Rubber Soul

Lying in bed in the dark staring at the ceiling, he asked me what my favorite Beatles album was. When I responded that I loved Rubber Soul, he told me it made sense. He cited my penchant for melancholy lyrics, the song "Norwegian Wood" being one that fit my musical sensibilities and general affinity for expression of sadness through song. We tried to remember every track from Abbey Road, breaking into off-key versions of "She Came in Through the Bathroom Window" and messing up the lyrics.

When we woke up the next morning, we both knew we wouldn't be speaking to each other for almost three weeks. I had asked for this temporary radio-silence. We picked a date when I'd call him, for the wound that resulted from him not knowing what he wanted from my presence in his life seemed like it needed a three-week healing period. His face fell when he realized that I wouldn't be calling him for help moving boxes into my Brooklyn apartment or informing him of my safe arrival into the city. He realized that, maybe for the first time since we started dating, that I was no longer a guarantee. 

I had a meeting in the city that morning. We woke up at 7:45 so I could make an 8:30 train. He made me a bag of snacks for the day while I brushed my teeth. As we were about to walk out the door, he asked me for my water bottle. As he filled it in the kitchen, I wiped away tears from under my eyes, hoping he wouldn't see my upset. I almost wished he would stop doing and saying nice things - I wanted him to give me a reason to walk away. 

At the train station, I stood on the curb, while he stood on the pavement, putting me right at his eye level. We kissed goodbye, my heart sinking into the pit of my stomach. He told me his was, too. We lingered, and then I let him go.

As I walked up the stairs to the platform, I didn't look back, though it took every neuron in my pre-frontal cortex to tell me stare straight ahead. I got on the train, with the sounds of melancholy songs by The Magnetic Fields in my ears, and I cried. Scenes from the weekend flashed through my head - the baseball game, fireworks, swimming in the ocean and walking out on the jetty to watch the sky change from blue to pink to orange in the late afternoon. As the day went on, I wanted to tell him everything - about my shiny new job, the John Oliver piece on District of Columbia statehood, the Nationals losing to the Diamondbacks. 

And now, hours later, miles away from him, in my own bed, I'm staring at the ceiling and listening to Rubber Soul. I'm waiting for it to pass.