Maybe Now
Page 30
It’s easy for someone on the outside to look in and think that Maggie is being selfish. That she’s not thinking about anyone’s feelings but her own. Even I think that a lot of the time. But it wasn’t until that day on the beach two years ago that I truly understood her with every part of my being.
My being deaf limits me very little. I’m still able to do every single other thing in the world besides hear.
But Maggie is limited in countless ways. Ways that I can’t even fathom. My one bitter day on the beach alone when I truly felt the weight of my disability is probably how Maggie feels on a daily basis. Yet those on the outside of her illness would probably look at her pattern of behavior and say that she’s ungrateful. Selfish. Despicable, even.
And they would be right. She is all those things. But the difference between Maggie and judgmental people who aren’t Maggie is that she has every right in the world to be all those things.
Since the day I met her, she has been fiercely independent. She hates feeling as if she’s hindering the lives of those around her. She dreams of traveling the world, of taking risks, of doing all the things her illness tells her she can’t do. She wants to feel the stress of college and a career. She wants to revel in the independence the world doesn’t think she deserves. She wants to break free of the chains that remind her of her illness.
And every time I want to scold her or point out everything she’s doing wrong and all the ways she’s hindering her own longevity, I only need to think back on that moment at the beach. That moment that I would have done whatever it took to be able to hear everything I was feeling.
I would have traded years of my life for just one minute of normalcy.
That’s exactly what Maggie’s doing. She just wants a minute of normalcy. And the only way she gets those moments of normalcy are when she ignores the weight of her reality.
If I could rewind the clock and start yesterday over again, I would do so many things differently. I would have included Sydney in that trip. I wouldn’t have allowed Maggie to leave the hospital. And I would have sat down with her and explained to her that I want to help her. I want to be there for her. But I can’t be there for her when she refuses to be there for herself.
Instead, I allowed every pent-up negative thought I’ve never said spill out all at once. It was truthful, yes, but the delivery was hurtful. There are much better ways to share your truth than to force it on someone so hard it injures them.
Maggie’s feelings were hurt. Her pride was bruised. And while it’s easy for me to say her actions warranted my reaction, it doesn’t mean I don’t regret that reaction.
I’m trying not to think about it, but it’s consuming me. And I know the only thing that can alleviate everything I’m feeling is to talk to the one person in my life who understands my feelings more than anyone. But she’s also the last person I want to subject to a discussion about Maggie.
I turn off the water in Sydney’s shower. I’ve been in here for over half an hour, but I’m trying hard to figure out how to suppress everything I’m feeling right now. Sydney deserves a night untainted by my past relationship. This week has been tough, and she deserves one night of near perfection, where she is my sole focus and I am hers.
And I’m going to give her that.
I walk out of her bathroom in just a towel. Not because I’m trying to distract her from the homework she’s currently doing on her bed, but because my pants are on her bedroom floor and I need them. When I drop the towel and pull on my jeans, she looks up from her homework with the tip of her pencil in her mouth, chewing on it with a grin.
I smile back at her because I can’t help it. She pushes her books aside and pats the bed beside her. I sit down and lean back against the headboard. She slides her leg over me and straddles me, running her hands through my wet hair. She leans forward, kissing me on the forehead, and I’m not sure if she’s ever done that before. I close my eyes as she plants soft kisses all over my face. She ends with a soft peck against my lips.
I just want to revel in this moment, so I pull her to me, not really interested in conversation or making out. I just want to hold her and keep my eyes closed and appreciate that she’s mine. And she allows it for all of two minutes, but one of the advantages she holds over me is being able to hear the sighs I forget I’m even releasing.
This includes the heavy sigh that instantly causes her concern to resurface. She pulls back, holding my face with her hands. She narrows her eyes as if it’s a warning that I better not lie to her.
“What is wrong with you? Be honest this time.”
I’m not getting out of this without complete transparency. I slide my hands from her waist up to her shoulders. I squeeze them and then gently move her off me. “Laptops,” I tell her.
We use our laptops for the serious conversations. The ones we know will require too much patience for signing or lip-reading or text. I walk to her living room and grab my laptop out of my bag. When I make it back to her room, she’s sitting against the headboard with her laptop, her eyes following me to my spot on the bed. I open up our messenger and begin the conversation.
Ridge: For the record, I wanted to avoid this conversation tonight. But I’m not sure there’s a single emotion I can feel without you reading it.
Sydney: You’re not as transparent as you seem to think you are.
Ridge: I only feel transparent to you.
