Twice Shy

by Sarah Hogle

At thirty years old, I am finally accepting that I am simply nobody else but myself. I will always only be me. A little bit naïve, a lot idealistic. In the regard of many, understated to the point of forgettable, and easy prey, because my heart is so large a target. But those who deserve to be in my circle will like me just as I am, and will treat me the way I deserve to be treated.

I’ve forgotten this Wesley: the one who clams up around strangers, whose default setting in these situations is to glare. I see this behavior now for the defense mechanism that it is, wanting others to perceive him as rude so that they won’t come any closer. He shows everybody else a lie, which is a real shame. They don’t know what they’re missing out on.

If I didn’t sleep in the loft and pretend it was a second bedroom, you wouldn’t have taken the other bedroom. If I hadn’t slept in the tent with you when I had an opportunity to, I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself.”

“Because it was one more thing wrong with me, on top of everything else. I wanted to be fine. I wanted you to believe I was fine. If I told you everything that was wrong with me, Maybell, you wouldn’t want to be with me anymore.”

I don’t know if this is ever going to change. It’s just the way I am. I think that you are going to give up on me. That you are going to want someone easier.

I’m putting all my energy into trying to present myself as normal, which I get into my head about. Whether it’s real or not, I can’t stop imagining that they’re judging me. Which makes it worse.

“Listen very closely: I’ve listened to everything you just said and I love you. Do you hear me? I’ve heard all of it, and it’s the easiest thing in the world to love you. You don’t have to hide anything from me, because I love all of it, every little bit. You have to let me love it all, okay? I love you. Say it.” I think—although I cannot be sure—that he might be crying. “I love you.” The airport blurs into another realm, lights, sounds, and people fading out. My heart is back in Falling Stars. “No, you goofball. Say that you are loved.” “You love me.” “Yes. I knew who you were when I fell in love with you, Wesley Koehler. I fell in love with you just the way you are. Now say it again.” “You love me.” “You bet I do. What parts of you do I love? Which ones?” “You love all of them.” “Good. Write it down so that you don’t forget. Carry it in your pocket. I loved you yesterday, I love you now, and I’ll love you in the morning. When I come home in five days, I’ll love you then, too, and I’ll tell you so to your face.” “I . . .” His voice is raspy. “I cannot wait for that. Maybell, I love you so much, you have no idea. Every part of you. Everything.” “I know you do.” “Write it down,” he tells me.

Somebody out there cares. Somebody out there loves me, every part of me. Everything.

You ever think you were single for no reason and then you meet someone and realize you’ve been waiting for them without knowing it?

His serious, darling, perfect self, whom I would not change a single thing about.

Life is starting to look less like going with the flow and more like steering the boat.