Full Circle

Here we go again. She whines, she complains, says I'm not doing this or I'm not doing that, and I sit and I nod and I say I'm going to do better even though I think I already have. Then I tune her out and focus on the wall behind her which irritates her, and she irritates me because I have irritated her.

-Mathias?

My skin itches when she says my name, ears bleed and ache. I try not to roll my eyes even though I know, as always, I am unsuccessful.

-You know what? Never mind then.

She storms off into the bedroom of our one bedroom apartment, slamming the door behind her. Then I sigh, look around at the empty room that contains no more than a small beige couch, short coffee table, and twenty inch TV. I can breathe. Now that she is gone I can breathe.

When the bedroom door creaks open, three hours have passed. The living room is dark except for the light being emitted from the television. I fake being asleep even though I can hear each soft step she takes on the hardwood floor. She is standing over me. This I know because even though my eyes are shut my world becomes darker. Then her soft hand touches my cheek, her voice, much more pleasant this time, says my name. I shift, the springs on the couch whining under my weight, but I do not open my eyes, do not respond.

-I'm sorry, she whispers, then slides back into our bedroom, the door shutting gently behind her.

I open my eyes, shift so I'm lying on my back. I stare at the four wooden walls, color washed away from the darkness and debate whether I should go see her. I'm feeling pretty guilty right about now. Maybe I have not tried hard enough. Maybe I have but her needs have increased and as her lover and friend it is my job to meet these needs. Slowly, I rise, the television clicking when I turn it off. Then I feel my way through our apartment, stubbing my toe on the end of the coffee table as I make a left and bump into the bedroom door. I twist the knob, tip-toe inside, and find a spot beside her on the left, wrap my large arms around her slender frame.

-I'm sorry, I say. I'll try harder, I promise.

She turns to me and buries her face in my neck. I'm forgiven.

After that night things are good for a while. In the morning she cooks me soupy oatmeal with maple sausage on the side with a glass of OJ. I make her cinnamon toast eggo waffles, with turkey bacon and chocolate milk. We sit in front of the television watching her soap operas on the DVR and when she asks me what I think about a scene I tell her I can't believe it, they are insane and she nods and smiles and as always agrees. She gets dressed for work, but not before giving me physical alleviation for our fight. Then she leaves our home a happy woman. I clean for it is Saturday and I have the day off, and I study, texting her telling her I miss her as much as I can between studying and napping. When she comes home more love is made, then we cuddle and I listen to her discuss her day.

The next days are very similar and everything seems great. We are making it work. I'm trying harder and she is satisfied or at least she appears to be. Then it happens. That one day comes and messes up everything. This day I don't feel like cuddling and I would rather be alone to focus on school work. I don't text her as much, but I do text. I don't say much to her when I get home from class. She's upset. She wants attention. I don't want to give it. She pouts, sits underneath me, distracts me, irritates me. I don't say this but I'm sure by my body language that she knows. I pull away when leans against me, only nod when she speaks. I don't respond to her kisses, not today. Then it happens again the next day. The day after that everything is fine, but two days later it happens again. When I come home again she's on the couch, small feet on the coffee table, arms crossed on her chest. She is flipping through the channels glaring at me out the corner of her eye.

-We need to talk, she says, frustration in her voice.

I groan internally, place my things down and sit next to her.

-You're doing it again.

-I'll try harder, I say.

-You said that before and here we are again.

Yes, here we are again. And again I involuntarily roll my eyes and again I stare at the wall to keep from looking at her which irritates her. And because of this she irritates me, poking me, and nudging to keep me focused on her.

-I don't think I ask for much, she says.

-I never said you did.

-But you don't give it.

-According to you.

-According to me. Am I really that hard to please?

I don't respond. Instead I focus on the cooking channel she has landed on, watch the camaraderie between the Neelys and wonder how in the hell they are able to work together and remain so happy.

-So I guess it's just me.

I shrug, envious of their touching, their joking, kisses, laughter. They can't do that all the time. Or maybe I'm the only one who can't.

-You know what, forget it.

She gets up and struts to the bedroom, but doesn't slam the door this time. I sigh heavily watching the tv, wondering why this keeps happening every few days. I wonder if maybe we're just not compatible, maybe we're not meant to be together. Then time passes by. And I feel guilty. She's not really asking for that much. I need to try harder, I need to do more. We can make this work. This time I beat her to the punch, walk into our room and grab her into my arms.

-I'm sorry I say.

Her slender arms tighten around me, head buried in my neck. I am forgiven.