Sydney: Well, let’s see if you’re right. I’m going to try and pinpoint what’s bothering you.
Ridge: Okay. Are we taking bets? Because if you guess right, I’m taking you out on a date tonight. But if you guess wrong, you’re going on a date with me tonight.
Sydney: ;) We’ve never been on a real date before.
Ridge: You better guess either right or wrong then, or we won’t be going.
Sydney: Okay. I’m gonna take a stab at it, then. I can tell by your body language that your mind is somewhere else tonight. And based on the past twenty-four hours you’ve had, I’m going to assume your mind is on Maggie.
Ridge: I wish I could tell you you’re wrong. But you’re right. I just hope you know it’s completely innocent. I just can’t help but feel bad for everything I said to her.
Sydney: Have you spoken to her since you left her house today?
Ridge: She texted after I left and gave a two-sentence apology to both of us. But I didn’t respond. I was too angry to respond. Now I don’t know how to respond because I feel guilty, but also don’t feel like she deserves any kind of apology from me. That’s what confuses me. Why do I feel guilty if I don’t feel like apologizing for what I did?
Sydney: Because. It bothers you that deep down inside, you know if you and Maggie were in any other situation, neither of you would speak again. You’re both so different. If it weren’t for her illness, the two of you probably would have ended your relationship long before y’all did. But that’s not the situation, so she’s probably having a hard time processing the fact that you’re only in her life because you have to be.
I read her message and I feel the truth dig straight into my bones. Sydney is right. Maggie’s illness is the only reason we’re still connected. As much as I knew that, I haven’t wanted to admit that. But there’s me and there’s Maggie and we’re on opposite sides of the earth right now with this string called Cystic Fibrosis tying us together.
Ridge: You’re right. But I wish you weren’t.
Sydney: I’m sure she wishes it were different, too. How do you think that made her feel that you were at her house simply because you needed to be and not because you wanted to be?
Ridge: I’m sure that made her feel resentful.
Sydney: Exactly. And when people feel resentful, they act out. They say things they don’t mean.
Ridge: Maybe so, but what was my excuse? I lashed out at her like I’ve never lashed out at anyone. And that’s why I can’t stop thinking about this situation, because I feel like I lost my patience with her.
Sydney: It sounds like you did. But I don’t think you should regret it. Sometimes caring about someone means saying things you don’t want to say, but that need to be said.
Ridge: Yeah. Maybe so.
My being deaf limits me very little. I’m still able to do every single other thing in the world besides hear.
But Maggie is limited in countless ways. Ways that I can’t even fathom. My one bitter day on the beach alone when I truly felt the weight of my disability is probably how Maggie feels on a daily basis. Yet those on the outside of her illness would probably look at her pattern of behavior and say that she’s ungrateful. Selfish. Despicable, even.
And they would be right. She is all those things. But the difference between Maggie and judgmental people who aren’t Maggie is that she has every right in the world to be all those things.
Since the day I met her, she has been fiercely independent. She hates feeling as if she’s hindering the lives of those around her. She dreams of traveling the world, of taking risks, of doing all the things her illness tells her she can’t do. She wants to feel the stress of college and a career. She wants to revel in the independence the world doesn’t think she deserves. She wants to break free of the chains that remind her of her illness.
And every time I want to scold her or point out everything she’s doing wrong and all the ways she’s hindering her own longevity, I only need to think back on that moment at the beach. That moment that I would have done whatever it took to be able to hear everything I was feeling.
I would have traded years of my life for just one minute of normalcy.
That’s exactly what Maggie’s doing. She just wants a minute of normalcy. And the only way she gets those moments of normalcy are when she ignores the weight of her reality.
If I could rewind the clock and start yesterday over again, I would do so many things differently. I would have included Sydney in that trip. I wouldn’t have allowed Maggie to leave the hospital. And I would have sat down with her and explained to her that I want to help her. I want to be there for her. But I can’t be there for her when she refuses to be there for herself.
Instead, I allowed every pent-up negative thought I’ve never said spill out all at once. It was truthful, yes, but the delivery was hurtful. There are much better ways to share your truth than to force it on someone so hard it injures them.
Maggie’s feelings were hurt. Her pride was bruised. And while it’s easy for me to say her actions warranted my reaction, it doesn’t mean I don’t regret that reaction.
I’m trying not to think about it, but it’s consuming me. And I know the only thing that can alleviate everything I’m feeling is to talk to the one person in my life who understands my feelings more than anyone. But she’s also the last person I want to subject to a discussion about Maggie.
