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“You said you didn’t know what to do with the kindness. I’d say your apology tonight was kind and considerate.”
“You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“I don’t know how to explain it. Kind is the only word that comes to mind. But you’re saying all these nice things about me when you really have no reason to. Why?”
“Because I believe you're a good person. I could have it totally wrong, and you can tell me to shut up or mind my own business…”
Her shoulders inch upward and back straightens. I’m unsure if I should go on or change the topic. But the way she stares at me, expectant and fully invested in what I’m saying despite her body language, prompts me to say more.
“If I had to guess, something or someone has hurt you. You’ve been let down, and in turn, you use strong, terse words to keep people at a distance. It’s a defense mechanism to not let anyone in or give anyone the chance to hurt you.”
“Ah, I don’t know what to say. I-I…”
She doesn’t challenge me or tell me I’m wrong or even admit it, but I take the lack of what she says to mean there is some truth to what I’ve observed.
Before I can say any more, she clears her throat. “But I’m not terse”—she pauses to look at me, eyebrow arched, when she uses my word—“to everyone.”
“That’s true. You’re that way with anyone you think has the power to hurt you.”
She tenses again and we stare at each other, both understanding the full implication of what I’ve said. Judging by the way she treats me, I’m assuming I have the power to hurt her.
It’s this attraction between us. Nothing deeper—it can’t be at this point. We barely know each other, but she feels it too.
It’s there in the way she’s holding her breath, hanging on my every word as if I’m speaking her mind.
It’s in the flush of her cheeks or how she looks away if I stare too long.
It’s in my never-ending desire to kiss her. I can’t look at her lips without wanting to plunder her mouth. Taste her.
It’s in my inexplicable yearning to peel back her layers, cast aside her fears and doubts, and discover all there is to know about this woman.
As if reading my mind and maybe a little unnerved by it—I get it; it isn’t often you can have this visceral connection with another—she jumps to her feet and starts pacing along the edge of the bed.
“It must be hard to stay kind and positive when there’s so much negativity everywhere.”
Now the moment, this unspoken tether between us, is lost with her shift in conversation. I shake my head, trying to focus on her comment.
“Sure. It can be, but I learned a long time ago that’s a lot of wasted energy. Then it really hit home when I was in Africa.” I fidget, trying to get comfortable on the bed.
“Africa. When were you there?”
“For the last year. I volunteered to help bring drinking water to villages that are miles away from a freshwater source. I’ll tell you more about it later if you want.”
She nods and I continue with our current conversation. “Not even a month ago, I was among people who have far less than we do, than some people can even begin to imagine. But even at that, they were far kinder and more generous than a lot of people I’ve come across before and since coming back.”
She grimaces and shrinks. “You’re talking about me, aren’t you?”
“Not just you. Me too.” Memories of my time away wash over me. “To think back on my time away, I really learned a lot about myself and about the human spirit. The people were friendly and had a strong sense of community. Every day it was so easy to see the power and good that come from working together.”
“It sounds like you enjoyed your time there.”
“Yeah. But not at first. When I first got there,”—I laugh dryly at those first few weeks—“I thought I’d made a terrible mistake. Life washard. All the things we didn’t have.”
“Like what?”
“Some of the camps didn’t have electricity or running water. We had to make do with the limited supplies and facilities that were there.”
