February 14, 2002: for the girl in the corner
[this is a collaboration for On Display.]
Dear Kris,
Your eyes are the color of oak leaves and the dusty gold Californian hills. Twenty-seven years we've been together, and I still can't shake your eyes. They are vulnerable, unguarded; a glance from you can speak volumes that I understand, perfectly. They are cryptic jewels in a spare setting of dark eyelashes. You hide them behind glasses at work, and I know why; the lenses are barriers, they allow you to be around people for a third of your life and not have your alienness leak out all over them, stick to their skins and make them think of you at odd times and stranger places.
But at home, you are less guarded, and it is at home that I see your alien nature, see the beautiful stranger that you are, will always be. You stick to people, you know. The people who love you always carry shards of you next to their hearts. They understand you imperfectly, but they always crave more. I see that half-smile you wear when you look at them, even if nobody else does. I see you struggling to understand them, to fit in with them, to figure out what they want from you. Your efforts are appreciated, but nobody ever says, "Hey, thank you for trying to fit in with us." It's just not done, and you know that. But I think you ought to be told once in a while that it's a good show you're putting on.
And, yes, I know your life is a balancing act, trying to keep about a thousand balls in the air. I know that it's hard for you to relax with Chris, knowing that there are delicate negotiations going on every single moment between your desires and his. It's the nature of relationships between men and women, you know. Always the negotiations; you are so different that you will never agree on what you want, but you can enjoy the compromise, even if the process of compromise tears you down over and over again. You rebuild, stronger.
And I think of what you have already come through and I am finally happy with your emotional preparedness for the rest of your life. You've learned some important lessons, and more importantly you're finally open to learning more. You are a warrior! You are tough-minded and whip-smart, and woe betide the person who thinks that just because you're female and often quiet that you're a doormat. You have fangs now, and claws. I feel pity for people who attempt to stand between you and what you want, whatever that is. You have been through some really hard things and yet you've never given in entirely.
Yes, you are silly sometimes, and sometimes you're tired. You still haven't figured out how to ask for what you need. But that comes later, with more maturity; not even you are perfect. But you are perfect in your wild imperfections, the ways your personality overruns everything like kuzdu. You are perfect in your uncertainty, in your confusion about who you are, in your alien soul and your brain with bits missing.
A few pieces of advice: try to be happy with what you have. Try to get comfortable outside of the straight-bisexual-gay continuum, because it's where you're going to spend the rest of your life. Learn the secrets of straight women; they are wiser about men than you ever realized. And, yes, you're going to have to do some more thrashing about trying to figure out who you are in this new relationship and this new world; you will eventually figure it out, and be happier for it.
And, for goodness sake, do your best not to mess up monogamy this time, okay? Or if you do make mistakes, make sure they're really creative ones.
And remember that, yes, I love you. Even if you don't know me these days.
All my love,
Kris
