I went driving last weekend and listened to our album. Twice. If I’m being honest, I think I heard your favourite song a total of three times but it was only halfway through when I was starting to park so I wasn’t paying as much attention. Still managed to mouth every single lyric though.
The sun was shining when I left home but I was heading into dark clouds, greyness cloying the horizon: a tunnel of darkness. By the time the first track of the album started, I had flicked on the windscreen wipers twice. The hard, heavy drops of rain splattering the roof with so much purpose it felt like they were trying to hit the beat. As you would’ve reminded me though, I couldn’t hit a beat if it was in tune with my own heart. Your musical aptitude —shyly hidden at first but brought out a month in — always impressed me.
As the second track kicks in, I take my eyes off the road to watch your hands gift me the CD on my birthday. Unwrapped, informal, straightforward. I wouldn’t expect anything else! It felt so pure. A present for both of us to share. The track comes to a crescendo and I blink to hear my alarm buzzing; I can see the blurry outline of your head on the pillow as sunlight made it shine. Your hair a complete mess as I introduced you to a time in the morning you thought didn’t exist. I can see myself in the passenger seat as you swerve down country lanes, smirking at my brashness and laughing at my courage. I reach to change gear in this automatic hire car and can feel our fingers link over the gearstick of your little two-door. Those moments together in the bubble of safety were so precious. Nobody could intrude on us, and nobody could reach us by phone; we could just drive for miles on miles and hours on hours, laughing together, sharing secrets, enjoying each other’s voice. Oh I could listen to you talk all day. Your intonation reflected in eyebrow movements; the deepness in tone making your high-pitched guffaws even more contagious.
I can still feel you under my fingertips as I grip the steering wheel, my presence and present confused with a passed past. I can see my own hands caressing you, my palms running softly over your tattoos, each whorl of each finger exploring every mark on your skin. I can feel our bodies pressed together. I can smell the smoke on your lips and I can taste us in the moonlight.
Your dark eyes conveyed so much. I always found it hard to look away until you asked me a question, then I could not hold your gaze. Do you remember we hiked that hill in July and when we reached the top, you refused to look at the view? You bored into me with an unbroken look, waiting for an answer on how I felt. A silent dog with an invisible bone.
You made me visible. Your strong hands held my ribcage as I breathed and your voice carried my heartbeat. From the moment we met, we were good together. We both knew it. Part of me is still mad you left without even giving me your number. I’ll always take credit for the hard-work to bring us together again. You hooked my heart that first day and stole my attention at our first kiss. I always laugh thinking about that date, pressed up against the dirty brick wall of your local pub then sprinting for my train as we heard the rumble approaching. I swear fellow travellers could see my heart bursting out of my sunburn as I travelled home in another world. You brought me nothing but joy from then onwards; even the difficult conversations were approached with ease and respect. I was so in love with you — so in love with you I couldn’t even see the depth.
By the time the sixth track began, my mind was well into the labyrinth of our memories. The sweetness in your eyes when you were caring for your cat — my first inkling of your capability for emotional compassion. I remember wishing upon the stars that night that I would receive even a tenth of that affection. I also remember you interrupting my lovelorn thoughts to ask me what animal I thought I was most like. You thought I would be an otter and although I agree in many ways, the child-like giggle that erupted any time otters were mentioned meant I was forced to disagree with you. On principle.
I think you’ll get in a grump when I finally return the favour. Surely that’s only fair though? And you asked first! Anyway, you’re a rhinoceros. There. I didn’t think you’d like it. Let me explain though — and you know not only do I adore rhinos, but I would never say something whimsically.
I read a news article about poaching recently, it was accompanied by a photograph of a lone rhinoceros out on the plains of northern Botswana. Honestly, it broke my heart. I couldn’t explain at first why I was crying but as soon as this album began, it kicked me in the gut, pasted you as wallpaper on my mind, and I understood. I could see you in that poor lost rhinoceros. Beautiful and handsome all at once. Wrapped up in a thick-skin, toughened by the war of just existing. Strong and well-respected, creatures with potential power and so much heavy grace. Surrounded by family, confident in their path. And yet so lonely.
I could see him in you before even you knew he existed. I wish we had more time together — I was ready to coax those feelings out of you, gently carry them from you and place them between us as a shared weight; knowing I would have waited patiently with the gift of time. It was hard not to put words in your mouth and “I told you so” is too petty, too trite, too simplistic for how I feel — how I felt. But I could feel it. I knew. The way you held me, the way you spoke to your bank on the phone, the way you packed your groceries, the way you brushed your teeth. The signs. I saw them, and with my glasses on I could read them clearly. I wanted to point them out to you, but how? It wasn’t my place.
But please, know this: I would have cradled you both softly at birth. I would have whispered to you when the world was too loud; I would have changed the lyrics to make them fit; I would have pulled down the curtains and hidden from the sunlight with you. I can only cling onto the hope that I helped you find your truth. That it was my trust and my promises that helped you take those steps. I could see through the chinks in your armour and all I wanted was reach inside and hold you. I wanted to rip off the layers, stand by your side and watch the sunrise in your eyes. Call the recruitment agency, put the toothpaste on your brush, smooth ointment into your burning skin. That wasn’t how it went though; I can’t change our story. I can’t go back and give us more time. I can’t take your hand right here right now in my car on the way to Southampton and tell you that you will be fine. Tell you that whatever you have trapped underneath that armour is okay. Tell you that being scared is normal. So normal that I feel it for you, and with you. But also that knocking your walls down will be worth it. The process is long, hard, and yes, painful. But once the armour is cast off, once the walls are rubble, once you are standing tall? That is the greatest you will ever feel. Invincible will be within reach and your strength will create your own sunrise. At a time that suits you.
The road signs are turning into your handwriting and my eyes are blurring too much to see. I have to change the channel.
You are more than you think and just as much as I said. I loved you so much that I stuck a piece of my heart onto the outside of your armour. I wanted you to treasure it, keep it with you as you travel; I was worried the armour would be with you forever and wanted to make it lighter. I am freed and happy by the knowledge that you stripped off and stood strong on the foundations of your guard. I am also sad that a piece of my heart is lost to the countryside in England, buried beneath a pile of your history. But that’s okay. I would have sacrificed more for your happiness. But maybe, me playing this album on this day, during this journey, was a signal. Closure on my lost wishes and a calling from that piece of my heart to yours, whole and rhythmically beating; I hope you heard it.
