Lean On Me

I climbed into the passenger seat of the truck with a resolution in mind, I would not lean in. As a habit, I would rest my left arm on the middle console and take his hand in mine, leaning into him as he drove. I knew that it was time to communicate in a way that didn't leave me feeling vulnerable or weak. Every time I was with him it was like my heart melted out of my chest, down the front of me, and puddled in my shoes.

I began to speak, using my hands for grand gestures and interlacing them together when I felt they needed to be still. I droned on and on about work, school, and church. I was using my time wisely with him, trying to avoid any sort of physical contact. This had gone on far too long. We were a mess, of course it didn't appear that way but it was. I felt anxious when I was away from him, like all the secrets we shared didn't really happen and like clocks were moving too slowly and no one was aware that the world had almost stopped turning. I was out of my mind. Literally, I felt as though I had stepped outside of my mind and watched panicking as the days slid further on.

Every girl dreams of falling in love, but I was melting in it.

At some point, I don't remember when, I broke. I leaned into him like a child leans into his mothers knees when he longs to be picked up. My left hand interlocked in his, my right hand grasped his forearm, my head laid against his bicep. My head raced, working itself into a frenzy of emotions wanting to keep my resolution but not being strong enough. I would not lean in, I told myself, I would not lean in.

So there, in the passenger seat on a long desert road, knowing I had made a mistake, but not wanting to fix it, I leaned in.