One Second

Every morning when I got up after he left for work at the crack of dawn I found one second left on the microwave timer--occasionally two. I wondered about it on and off but never asked him what it was all about. Maybe he was just in a hurry to get his morning oatmeal out, I thought vaguely. We'd been living together for three weeks or more by the time it finally dawned on me. He must wait next to the microwave to open it before it went into its repetitive loud beeping so it wouldn’t wake me up.

Each morning since then, if he leaves while I’m still in bed, I see one second left on the microwave display. I cherish that one second and leave it there as long as I can, sometimes until the next morning when he will do it again. It symbolizes his thoughtfulness--something that doesn't come as often anymore now that we have been together for three years. Not as often as it used to. It makes me sad even now as I write this.

And as I get up to get a tissue it reminds me that he does that for me, too--when I start to cry. I don't know if that is genuine thoughtfulness or the doctor training coming out. You cry, we offer a tissue. It becomes a reflex, but still a symbol of caring and recognition.

He's gone now. Out for the night with his friends; he likes to do that and does it a lot. I ask to go, but he never wants me along. Says he needs his time with his friends. He likes to keep his worlds separate. I can understand that, but it still hurts.

My brother wrote a story about his new girlfriend that he wanted me to edit today. It was very sweet. He thinks the world of her already after just a few months. And from all reports at home she has fallen for him, too. I can't wait to see them together in person when I visit at Christmas.

My dad asked me tonight if I feel the way that my brother wrote about Mike I don't think I do. Things are fine. I just always pictured more than fine. Mike tells me men approach relationships differently; they want someone they can get along with and spend the rest of their life with, nothing less--or more. I don't know if that's entirely accurate. I don't think all guys think that way. In fact, I've dated guys who at least convinced me that they didn't think that way. And I know my brothers don't. They wouldn't try to trick me. So maybe some think enough is enough. He does. I'd rather be more than the best going option. Makes me feel like a car or one of the motorcycles he loves so much.

And now we're living together and I have this big test on the near horizon that I'm supposed to be focused on completely. Things will look better in the morning; they always do. But it won't fix everything. There will be a lot of hard work on that front once this exam is over. My head is starting to pound just thinking about it.

It will take much more than just one second.