#56 – I Know

I know the way he taps his finger against his hip.  His little tic that lets me in on the fact that he just thought of a really good line or argument to use in his latest piece.  And I know that within moments of the beginning of that little tap tap tapping, his eyes will dart around and he’ll begin to try and sort his way out of the room and towards his computer, or at least a pad of paper and a pencil so he can jot the notion down before it flees for good.

*****

I know the little sigh that escapes from you, without your notice, when you think I’ve been at the computer for too long.  I forget sometimes that time moves faster than I realize and before I know it it’s dinner and your sitting at the table alone, waiting for me to join you and I hear that little ‘huff’ come from the other room and I know it’s time to put the words away for the day.

*****

I know that some of those stories bother him.  Some of the topics that he is given to enlighten the world about come to inform him in a way that is not entirely pleasant.  Yes, people need to know about things like child labor law violations and poor innocent people being victimized at the hands of corporate greed.  But as the writer, he sees more than his readers ever will.  And it hurts him.  He will take that pain into himself and bare it like it was his daughter that he’d seen smacked across the room and bleeding on the hidden camera footage.  I know that the only thing I can do then is be there for him, with a tub of his favorite chocolate, caramel, marshmallow ice cream and a sappy old black and white movie where the good guy always wins and the bad guy always falls.

*****

I know that you worry about me when I go off on a trip for research.  As the years have gone by, my job with the AP has become more about breaking open scandalous business stories than about enlightening the world to Asian culture.  Some of these could be dangerous assignments, and I’ve come back with some near misses with danger in the past. 

“But you’ve already had to fight the good fight!” You say, “You’ve already been the one thrown to the ground, I don’t want to see you in the hospital again.”

I know it worries you, and you think that I’ve already fought my battles. 

But there are others at stake here, not just me.  Yes, our fight has been won, but there are others out there whose battles still rage on day after day, because no one is even bothering to give them a second look.  I know what happens when people stand by and watch – and I don’t want to see that ever again.  I couldn’t live with myself.

*****

I know that he feels he needs to fight for others in the way that he wished people had fought for him.  I know that he feels this sense of guilt because he did get support from those closest to him, when most people in his shoes do not.  When I did not.  I know that he feels like he needs to put himself out there to tell these stories so that the flow of public opinion might change just that little bit quicker, or that something might be done to help people.  I know, but that doesn’t mean I don’t get to worry about him.

*****

I know your footsteps in the hall.  That subtle grace that you carry around with you has become ingrained in my very being.  I can listen to the steps of the people as they pass by our door, not able to recognize a single one but yours.  I can even tell when you’re carrying a heavy bag of groceries because of the way that your gait slows and how you favor your right side more since that’s where you’re holding them.  I know enough to already be rising from my chair to help you and I can greet you at the door.  And I know that it bugs you that somehow always there – but I’ll never tell you how I know.

*****

I know the tempo of his keys when he’s on a roll.  When he’s figured out the perfect way to explain his story and the words are just coming to him in the perfect order to do so.  And by the same token, I know when they aren’t.  I know when he’s typing purely to have something to turn in to his editors.  When his fingers fly across those keys I know not to interrupt him unless it’s something really important.  And when they clack dully with listless energy, I know it’s time to come in and break up the monotony. 

*****

I know your mood by the way you dance.  You are never still, always swaying around in some way to music that I can’t hear.  That music is your own personal soundtrack and your flow along your life to its beat.  When you’re happy it’s an upbeat little jig and your manic energy is infectious.  When you’re sad, the drudge forces you to trudge along and I try to race to your rescue.  Sometimes I succeed… 

*****

I know his dreams by the way he holds himself in his sleep.  His own mother could be watching him and not able to tell like I can.  The placement of his hands against the bed or his abdomen, the tilt of his head, the twitching of his feet – it all tells me the kind of dreams that his unbridled subconscious has managed to come up with.  And I know that they are not always the best.  I know that nightmares plague him more often than he’d admit, maybe even more often then he’s aware.  There are many nights where I am awoken by quiet moans from the man next to me.  I curl into his side and pat his hair.  Some nights he wakes up, some nights he doesn’t.  On the nights that he does, we don’t say anything – he knows full well what I’m doing.  Sometimes he even curls back around me until we are a mess of limbs and twisted blankets.  When he doesn’t wake I just lay there, holding him. 

*****

I know that we bug the crap out of each other – you can’t be around someone for as long as we have without getting on a few nerves in the process.  But I also know that you and I are perfect for each other.  I know the little subtleties that give away whether you’re glaring in anger or in jest.  I know the angry sigh that you let out when you think I’m getting too involved in a story, or when I forgot to do something around the house because I was too wrapped up in my writing.  I am sorry, and I know you know that, but I will never stop saying it.  And I will probably never stop needingto say it.

*****

A slight moan flitted into the air and Kibum’s eyes slid open.  He let out a sigh, ‘Every night this week,’ he thought idly.  He pushed himself across the bed towards his prone lover.  He laid his head down into the curve of Taemin’s neck and wrapped his right arm across Taemin’s torso, slipping his fingers down Taemin’s bared shoulder where his night shirt had slipped down. 

After a few moments Taemin’s fidgeting and moans ceased and Kibum sighed lightly, “I love you, you big-hearted dolt.” He said, barely above a whisper.

He was surprised when Taemin’s right arm came up and circled around his back.  “I know.”

I seem to be in a very contemplative mood lately - so you guys keep getting these kind of 'eh' chapters.  Sorry about that, but this is what my head wanted to write...

Comments please!