Take A Chance

Seeing the person you love feel any emotion is addicting, enthralling, new expressions, new sensations to commit to memory to know them utterly, completely.

“Don’t make me do this.” He whines, its childish, juvenile, I get to be the mature one for once and place one finger on his chin, tilting his face to mine.

“It’s just an online form, you can fill it in.”

Michael puts, his lips usually so balanced now offset by emotion, his eyes wide and begging me to stop but I won’t.

“How did you even find an art scholarship anyway? It could be dodgy, maybe they’ll steal my organs.”

“If you do this for me I’ll give you whatever you want in return.” I promise, letting his chin go and placing my laptop back on his lap. Dressed in only a t-shirt and underwear it's a sight to behold to see him shy and anxious; exposed in every way. Its as if he’s absorbed all my anxiety out of the air and into him, I feel free, uplifted, only one of us can be on edge at once and it’s finally my turn. I tease him, running my finger over his jawline, to his lips and kiss him softly, “Anything you want.”

“When did you get so good at flirting?” Michael complains, but I can see a slight curve to those sweet lips. Of course if it went on any longer I’d lose momentum, exhaust myself, depleted of what little exertion I can manage. But it’s fine, I’ve done enough to get him to give in to me.

“I can do it if sufficiently motivated.”

“And sending me away is motivating? You’re a cruel man. This is the fourth one today, you’re working me too hard. I’ll need a really big reward. Besides, it’s not like I’d end up going to Italy so I should just stop and we can jump right to my prize.”

I push his hair out of his eyes and try to be charming, skin on skin contact, eye on eye contact, intense, my brain slows as I try to think of the right thing to say to convince him, “We could go on a date or I’ll let you draw me completely naked or maybe I’ll let you dress me up however you want.” I try to make my voice lower, enticing, vibrations that echo through my bones and his, teasing electricity from our nerves.

“Fine, fine, it's done see?” He turns the laptop round, i scan the dense text quickly and Thank you for your application jumps out at me, “Prize please.”

“What one do you want?”

“All of them.”

We settled on a date first and since it was Wednesday we would fall into habit and go to a museum. A different one. I wonder if he enjoys the way I am in new situations too; but being anxious and on edge is my normal state of being. As usual he is bold, eclipsing the sun as he touches me in every moment he can; his hand on my wrist to pull me across the road as the light turns green, his arm around my waist to hold me close on the train as we stand next to each other, a dozen small caresses that set the hairs on my arms to attention. It’s difficult not t o be smitten by him and his attentiveness but with those intense eyes comes scrutiny, a loving gaze watching me closely might catch things I do not want him to see.

This museum is smaller, specialised, in works and exhibits on the things loved by children. I look around expecting children but surprisingly it's mostly adults; they were once children, maybe these things were once theirs.

There is a main room with cases around the edge and a gift shop right as you enter, the side rooms even more specialised and almost none of them spark a single memory in me. People I don’t know, things I never experienced, it's a place of learning about others but I feel unappreciated, rejected by its theme. I was a child once, barely. It's…difficult. The items are either too old for me or too young, even Michael seems to have little relatability; reading the plaques with a shrug.

“Do you…get the point of it?”

“The museum? Well yeah it's about preserving the art of children's media and experiences. It’s cool but I expected,” He takes a second to look around the small room we are in; devoted entirely to a cartoon twice either or our ages, “More detail. It’s a little shallow. I know this is a cell but I hoped there would be behind the scenes or something. The tools they used. Not just the end result.”

“Oh.” I try to conceal the disappointment in my voice, of course he understands it all, he is in his element, in fact its too little for him while here I am struggling to keep up. It’s frustrating, I’m pathetic, upset to the point of my throat aching and my eyes pricking with tears. Like drowning and asphyxiation all at once; I can’t breathe, it's so weak of me to feel this way. To feel disparaged by his knowledge to the point of stress.

It’s obvious, I can tell by the way he looks me over like I’m beneath him, something small to be looked at, observed, scrutinised. He can tell, I’m sure, that I know nothing, my head is an empty vessel for nothing.

“Did I upset you?”

I shake my head, it's a lie but often people will listen to lies if it’s what they want to hear.

“Well I did something.” He speaks softly, pulling me against his chest, “You don’t have to say what it is right now. I can wait. I can talk enough for the two of us anyway so just relax, I’m sorry if I said anything that hurt you.”

I shake my head again, my hands are caught between our chests, my fingers curled into wisps, wrists at obtuse angles, the tendons overstretched, crushed, as consoling as he is, it hurts, physically, my body held still, unable to tremble, is stagnant and decays. But I am loved so I can’t complain.

We separate a little but he keeps in contact, fussing over me like a child, caring but I feel small, out of place. My reactions are abnormal, I couldn’t even begin to say what would help, if i could speak, i could just say what hurts but even so it changes, is infrequent, a hug can both comfort and burn so what can I do? No one can play it by ear if there is nothing to listen to. I feel panic rising like bile and hold onto him tighter, I’d rather be in pain than collapse to the floor.

“Do you know what doesn’t require the ability to speak? Dinner. Let's find somewhere to eat and you can tell me what's wrong when you're ready. Or not.”