by Wendy Rodley

Created on: June 06, 2009   Last Updated: February 19, 2012

Oliver was incapable of analysing anything, he wouldn't or he couldn't, Polly wasn't sure which; then she remembered him being exasperated at her once and asking why she always had to put a spotlight on everything and how blinding that was for him. He mentioned ambient light and how important shadows were. She had thought that so beautiful and right somehow. She remembered then his talent for hitting the spot and how in love with him she had been.  

Ambient was how the evening was shaping up and she protected him from her spotlight. She knew she had a secret this time and she liked the feeling. She could always trust that he would go with her if she was smooth. He is smooth without jagged edges, I chip away at that, desperately.  He never asks me how I feel, he goes along with me until I am unpleasant and I am unpleasant because I want his attention. Her thoughts had interrupted yet again.  She wanted to say these things out loud and was about to mention his smoothness when he reached over and held her hand, interrupting her reverie, then he gazed at me for a long time and said how nice I looked.  I had lit the candles and bothered with the table and even gone outside to find some flowers to put in the middle.  I hadn't prepared the scene like that for ages, which was a sign of something and, I did just want to stay at peace for once. He then took my hand and put it gently between his legs and wham, in marched the shadow like the grim reaper, my stomach responded by clamping those iron bands tight. This was so close to what I really wanted . He recoiled from my expression and stood up so violently that his chair fell over. This fascinated me because he wasn't ever violent and I understood it, it mirrored my recoil.  We were antagonists again but this time there was something familiar about it. He went over to the sink and held on as if his life depended on it. He looked young and vulnerable and my heart went out to him.  I wanted him to turn to me, to cover me, I imagined him coming over and making it better.. I kept longing and wishing until he turned and started over towards me.   if he hugged her she would have to push him away and blame him and punch him and punish him for not being there then, 'where the bloody hell were you then, you bastard, it's too late and it has always been too late.' She was shocked at the sadness that overwhelmed her. She started to cry, it went on and on and she wanted to tell him that she was crying for them both.

Jesus she was a mess, such a hopeless mess. She felt exposed and everything seemed so pointless, she couldn't tell him that she saw how bad she was. Oliver, with tears in his eyes took her hand and put her to bed like a shepherd returning a stray to the fold. He then left her alone and went downstairs to watch T.V. She lay in bed awe struck by his tenderness and by her total lack of generosity. Of course this was why she was in therapy. She had pretended to herself that it was to prove how right she was and how life really was conspiring against her. That night, however, the truth finally dawned, she had serious troubles and this most important love was on the rocks due to her inability to feel at home with herself, that night had been a microcosmic example of her huge fear of intimacy.

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