faint electric charge beneath the shield of skin
In spite of everything that had happened between us, this moment somehow felt more intimate, more vulnerable, than anything we’d yet shared. Everything else had happened while I pretended God wasn’t
watching, but this—there was no pretending now. Sacred and profane were blending and blurring together, fusing and welding themselves into
something new and whole and singular, and if this was what love was, then I didn’t know how anyone could bear the weight of it.
“I can’t stop myself, I’m sorry,” I said at the same time she said, “I tried to stay away from you.”
And then I kissed her.
This was more than friendship, this was more than lust. This was something raw and real and undeniable and it was not going to go away.
“I was wondering…”
“Yes?”
“This is going to sound stupid. Never mind.”
We were crossing the main street now, from shady sidewalk to even shadier sidewalk, and all around us was the noise of the breeze in the leaves and the birds and the faint roll of cars far away. I wanted to tell her that right now I’d give her anything, I’d give her everything, so long as we could stay in this peaceful bubble of early autumn forever, just the two of us and the leaves and the green warmth that made it so easy to feel loved by
God.
But I couldn’t tell her that. So instead, I said, “I don’t think you’re capable of asking a stupid question, Ms. Danforth.”
“You should reserve judgment until I ask, Father”
“I'm Catholic, judging is my thing."
Stepping away felt like stepping onto shards of glass, and I couldn’t help myself, she was so wide-eyed and so open to my love, and it was instinct more than anything else that led to trace a small cross on her forehead.
A blessing.
And hopefully a promise to do better.
🖤
I knew that I was walking oh-so-close to the edge, to the point of no return, but I wanted to, I wanted to fling myself into the unknown if the unknown was her. It was hard to give a shit about anything else.
She was creating this insatiable pit in me, a yawning chasm of need, and even in my haze, I
could see how destructive that would be if I didn’t stop it.
“I don’t like this, I don’t want you to meet with him.”
Her smile stayed but her eyes changed into cold shards of green and brown. I suddenly appreciated what a weapon she would have made in a boardroom or on the arm of a senator. “Honestly? I don’t think it’s any of your business if I do meet with him or not.”
“He’s dangerous, Poppy.”
“You don’t even know him,” she said, removing her hand from mine.
“But I know how dangerous a man can be when he wants a woman he can’t have.”
“Like you?” she said, and the mark was so ruthlessly and perfectly aimed that I nearly staggered back.
“Why are you surprised that I did something nice? Is it because you think I’m some sort of fallen woman?”
“I don’t think you’re a fallen woman,” I said.
“But now you are going to say that we are all fallen sinners in a fallen world.”
“No,” I pronounced carefully. “I was going to say that people who are as smart and attractive as you don’t typically have to cultivate skills like kindness unless they want to. Yes, it surprises me a little.”
And the worst thing was that I knew He wasn’t angry with me. He’d forgiven me before it had even happened, and I didn’t deserve it. I deserved to be punished, a hail of fire from above, bitter waters, an IRS audit, something, anything dammit, because I was a miserable, loathsome, lustful man who’d taken advantage of an emotionally vulnerable woman.
What a wretched man I am.
The realization that I had betrayed God, perhaps more than I’d betrayed the people in this room.
My God, my savior. The recipient of my vehement hatred after Lizzy’s death and also the presence that had patiently awaited my return a few years later. The voice in my dreams that had comforted me, enlightened me,
guided me. The voice that had told me what I needed to do with my life, where I needed to go to find peace.
“I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do, I do not do, but what I hate I do…for I have the desire to do what is right, but I cannot carry it out. What a wretched man I am.”
2- Timothy and Song of Songs (Bible)
Some people have a high emotional threshold — they don't feel things in muted tones. If life feels numb or dull, they subconsciously seek out extremes (emotional or physical) to feel alive. That’s why:
Pain becomes a proof of existence
Passion becomes an anchor to reality
Chaos becomes clarity
This is often seen in people with traits linked to borderline personality disorder (BPD), but also in creative, highly sensitive, or deeply introspective individuals who are not ill — just intense.
I just wanted to sit here at my kitchen table until I died. No, that was a lie. I wanted to do something—run or lift weights or scrub the tile until my hands bled—I wanted penance. Funny how many times I had counseled my flock about the real nature of penance, the real weight of
God’s unconditional love and forgiveness, and my first reaction to sinning was to punish myself.
and I saw the moment she felt it too—that we were fused somehow. Irrevocably and undeniably fused together into something singular and whole.
Fine," I said. "Deal."
He smiled. "Excellent. Now, as a show of good faith, since I've already spent a good chunk of time getting inside your head, I'll give you three questions to try to get inside mine."
The puzzle solver in me wanted to ask what kind of clothes he wore when there was no one around to see him, how many siblings he had, and which one of his parents had turned him into the kind of guy who was a little angry at the world.
But I didn't
People were people, but for better or worse, most days, they were just puzzles to me. Easy puzzles, hard puzzles, crosswords, mind-benders, sudoku. There was always an answer, and I couldn't stop myself from pushing until I found it.
And on it went-good-natured ribbing, family jokes. I played the part, letting their energy infect me, saying what they wanted me to say, smiling the smiles they wanted to see. It was warm and safe and happy -but it wasn't me.
It never was.
I was everyone's problem and nobody's.
Not an easy girl.
Touch my face
run fingers through my strands
like you know the
every story they hold
and recognize that
all I have is
curls that are wild
& messy strands
depicting the fact
that I am not an
easy girl.
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