The New Sense

Friday, May 31, 2002

Something has happened. B— got a call from the clinic today. Someone broke into the lab and they're missing his blood sample. He's furious and, I think, scared, though he's trying not to show it.
He phoned me at the bar to tell me. He didn't even want to come in and see me, and when I told him to go get another test he said I must be fucking kidding. Apparently the lab had been smashed up, and some equipment stolen, but when they cleared up the mess they couldn't find a whole batch of samples, including his. I was upset about it the whole afternoon, then when I got home he wasn't there and there was no message.
I ate alone, wondering what the hell to do, listening to the thunder. Is he paranoid? Is he right to be paranoid? Why would someone want his blood?
(I'm writing the following part the next day now.)
Finally he showed up at 10. He just sat in the corner, looking like a hunted rat. He had his eyes closed, but I knew he wasn't sleeping. I was pissed off with him for not having called or left a message, but I calmed down before he did and went over and hugged him.
"This is what I was afraid of," he said, without opening his eyes.
"What?"
"He's here. He's tracked me down somehow. Maybe it was the newspaper article. Probably was."
"Who, Sean?"
"Of course. He's single-minded, believe me."
"And you think this lab break-in was his doing?"
"Yep. I've been thinking all day about how he could have known about my blood test, and I can't come up with an answer. That's what's really freaking me out. I almost checked into a hotel for the night."
"But you don't know for sure, right? There's no direct evidence he's responsible for this, right?"
"No."
"So stop worrying about it then."
He opened his eyes. "That's easy for you to say. I only did this for you, and now look what's happened."
That really pissed me off. "Oh, so it's my fault? I think it was a pretty reasonable request. And it still is. I think you should go and have another test and stop being so paranoid."
"Are you fucking kidding? After this? You want me to risk my life so we can carry on having risk-free sex? We aren't going to be having any kind of sex if I have to leave town. That's the safest relationship you can have — never seeing each other ever again."
Tears welled up in my eyes. He saw them and held his breath for a few seconds, then exhaled slowly. "I'm sorry, Sara. I don't know what to do. You're very important to me, but I'm not going to have another test. I trust you for many things and you're going to have to trust me with this. I haven't slept with anyone since I broke up with Stephanie, and for sure I was clear then because we both had tests."
"You both did? Why?"
"We went together. It was our version of getting married."
I had to think about this. He was so serious with her and then he just ran away? "And she doesn't know where you are?"
"No."
"And why did you break up, if you were that close?"
He hesitated for a long time. I looked at his long eyelashes, now closed again. At his thick, dark hair. At his funny, crinkly ears. I really want to love him, but I'm so scared. He opened his eyes and looked at me. I do love him. And be it brain chemistry or destiny or something spiritual, I had to tell him. So I did. He opened his mouth. There was no sign of expression in his face, but he held me with this gaze. Then he said it.
"I love you too."
What is it that you feel when you feel that thing in your stomach? I mean, physically. Is it a sudden rush of adrenaline or hormones? Is it just an illusion caused by the brain, like a phantom limb? Butterflies... I don't know if they say 'papillons' in French for the same feeling, but it's the perfect word for it. A fluttering of wings in the very centre of my body. Maybe there's a minuscule organ there that's escaped detection by medical science until now. Maybe that organ is the love organ, and it flares up at times like this, then shrinks away again (I dunno — kind of like a penis). Maybe that's the organ poets and songwriters are referring to when they talk about the 'heart'. It's near the heart, but the heart's just a big pump. This is the love organ. It detects and responds to true love, then fires up the heart, the brain, the sex organs, the skin and all the other parts of the body that respond to love. It doesn't stay 'lit up' for long — it just sets the other responses in motion, then leaves the scene to let them get on with it.
The other responses did get on with it, starting with the lips. I love him. I love every inch of him. And he certainly acts as though he loves every inch of me.
It's Saturday afternoon as I write this. He's gone with his friend (Jean-Nicolas — finally he tells me his name!) to the Mondiale de la Bière in Windsor Station. He asked me if I wanted to go, but I decided it was a good idea if he 'changed his scenery' completely, at least for an afternoon.
He certainly seems a bit less freaked out today. We had a long lie-in this morning and made love again. I guess I've decided I can trust him without the blood test.

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posted by Sara