Regarding Love and Television

Episode 10

"I still don't think you understood me earlier," he speaks approximately half a season and a whole infinity later.

It startles me, but I don't have to ask what he's talking about. It never left the front of my mind, just loomed there passively to make me miserable.

"You shouldn't apologize," I tell him, not watching the screen anymore but also not daring a glimpse at him, "I guess I had to face the music or whatever sometime." I can't quite make myself feel it, so I add, "No big deal."

Tersely, he watches me, and I watch back from the corner of my eye. His brows pinch together. A strand of hair falls directly in his line of sight and he doesn't even flick it away.

Finally, he says, "No, I wasn't going to apologize."

I can't decide if I'm disappointed or relieved.

I nod, feigning contentment, but he continues, "You are overly optimistic, you trust people that don't deserve it, you try to fix things everyone else knows can't be fixed, you get let down more often than not, sometimes you hurt more than you help."

I'm beginning to recognize his routine: start with a weakness, turn it into a strength. The thing is, I can't appreciate it anymore. Some things shouldn't be polished until they shine like silver; a shiny rock is still just a dumb rock.

"Don't," I plead, drawing an afghan further around my shoulders, "I can finally see something I need to change, and maybe if you don't try to stop me I can get better this time. I can be better."

There's probably not a lot he can say to that, so he has to scrap and scavenge for the right words. In some way, I'm glad to see the look of frustration on his face, that contorted grimace of trying to avoid miscommunication.

It means he's trying.

"Okay, yeah," he cautiously allows, "Self improvement, that's great. I'm proud of you. Just- don't lose yourself in the name of it."

I groan, tired of the riddles but willing to play along if it means getting them out of his system, "Explain already."

"Honestly, I think that your outlook is a strength as often as it is a weakness, and if you lose it then—" he trails off, apparently noticing the disappointed, or maybe disillusioned, look slowly etching into my face.

I want him be straightforward. No talking in rhymes, no silver words, no melodrama. The truth. Not that he's been dishonest, exactly, but everything he's said has been topped off with a poetic, almost scripted, veneer.

He's always been good at that, sanding words down until they can sail through your ears to your brain to your heart, smooth as they cut through the waves. But now I'm putting up a blockade.

He gulps, "In case you haven't noticed, I kind of like you," A smile flits across his lips like a scared rabbit.

 My stomach flutters but my arms cross. 

He goes on, "You. . .wouldn't be who you are without who you aren't, and—sorry, doing it again, aren't I?

"You're great. You're great because you're so trusting and crazy positive. I think what I'm saying is. . . You shouldn't be stop being those things because other people are too scared to be. You've always been braver than them. Or me."

I sift through that meticulously. There's never been a look so desperate as the one he's wearing. Breathing takes more work than normal—all my energy is diverted to thinking this through.

What if he's wrong? What if he's just saying that?

Then again, I know him. I know him well enough to be absolutely certain that he's not just saying that. He may be full of wit (as well as it, sometimes), and words may come easy to him, but he's no liar. And this time, his words aren't slicked down like they normally are; they're rough and raw and as hard to digest as they must be to say.