The Cavity Within

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A Moment In Time

Leon had woken early to make coffee with his coffee machine. One of his most valued possessions. His possessions were few. Everything was intentional. He had some chai tea powder and heated the milk for me.

He had bought the chai especially for me.

We had been spending time together for nearly three months. I was utterly and completely besotted. I had planned our barefoot beachside wedding in my head. Funny to think that now. I never believed in marriage, and we were far from that.

My sleep that night had been restless. He slept soundly, but I tossed and turned next to him. I knew that something was amiss between us. Deep down, I knew.

The words said and not said…

I sat up in bed and smiled as he handed me my chai. He was a man who paid attention to small details. The cups he used held heat longer than most cups. He had sprinkled cinnamon on the top.

The sultry, sexy voice of Lana Del Ray was in the background. I felt held in that room. Nothing else existed. She sang of the sea. The song 'The Mariners Apartment' was my favourite. 

I felt as if the salt and wind were soothing me through weathered window frames.

We were in a brick house in the suburbs. It wasn't close to the water, and Leon kept it meticulously. That morning, I was at home with myself. 

The quirky, forgotten versions of 'me' surfaced. The music called her in. I wore vintage lace dresses in my twenties and loved the sea. And that 'me' that shaved her head and wore op shop men's trousers to English Literature lectures. She was in that room also.

I was fifty-four, and Leon was fifty.

The Cavity Within Me

When I was twelve, my father died, and I lost the security of family. I felt adrift. When I started my intimate life, I didn't know how to make good choices. I ended up in all sorts of connections that mostly caused anxiety.

I had a cavity inside myself…a gaping wound.

I learnt to cut off parts of myself to survive my teenage years. Other parts of me never felt safe enough to emerge. Life was always hard.

I lived without direction.

The Cavity In the Bed

Built into Leon's king-size bed were shelves on both sides. We called my shelf 'the cavity'. We had the 'in jokes' that new lovers share. I told him I read somewhere that if I had twenty things at his house, then we would be in a relationship.

We flirted. We counted the number of things I had at his house. Other than my toothbrush, I left them in the 'cavity'. The comfy house pants he lent me were there, the ones he wore when he tiled his bathroom.

And my earplugs, which I counted as two items.

Although a nonsensical gauge of a relationship, I was partly serious. I wanted us to be solid, and we weren't. I wanted to be his girlfriend.

Leon

He bounced around the room once we had drunk our drinks. His agile, muscular body, his bald head warmed by a beanie, his gentle face. His tribal tattoo.

 Was there wind today? Were his kiting buddies going to call him and break the spell of that room?

They may have, I can't recall. But he was in no hurry. We had our second cup of chai tea and coffee. The second was made with just as much care and precision as the first.

He was never in a rush to part with me. We had companionship, conversation and connection.

Reality

In the kitchen, a couple of weeks earlier, Leon looked pensive. Out of the blue, he said more to himself, 'sex isn't everything, but it's something'. He was grappling with this. He then said to me that he was attracted to me, but maybe not enough…

The words etched into me. They haunted me and played over and over in my mind. But instead of facing reality, I hoped he would change, and I didn't want to face the truth.

That moment in the kitchen was the moment to call it. If he didn't feel the way I did, I needed to leave 'us'.

Instead, I allowed 'us' to blow about in the wind without direction, which suited him. When we reached the three-month mark, he said he wanted only friendship, but boundaries weren't clear. 

We continued for another fifteen months. We talked daily, yet saw each other less often. In ways, though, we got even closer.

I was his friend, but my heart was bleeding out. I was frustrated and voiced it many times. He suddenly left my life as he couldn't give me what I wanted.

I was broken, even though I was never whole to begin with. Our connection had served like glue, holding my pieces together precariously.

Four Years Later

I woke in the middle of the night this week and remembered the cavity in the bed frame and how I left my things there. And those mornings, cups of chai and coffee. It was as if I were in the room again.

 The memory caused fresh grief.

The cavity within me is no longer gaping. It's healing. I no longer conceal the truth from myself, but dive deeply into it.

I am more intentional in my life and no longer allow inner conflict.

Leon and I tried to reconnect this year, but there's nowhere to go. I sensed that he hoped I would still be open to a rudderless arrangement. That lesson has been learnt.

In lonely moments, I reach out to him in the hope of once again being seen and met, but truth has changed the shape of things.