Her hair fell over her hands, like water when it rolls over flat stones as it falls into some beautiful pond or stream or river. She poured out onto the kitchen table, now dabbled in drops of water. Long flowing, brown, shining hair.
There she sat with her face in her hands, resting upward by her elbows planted stiffly on the table’s edge. Defeat. A complex word.
The total combination of most things awful, at least from an individual’s emotional standpoint. Fear. That’s only one part of it. Scared of what’s to come next; what’s to happen. Fear of certain reciprocation after this overwhelming suffocation of defeat. Nervousness. Sadness. Why can’t I breathe?
The worst part of defeat is probably the whole desperation thing. Not the act of being desperate but at one point feeling at total sense of helplessness. Helplessness; moreover, one night you are halfway through a glass of red wine, sitting at your table and somehow come to a certain conclusion of defeat. You collapse, right there, at your kitchen table, burying your face into your hands and cry. Cry with no sense of what will happen in your life within the next few minutes. No awareness or care for anything else going on around you.
And this is what she was doing, brown hair flowing over her hands in front of me.
It’s was at this point I wanted to save her. Fly underneath her and lift her from her troubles. To rise above. Fly her far from her cold feelings. But I have no wings. I cannot fly or soar. All I have is hands.
All I could manage was to place a hand around her shoulders and squeeze. I can try to squeeze the pain out of her. Let me hold her upright, be her body, one thing that she can let go of. One less thing to carry.
Maybe that’s why people love to hug so much. They feel like their letting go, giving themselves over to the Other, to be liberated from their own body, to leave their troubles behind with it. Transcending of the body.
The wine. I got her more wine.
It’s here you remind yourself of your promise. Something you told yourself a long time ago. You would be the catalyst for change. You could free them. You could save them, help them. Help her.
Make this woman happy, that by some power, burning fire you are feeling, you would lay out your entire existence as a means to enabling a better life. For all she’s done.