Hold on Tight

Friday afternoon finds me frantically scrubbing my wood floors. 

I am frantically scrubbing my wood floors because it's not a running day and I'm worrying. 

I could worry for a living. 

I'm worrying because I caught myself humming La Vie en Rose.  I'm worrying because I'm about to have a really good weekend. I'm worrying because my friends are about the meet the guy I'm dating.

I'm worrying because I'm really fucking happy.

I'm worrying because I'm waiting for the bottom to fall out.

And since I can't channel the worrying into a sub ten-minute mile or a ten mile run, I'm on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor.

It gives me something to do while I'm worrying.

***

I'm standing at the top of the bluff, shaking. 

"C'mon, Kel!" My mother's voice is quiet from so far below. "You can do this!"

My climbing coach is standing next to me trying, quite literally, to talk me down. 

"Kelly, You did the hard part. You got up the route. Getting back down shouldn't be hard. You've got this."

I shake my head, tears dripping from my closed eyes. If I could stop shaking long enough to talk I would tell him that I want to hike back down with him. I can't do this. I can't rappel down this thing. I can't step backwards off the edge of this and trust that the ropes will catch me. 

I can't. 

He leans in and gives me a bit of advice. "Take three deep breaths. Close your eyes. Hold on to the ropes tight, and take one big step."

I do.

***

I've been thinking a lot about Sandman recently.

A friend of mine has started reading comics and I've been proselytizing Saga (duh) and Sex Criminals (less of a duh) and thinking a lot about rereading Sandman along with them. My signed copy of Preludes and Nocturnes is sitting next to my door, and I see it every day when I enter and leave the house. My comic book reading club is talking about picking it up.

I'm also thinking about something a character says in volume nine.

[Love] makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside of you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, and then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you [. . .]

Fuck you, Neil Gaiman.  

***

"I can't imagine dating you."

"What? I'm delightful. I'm thoughtful and funny and smart. I've got a great rack. What the hell are you talking about?"

"We've been friends for, how long now? Long enough. Do you know how long it took me to convince you to drop your sword and shield and take off your helmet? I love you, kid, but you don't let your defenses down for anyone."  

She reaches for my hand and I pull away and reach for my keys. "I've gotta go." 

The look on her face as the door shuts is not entirely unfamiliar. 

***

"Hey, are you ready to go in?"

We're standing outside the restaurant, dawdling.

"No."

"Why?"

I just shake my head.

"Hey." He reaches for my hand. "What's up? Let's go in."

If I could find the words I would tell him I can't. I can't trust that whatever this very new thing is will catch me on the way down.

He lets go of my hand, steps back, and I brace for whatever's coming. Or, think that I've braced for whatever's coming.

He smiles at me.

I drop the sword and shield, the helmet, the cuirass, everything, instantly, and reach up to kiss him.

"Better?" He asks when I've finished.

I nod, take a deep breath, a big step forward and grab his hand. "My friends are little odd and we've had a couple glasses of wine." When I look up at him, I see the smile around his eyes. "Hold on tight."

He does.