I Stay

“Hm…”

“What?”

“…nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“If it doesn’t matter, why did you hm?”

“I just had a thought.”

“About?”

“…nothing.”

“Okay.”

“…I mean…”

“Yes?”

“Forget it.”

“Okay.”

“I just worry.”

“Worry about?”

“Honestly, forget it.”

“I can’t now. You’ve started to tell me several times.”

“Everything.”

“Everything?”

“Yes. Everything.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I worry about everything.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just do.”

“That’s clear.”

“No… I do know.”

“Oh?”

“I worry about everything after her.”

“Her. Not her again?”

“Don’t get defensive when you were in the wrong.”

“Okay. Sorry, but I don’t know how else to reassure you that there is nothing to worry about.”

“I think that’s the point.”

“What?”

“That you can’t.”

“Can’t?”

“Reassure me. Reassure me that everything will be okay. Saying it isn’t enough, not after her and that whole year of uncertainty, fear, and hopelessness.”

“You’ve been better recently. Best in many years, I think.”

“She never goes away.”

“I know.”

“Do you, though, or are you just trying to be understanding and positive?”

“A little of both. I know her all too well.”

“Really?”

“When you are gone and I am left with her, that’s who I face every day. Every interaction is spiked by the tension that could break like a glass on the edge of a table.”

“I’ve never seen it that way before.”

“I know. It’s okay. But I do know.”

“Tell me.”

“Tell you?”

“About her. You know her intimately.”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“I wouldn’t ask. I’m prepared. Tell me about her.”

“Okay…”

“I won’t get mad.”

“I know. It’s just where to begin. She is like a whirlwind that comes with no Met Office yellow or red warning. She appears and upends everything.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“That’s just it. It’s not bad. That’s the wrong word to use. It’s unsettling and disarming. But I knew what I signed up for.”

“Go on…”

“Okay. Well, it’s unpredictable. She… she is unpredictable. I mean, I never know what version or variety of flavour I’m going to get.”

“That sounds difficult.”

“Yes. Difficult. But not without its benefits.”

“Benefits? What do you mean?”

“Sometimes she will say things like, ‘I want to paint the sky and stars and the dirt,’ and will become animated. Even without taking paints out. There’s frenetic, frantic energy to her descriptions.”

“That sounds almost positive.”

“Again, it’s not something I’d want to lock in as positive, because you know.”

“Sure… but better than those times you’ve told me about.”

“Yes. The times when she is either aggressive and wants me to fuck off or locks herself away. I worry for her then. I worry it will be the final time I will see her, be with her. Those scares are immeasurable. Then… when she’s up, I don’t worry — I feel that dread that it won’t last, and I know it’s not really you. Then the tempest comes and blows logic away.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why? You don’t need to be sorry.”

“It’s… I’m a lot to deal with. I’ve caused so much distress. I forget that those missing moments where I can’t remember anything — that you remember it all. You experience it all.”

“Like I say, there are moments when you still shine through in her. When I see you — perhaps an even realer version of you.”

“But it’s a lot.”

“It is. But that’s life, isn’t it?”

“I guess.”

“Listen, darling. I don’t stay because it’s easy, and there are times when she makes me feel small and inadequate, but she is you and you are her. There are likely times when I make you feel less than I should.”

“I… it’s not important.”

“It is.”

“You do so much.”

“I do what anyone should.”

“I’m not sure. You’ve given up so much.”

“That’s marriage, though. People talk about compromise in such bleak and negative ways. Compromise is an agreement, a meeting in the middle. It’s not settling for less than you deserve. It’s about knowing when something or someone is worth sacrifice.”

“You’re kind of amazing.”

“Shush.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“You’re the amazing one. When she is away and some sense of balance has restored, you never curse. You worry and threaten, but you never once complain about your lot in life.”

“Would it make any difference if I did?”

“Perhaps not. But you just pick up the pieces.”

“You are always picking up the pieces when I can’t.”

“This is the thing. I don’t stay because it’s easy. I stay because you are worth it. You are worth the sleepless nights, the long discussions talking you down from the edge of reason. The crying. The erraticness. You are worth it. I stay for you.”