I turn off the water in Sydney’s shower. I’ve been in here for over half an hour, but I’m trying hard to figure out how to suppress everything I’m feeling right now. Sydney deserves a night untainted by my past relationship. This week has been tough, and she deserves one night of near perfection, where she is my sole focus and I am hers.
And I’m going to give her that.
I walk out of her bathroom in just a towel. Not because I’m trying to distract her from the homework she’s currently doing on her bed, but because my pants are on her bedroom floor and I need them. When I drop the towel and pull on my jeans, she looks up from her homework with the tip of her pencil in her mouth, chewing on it with a grin.
I smile back at her because I can’t help it. She pushes her books aside and pats the bed beside her. I sit down and lean back against the headboard. She slides her leg over me and straddles me, running her hands through my wet hair. She leans forward, kissing me on the forehead, and I’m not sure if she’s ever done that before. I close my eyes as she plants soft kisses all over my face. She ends with a soft peck against my lips.
I just want to revel in this moment, so I pull her to me, not really interested in conversation or making out. I just want to hold her and keep my eyes closed and appreciate that she’s mine. And she allows it for all of two minutes, but one of the advantages she holds over me is being able to hear the sighs I forget I’m even releasing.
This includes the heavy sigh that instantly causes her concern to resurface. She pulls back, holding my face with her hands. She narrows her eyes as if it’s a warning that I better not lie to her.
“What is wrong with you? Be honest this time.”
I’m not getting out of this without complete transparency. I slide my hands from her waist up to her shoulders. I squeeze them and then gently move her off me. “Laptops,” I tell her.
We use our laptops for the serious conversations. The ones we know will require too much patience for signing or lip-reading or text. I walk to her living room and grab my laptop out of my bag. When I make it back to her room, she’s sitting against the headboard with her laptop, her eyes following me to my spot on the bed. I open up our messenger and begin the conversation.
Ridge: For the record, I wanted to avoid this conversation tonight. But I’m not sure there’s a single emotion I can feel without you reading it.
Sydney: You’re not as transparent as you seem to think you are.
Ridge: I only feel transparent to you.
Sydney: Well, let’s see if you’re right. I’m going to try and pinpoint what’s bothering you.
Ridge: Okay. Are we taking bets? Because if you guess right, I’m taking you out on a date tonight. But if you guess wrong, you’re going on a date with me tonight.
Sydney: ;) We’ve never been on a real date before.
Ridge: You better guess either right or wrong then, or we won’t be going.
Sydney: Okay. I’m gonna take a stab at it, then. I can tell by your body language that your mind is somewhere else tonight. And based on the past twenty-four hours you’ve had, I’m going to assume your mind is on Maggie.
Ridge: I wish I could tell you you’re wrong. But you’re right. I just hope you know it’s completely innocent. I just can’t help but feel bad for everything I said to her.
Sydney: Have you spoken to her since you left her house today?
Ridge: She texted after I left and gave a two-sentence apology to both of us. But I didn’t respond. I was too angry to respond. Now I don’t know how to respond because I feel guilty, but also don’t feel like she deserves any kind of apology from me. That’s what confuses me. Why do I feel guilty if I don’t feel like apologizing for what I did?
Sydney: Because. It bothers you that deep down inside, you know if you and Maggie were in any other situation, neither of you would speak again. You’re both so different. If it weren’t for her illness, the two of you probably would have ended your relationship long before y’all did. But that’s not the situation, so she’s probably having a hard time processing the fact that you’re only in her life because you have to be.
I read her message and I feel the truth dig straight into my bones. Sydney is right. Maggie’s illness is the only reason we’re still connected. As much as I knew that, I haven’t wanted to admit that. But there’s me and there’s Maggie and we’re on opposite sides of the earth right now with this string called Cystic Fibrosis tying us together.
Ridge: You’re right. But I wish you weren’t.
Sydney: I’m sure she wishes it were different, too. How do you think that made her feel that you were at her house simply because you needed to be and not because you wanted to be?
Ridge: I’m sure that made her feel resentful.
Sydney: Exactly. And when people feel resentful, they act out. They say things they don’t mean.
Ridge: Maybe so, but what was my excuse? I lashed out at her like I’ve never lashed out at anyone. And that’s why I can’t stop thinking about this situation, because I feel like I lost my patience with her.
Sydney: It sounds like you did. But I don’t think you should regret it. Sometimes caring about someone means saying things you don’t want to say, but that need to be said.
Ridge: Yeah. Maybe so.
