Undecided / Natasha Grokh

I'm laying on my stomach on a futon whose cushion is worn to the shape of my body and is almost paper-thin in certain places. This position is not particularly comfortable, but I am not totally aware of it as the object of my attentions is just in front of me. Benjamin is stretched out on his back on the not-so-attractive carpet of nondescript color that must have been beige at some point of its existence. He is perfectly still, and if I didn't know any better, I would have thought that he is asleep. I glance over his form, the slender, long body clad in an immaculate white button down shirt with the first four buttons undone and perfectly creaseless black pants with matching socks. He is shielding his face with one hand while the other rests on the carpet.

I wonder what he is thinking, wanting at this moment. My first thoughts take me to the immediate circumstances, wondering whether or not he is comfortable there on my pathetic apartment floor with the heat idiotically turned off in the middle of a New England winter. I ask him if he is cold, and his perfectly shaped and soft lips mouth "no." I fall silent knowing that he wants a moment of peace. It is rare for me to be so in tune with someone especially someone as complex as Benjamin. He once even commented on how well I read him and how rare that is. The silence is comfortable, though, unlike with most people I encounter. The energy in the room is so complete that nothing could break the spell at this exact moment.

Without looking, I know that the snowflakes fall fast behind the window. It is supposed to snow about two feet tonight. It comforts me, this weather, this moment. I live in the moment very rarely, and when that moment comes knocking, I savor it covetously. Benjamin's presence acts like a dose of valerian to my usual impatient and anxious self. I'm at peace. Now there is just me and him. All I need now is hover above him, taking in his perfect essence and smell. I open my eyes and look at him. Are his thoughts far away now or are they in this very room wondering what I think just as I wonder what he thinks? The feeling to hover grows much stronger, pulling, a necessity. I must get up and go to him, kneel by his beautiful, slender form, and caress his lips with mine. However, this is not a necessity of myself but some other, alien need that does not feel natural, more like a check mark on a standardized test application.

I wonder if my hesitation is getting the better of me, and if I should just cross the boundary and take the bungee leap off this ledge. It is not as if this would be the first time I would be doing this, but unlike the previous times, this lacks the edge of danger the other ones had. The way I feel at this moment is something that I have never felt. I finally resolve to come to him, always the brave one. I get off the couch and slowly meander toward him. He does not stir. I kneel beside him, softly smiling, and wait. I wait for some confirmation from him, some encouragement. Nothing. My left hand wonders over to him, threading my fingers through his and lifting his hand off his face. I trace the shape of his lips with the ring finger of my right hand and tip my head back with a sigh. After a long pause, I bend down and touch my lips to his. I feel nothing. In fact, I do not feel the touch of our lips.

I stir. It is so cold. I scold myself for not having turned on the heat despite the fact that it would have made the air stuffy and uncomfortable. The feeling my thoughts leave behind is empty. I look at him and wonder why I feel like I'm being pulled in two different directions. Do I have enough courage to physically express what I inwardly feel? Yet I am held back. I never have experienced this in my life, and so I lie on my futon useless, confused. There is nothing standing in my way except for this one primordial feeling that somehow kissing him would be unnatural.

Had he not told me countless times how incredibly intelligent I am and on one occasion that I am perfect? Did I not think him the handsomest, most intelligent man of my acquaintance? Yet, despite this seemingly perfect set up, I am held back. I want to break free and defy the laws of nature and scream that I will carve my own path, my own way in this existence. But, I remain lying on my stomach, growing numb. The dichotomous feeling is still there, and I begin to wonder if kissing me is something that he wishes. It must be because I remain undecided. Kissing him this night would be premature. I realize that if I do go against my nature, I would be denying myself the one gift that I cherish above all - my artistry. We are both artists, and to defy what is essential would be killing something good that was growing in us, albeit slowly.

I smile. This night is perfect as it is. I could not ask for a better companion to share the inner darkness of my soul. I'm not quite sure why, but Benjamin's presence adds to me an amalgam of all feelings that I lack at this very moment, a fitted piece to the puzzle of my soul. If I had to pick one moment in my life to last all eternity, it would be this night without a single change.

I finally get up and lumber over to the thermostat to turn on the heat.