Witness

Christmas came and went quietly. There was no snow, no Christmas miracles like last year. My family has shrunk so much that there are no traditions anymore. We each exchange a single present. Christmas takes about seven minutes. It's times like these that the thought occurs to me that it's time to start my own family and my own traditions. Circle of life and all of that messy mess. Easier said than done.

Abraham had spent most of Hanukkah with his own family up North. I had wondered if returning to his family would create some sort of distance between us. Perhaps he would be reminded of his quest for a nice, Jewish girl as opposed to generic me. But he faithfully appeared in my text inbox daily. He sent me pictures of his excursions and things that made him think of me. That's the point: he was thinking about me.

As soon as his plane landed and he was able to turn his phone back on, he asked me to meet him. After my party had died down, I drove to his place. We collapsed on his couch together, and, I swear, he held me a little tighter.

"Did you miss me?" I asked him.

"Mmm hmm. A seven."

I understand things better in degrees. Abraham has learned this. Instead of a placating "maybe," he has learned to give me Vegas odds: There is an 80% chance I'll make it.

I looked up at him, "A seven out of what?"

"You decide."

"Ten. Seven out of ten." I pressed into the space between his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around me until I could no longer see the TV and squeezed. My fear was unfounded. If anything, he was more present.

"Did you miss me?" he asked.

Suddenly I felt awkward and embarrassed. Of course I missed him. I told him before he got on the plane that I was going to spend my time wailing, gnashing my teeth and other general unpleasantries until he returned. But to answer him seriously made me feel vulnerable.

I shifted uncomfortably, "You know I did. I told you so."

I put him through the wringer all the time, but the one time he asked me and I failed him.

We climbed into bed. The night was spent in constant contact, not letting the other person go. As he rolled from his side to his back, he obediently lifted his arm so I could lie on his shoulder.

"I missed you," I murmured sincerely.

I don't know that he heard me.

***

Abraham returned to work the next morning, but I had another week off to putter about the city. I did not waste my time. I had my carpets cleaned. Harvey's husband met me and helped me lug a mattress to my apartment. I met my brother and father for lunch, twice. I attended a baby shower. I manned up and ran a 5k. I was invited to lunch at Chick-fil-A headquarters, and I met friends at a brewery for a tasting. I was busier than if I had been at work.

This time it was my turn to take pictures of things I saw and send them to Abraham. The things I did, I was not alone. Abraham saw them. I was reminded of a line from Shall We Dance: "Your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go un-witnessed because I will be your witness."

Last week I was his, and this week he was mine. We were each other's witnesses.