She told me her favorite songs, and why she used three different colors of
nail polish on her toes. She told me that she likes hot tea and speaks her mind
about why she hates Yes and Alice Cooper - I love them.
It never occurred to me that her silent side might actually like the
color of my hair or the way I look without my shirt- it was a mystery to me.
She never said a word.
There wasn't any deception in her smile, or the way she held my hand as we
stood in line at the theater. She never told me the films she wanted to see-
only deferred to my twisted sense of humor and my total lack of respect for Jerry
Bruckheimer.
I'd visit her apartment and find boxed copies of McSweeney's in
the bathroom beside an empty bottle of "Red" perfume. I found greeting cards from
Nepal and Tahiti, and Nebraska with yesterday's date. When I picked them up
and read the obscure poetry, scrawled in the margin between the postmark and the
address lines, she would wait until I was finished and subtly pack them away in
a kitchen drawer. I'd keep asking myself, Who were those people? Who the hell
did she know in
Nebraska?
She might have me drop her off at a cabaret on Thursday night and never
discuss
it with me afterwards. When I would ask her if I could come next time, she'd
forbid me
with her eyes and I'd fall silent.
I couldn't figure out if what she said was gibberish or too profound for me to
understand.
Sometimes I'd wonder if all of this mystery was just a ruse to keep me
interested. It was if she felt like she must be
mysterious. But there were too many! There were too
many questions snipped off at the bud, too many nights in bed when she'd
laugh and
I'd wonder if it was about me or someone on the other side of the world. I
hadn't asked for the confusion - love, not enigmas. Our life seemed like a
perpetual neon sign glaring: What
the hell?
I kept wondering where she kept her soul. I kept asking why I knew nothing
about her time outside of me - didn't she know how insane I become in
her absence? Where is she? What is she doing? Why won't she tell me? She
knew - I was just entranced by the gaps in my own knowledge.
I wanted to rifle though her junk drawer and see if I could find some answer
there, a discarded wedding ring from a previous marriage, or maybe an odd PEZ
dispenser with the head of Bugs Bunny - something more, anything. I just wanted to know if she
was crazy, or
cheating. She was just far too interested in keeping me mystified.
She just liked the look of confusion on my face, but she never mistook
that for love. She just thought that if I discovered that she was just a plain old sod like me that I'd lose interest. She
was wrong.
When I discovered that her secret was a shy little girl hiding
behind the façade of the amazing, I simply held her hand. I kissed her
cheek and let her average, humdrum life bloom and fill
mine
with all the color of her smile.
I can see it now; her plain and lovely just sparkles.
| 
