Going There

I kissed his shoulder, "I love you."

"So are we going there?" He asked flatly.

"Going where?"

He waved me off with his hand while he focused on the movie.

"Going where?" I repeated.

"That's a really big deal for me to say it," he said, not taking his eyes off the TV.

I was puzzled and a little taken aback. "I didn't say it so I could hear it," I spoke slowly.

"Most people do."

"I just felt like saying it."

"Well it is my fist time hearing it," he paused while my mouth hung open in shock. "What the hell, I love you too!"

"WHAT?!" The looks, the kissing, the tears: I didn't fabricate them. "What about yesterday?"

"You mean yesterday when I had that killer headache so I drank it away?"

"You don't remember yesterday?"

"You know I have a really bad memory." He paused, "Are you okay?"

"No."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No."

"I was really drunk yesterday."

"Okay." I was doing my best to hide the sheer horror I was feeling. Oh. my. god. He. doesn't. remember. I must look like one fucking idiot.

"Tell me what happened."

Having already written about it, I was able to recall the story. Telling it, however, proved difficult and it was delivered with many sideways glances.

"You know why I cried."

I nodded. I did. It was over his son, but it stung to have it shoved in my face that none of this was about me anymore.

"Even if you really don't remember, I'm having a hard time with why your reactions are so different," I admitted. "Yesterday you were so happy, and now you're scolding me. Did you mean it yesterday and not today? Do you mean it today and not yesterday? Were you faking yesterday? Are you faking now?"

"I wouldn't say it unless I mean it."

This time I had no problem studying his eyes; I had already gotten everything off my chest yesterday. He stared back at me, unblinking, and we were gauging each other's reactions. I had no idea where the strength came from, but I wanted answers and he was skirting around them.

"Fine. Well you just said it. Did you mean it?"

He was uncomfortable with my direct questioning and paused, "Yes," he spoke quietly as if he was unsure of himself. "I thought we were going to take things slowly," he said more decisively.

I didn't really have an answer for that. The past week was spent declaring love in secret code only to have it said aloud and then taken back. He was ruining my memory of yesterday. He was taking it away from me.

"I can't believe you don't remember."

"You know I'm losing my memory. Ask my mother," as it always does when he's getting upset, Scott's voice began to rise in both volume and pitch.

"I'm just so embarrassed--"

"You shouldn't be! I have to leave!" Scott jumped up from the couch and began putting his shoes on. I was not going to let him have anything else; he already took my memory of yesterday. I kept my place on the floor and turned my focus on the TV and my glass of wine while he hurriedly got dressed.

When he didn't see me react, Scott came to my spot on the floor and kissed me, "You know why I have to leave."

I did. But I didn't. In any case, I wasn't going to fight it. After the one fight we had, hell if I was ever going to try and stop him again. "I know."

Again with no reaction out of me, Scott crossed the room and came back to me and kissed me. This time he was a little more tender, "I just need some time to myself."

"Okay." Again, he got nothing out of me.

He walked out the door and I never shed a tear. He wasn't going to get a thing out of me ever again.