And that's why I (heart) him

Monday evening. I had a little meltdown with TCB yesterday. (And when I say "little", I mean a complete sobbing episode where I couldn't control my breathing.) I won't bore you with what led up to it and, honestly, I'm not sure that I know everything that led up to it. Alcott was terribly banged up after his football game on Friday and it physically hurt me to watch him out there on the field, still playing, when I could just tell he wasn't right. He was still hurting Saturday when we went out for lunch. So there's that. TCB and I had been dealing with getting my old living room furniture to Goodwill and getting to IKEA to get the new sofa and chaise. It was hot, there was a stupid Chargers football game next door to IKEA so there was no parking, the items were heavy, the traffic was horrible, and, well, I just couldn't handle it any more.

What scared me was that I couldn't talk to him. I couldn't find words for how I felt. I know there were words just behind the tears, and I guess it was fear that held them back, but I'm pretty sure that was a good thing. If I'd spewed all over him just because he was the last one to push one of my buttons, that wouldn't have been right, either. I kept refusing to talk except to say that I needed to get him to his condo so that I could come home and be alone, and that's really what I wanted, but San Diego's traffic had other ideas.

The drive that normally takes about 45 minutes took about double that, leaving us plenty of time alone in the car together. He kept gently asking questions, such as when my next appointment with Gloria is scheduled for (smart man) and what he could do to help. I kept putting him off but slowly very small pieces of information floated up and were clear to me, and I shared them with him. And then he put his hand in mine and I felt my heart just crack. He doesn't do that, not ever, but he did just then and it was what I needed. I began to sob a little but it was a cleansing sort of cry, not the desperate, out of control kind I'd been doing earlier. I asked if he was hungry (he was) and we went to dinner at one of our favorite seafood places because it's relaxing and that's what I wanted.

On our way there, he mentioned that "if we were married, you could come to Guantanamo(sp?) with me." Stopped. My. Heart. I think he might have been serious. Marriage. Yikes. Omigosh. Wow. No, it wasn't a proposal, but I never even thought he would consider it. We've talked about his fear of getting married again and my refusal to shack up without a marriage certificate (I'm not giving up the wonderful freedom of living alone unless it's forever), but what if he's had a change of heart? Doh, I hadn't thought about what I'd do if he ever called my bluff.

p.s. I could write more about Alcott and how horrible it was for me on Friday, but I'm just not rational about it. Seriously, my heart just shattered when they hit him and I sat there, powerless, watching him struggle to his feet and shake his head and stagger like a drunkard. I cried silent tears and screamed silent prayers and hoped no one noticed that I was shaking like a leaf. And I watched him play for another 25 excrutiating minutes and just knew he was in pain. His foster family and I have talked and I will be downloading the application for admission to one of our finer parochial high schools this week and we will be sending it in immediately after Christmas. Better academics, better reputation, and athletic coaches who will be able to teach him more than just how to hang on to the ball as you're being sacked for the 15th time. No more!


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