Brave
Today
by Wistful
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Website - http://www28.brinkster.com/wistfulworld/index.html
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Bravery, as it is defined, is an act of courage in the face of fear.
You put one foot in front of the other, climbing one step after another when
you know he can hear your heart thumping just a little faster than it normally
does. He is standing at the foot of his bed when you reach the top of the
stairs and you pause, because this is when the fear begins to own you. This is
when sweat prickles on the back of your neck and your palm stings because
you’ve dug your blunt nails into the skin too deeply.
His nostrils flare as he picks up the scent of your fear and maybe even reads
your intentions. A stillness comes over him, turning him into the marble statue
he probably is in another reality, right before your eyes.
You think of playgrounds and bullies and little girls you wanted to kiss. You
think of how you dropped the ball and ran away to tug on your mother’s hand
because you could hide behind her skirt and stuff your nose against her scented
hair where it was safe and no little girl could wipe your kiss away from her
cheek with that disgusted expression on her face.
If you touch him, will his skin go cold? Or maybe, as you hope, he might warm
to you and become solid flesh once more.
“Jim,” you say. Then stop.
Where is your script? You’re sure you had one. You’ve spent hundreds of hours
in restless daydreams imagining the things you would say to him if he gave you
half the chance and you let yourself shut up about everything else for just a
moment.
That moment is quickly passing.
You look at him, and his face is too taut to stare at directly, his muscles
bunched like he knows. The way he stands, the way he seems to strain beneath
his skin makes you wonder if he wants this as much as you do. But you’ve
forgotten your fucking script. The lines are blurry and far away, and you feel
like you’ve just walked naked into the SATs like you did in your high school
nightmares.
He takes a step forward, the lines of him intense and vivid. His breath is
suspended. Your heart slams against the rear of your ribs, pulling away from
him. This is too important, and he’s spooked you.
You are not brave today.
“I, um, I was thinking. About a late snack. Figured you’d want something. Chinese
or Thai?”
Jim’s face falls for an instant and becomes a crumbled mask of granite. You
think of David and you think of Goliath. You wonder who you’ve just defeated. His
muscles go lax with an emotion too complex to read, but almost immediately he
has pieced himself back together. His resilience makes you ashamed.
“You choose, Chief. It’s up to you.”
‘As always,’ you think, and almost wish it wasn’t, because you cannot be brave
about this.
Not even for Jim.
- - - -
The End
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