The following is the third chapter of a series titled, “Spring Awakening.” Within two months I dated two people who both played significant roles in shaping how I view life, love and happiness. What I learned along the way surprised me.
This is Part Three.
I absolutely loathe getting tickled.
Every time I see a bitch coming at me with their arms spread out, fingers wiggling, indicating a sign of pure sadistic terror, I flinch, flail, scream and run away. It’s such a prevalent fear in my life that even if someone swiftly reaches out their hand to say, ‘hello’ or greet me with a surprise hug, I run for the hills.
Genie loved to tickle me.
“What’s wrong?” he’d say with a Cheshire cat grin on his face, entertained by my peculiar instincts to slap him away. “I’m barely even touching you.”
OK so no, he was barely touching me. But the thought of someone in my bubble gave me reason enough to doubt my trust in other people (so dramatic).
“What are you thinking about?” Genie asked one night.
I let silence dominate the conversation as I pondered the abhorrent question. I hate being asked questions when I’m tired, busy and in no mood to delight a boy’s mental-libido. Why is the question even necessary? Genie LOVED asking me what I was thinking about. And when I would try to avoid the question, he challenged me to open up and give him what he wanted: my truth. Pound on the door to get inside my head and you will get blown up. When I’m ready to open that door, you will come in. Invites only.
“God damnit, Genie stop asking me what’s on my mind,” I said.
But thing is I actually didn’t say that, I said, “Oh nothing, really.”
I just wanted him off my back. I wanted him to stop pumping me for answers and I wanted to avoid an argument. Genie and I had known each other for two weeks now.
His phone calls began to bother me. In some instances, he would text me asking if I could hang out and then proceed to call me two to three times without me replying or picking up the phone.
“Hi, I just wanted to see if you were free to hang out,” he would say.
I’m never free, really, there’s always work to be done.
There were times I would sacrifice getting work done to be with him. And as I would be eating dinner with precious Genie wearing his precious beanie, or sitting in my car listening to Sam Smith with him sweetly kissing my neck, I would be thinking:
“I wonder what kind of decorations I should get for the Coffee House event.”
“Would Lisa prefer cupcakes for her birthday party or would she rather have a cookie party?”
“I wonder if we can get Korbe Canida to perform at the Women’s Event.”
“What time does Walgreen’s open? I have to get Thank You cards.”
“Should I write about impressionism in my essay on Smoke, Lilies and Jade? Or should I talk solely about self-identification?”
“Ooh, I wonder if I should get Elise to write for Spinster Week.”
And Genie wonders why I don’t instantly spill my mind to him when he asks, “What are you thinking about?”
My fear of restraint and confinement is a lot like my fear of getting tickled. When I see those hands reaching out to me, when those missed calls start to fill my call history, when my heart begins to enjoy the company of a man whose intentions were to “show me love,” I ran. There’s no reason to slap someone away if they aren’t trying to tickle you. There’s no reason to fear someone’s touch when they’re only trying to shake your hand. And yet I run. And when I can’t run, I collapse into a bundle of mess.
The Night I Collapsed into a Bundle of Mess…
Genie has the cutest bedroom.
There’s an entire wall dedicated to all of his accessories. From snap backs, to wide brimmed hats, to gold necklaces, black veils, rubies, and headpieces, Genie’s wardrobe was never dull. He made bold statements with his fashion, which is something we all know I like.
He tried to put on a movie but the DVD player wasn’t working. A blank blue screen was projected on to the television with a slow moving purple line moving horizontally, continuously across the image. I laid in his bed watching him fiddle with the controls, but the movie would not start.
Once he gave up, he made his way toward the bed and lied down next to me. We faced each other, looking into each other’s eyes as he brushed my cheek with the back of his hand.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.
And that’s when I began to cry.
to be continued…
Read Part Four of Spring Awakening Thursday, April 24th!
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