wrong with her but I know her better to know that she is far from being okay. She even stayed as far away as she could from me, going all the way to the opposite side of the stage. There's clearly something wrong.

The answers to my questions were handed to me when I heard her yelling at her phone. I was about to enter our holding room but I stopped in my tracks when I heard her.

"I said I don't know what time this would end. You know how these things go! You know that, come on!" She massaged her forehead as she listened to the person on the other end of the line.

"That's not fair! Why are you doing this again?"

"I know, I'm your girlfriend, everybody knows that! Do you have to broadcast that fact all the time? Do you really have to talk about me, about us, every chance you get? Talk about your own stuff, your music, your projects. Leave our relationship out of it."

"Fine. Do whatever you want. Drag my name all you want, just don't bring my family into it, especially not my parents."

"Can I go now? I have a show to do. No, I don't think you mean that, not right now. Bye."

As silently as I could, I closed the door and left for the wash room. I could use a splash of cold water on my face to calm myself down anyway. So that was why she was in such a foul mood.

When I got back, I found her back in her corner, sniffing. She wasn't crying, at least not anymore. The lingering moist in her eyes told me everything I needed to know. This time, I didn't think I could leave her alone with her thoughts anymore. I had to let her know that someone's there for her in case she needed anyone. I dragged a chair beside her and handed her my handkerchief. She turned to me and smiled as she took it. "I'm sorry, coach. Allergies," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Today of all days."

"Me too."

"What's that?" She asked, puzzled. She dabbed the clothe carefully on the wet parts of her face. I wanted to do it for her but I stopped my hands from doing anything. I know my hands very well. They're always finding excuses to touch her and when they do, they always end up being so awkward about it.

"I'm allergic to douchebags too. And BS." Her facial expression froze but when the meaning of what I said dawned on her, she smiled, albeit a broken one. Suddenly, she was laughing hysterically.

"I'm sorry. I overheard your, er, conversation earlier. I didn't mean to. Promise."

"I believe you. Now I'm embarrassed," she said, covering her face with her palms. "Did anyone else hear? Was I too loud?"

"No, I don't think so. Just be more careful next time. You know how savage the press could get. And don't be sorry. We all have our own burdens to bear. Yours is a jerk of a boyfriend, apparently."

"Do you think I need a sandbag to the head, coach?" She answered her own question and said, "Nah. He's not that bad. We just had a misunderstanding, that's all."

"I hope you're right 'cause no one deserves your tears. No one. And if I see you crying over him again, he might be the one getting a sandbag to the head. Just say the word. I know people."

"Thank you for being so understanding. I wish more people were like you."

"What do you mean?" Clearly, calling her boyfriend a jerk and threatening to hurt him does not count as being understanding.

"I don't know. It's just that when I'm with you, I know I don't have to pretend that I'm okay, that I don't have to fake a smile, a laugh, 'cause I know that you will see right through my pretenses anyway. You see, I can't let other people see that's something's amiss 'cause that would just make them ask the questions I'm quite not ready to deal with yet."

Now I feel guilty. Wasn't it just hours ago when I thought her silence was about me? And I was dying to ask her what I have done wrong.

"Thank you for respecting my silence," she continued. "when you know I need it. Other people would just badger me with questions of 'are you okay' but not you. You wait for me to be ready to share my woes." She folded the handkerchief into the original square shape it was when I gave it to her and handed it to me then stopped and asked, "Can I just keep this, coach? I think I ruined it for good. I'll just get you a new one."

I wanted to tell her to forget getting me a new hanky but to get herself a new boyfriend instead, but of course, I didn't. Instead, I nodded.

"They don't make them like you anymore, do they? Where can I find a perfect man like you?" She asked. She thinks I'm perfect? How ironic.

The eyes that were crying just a few moments ago were now staring hard at me and urging me for a response. She missed a spot below her eyes. I wiped it with the back of my finger. Ah, sneaky finger.

"Ah, no. Believe me, I am far from being perfect."

"But for me, you are. Too bad you're taken." She sighed. "If only," she added, almost inaudibly. There were a million things I could've said in answer to what she said but I chose to keep them all to myself. Yes, I was being really sensible today.

"Coach?" She asked softly, and it was the sweetest sound ever. She took my hand and held it between hers. She was looking down on our joined hands when she asked, "If things were different, if you weren't... I mean, if I wasn't, you know, would—"

"Yes, I would. A thousand times, yes*." I said, not really thinking it through. Now, where'd my sensible self go?

I took my hand from hers and used it to hold her closer to me. She fits into me so perfectly, like she belonged there. In a perfect world...

She sighed. I sighed. Together, our heavy sighs of could've-been must've sank a small island somewhere.

*Is that a "Yes with no reservations", B? Haha. - IS