The Argument

"I've been sitting here too long," I caught myself saying, sitting here in the dark room alone. What am I doing? Talking to myself now? Things must be bad, if I'm narrating my own story.

The windows are closed and covered up with the curtains that have been here since I moved in. The carpet near my bedroom door is almost thread bare from all the times I've found myself pacing back and forth on other nights, just like tonight. I tried sleeping, but for some reason every spring and lump in my mattress is making itself known. I'm not sleepy anyway. I can't sleep. It's just gone. Badda bing right out the window. I should be tired but I've got too many thoughts swirling through my head, with no place to land.

And yet as I sit here now, its taking all the energy I have to force myself not get up and bust into her room. And tell her what? That she is about to make the biggest mistake of her life? What good would that do? What right do I have to stick my nose in where it doesn't belong? Of course it belongs. I'm her best friend and she's mine. If she thought I was making a mistake she'd tell me right? Sure she would! Wouldn't she? But I'm not the one we're talking about here. So, why am I not doing it? Because I love her, that's why. At least that's the sorry excuse I've been using for the last three hours, anyway.

I love her. I love her? Of course I do. But then, why am I questioning myself now? Because I have every reason in the world to think that I'm the only one whose going to get hurt here. I mean look at her.

She looks so. . .so. . out of my league, that's what. She's gorgeous. I could sit here until morning and still not have given half the details that are now buzzing around my brain. With those chocolate brown eyes that just make my heart melt like butter when glances my way. Those lips that taste like strawberries. Her hands, her delicate hands that felt as if they were pulling me closer than should be humanly possible when we've hugged. I'm sure that's just my imagination though. And that's just her looks.

Don't forget what's upstairs, Micelli! The talent, that brain, the unconditional love she gives to people, even the bum on the street. And most importantly, the way she loves her son. What man in the world wouldn't want her for their kid's mother? There is no way in the world that a woman like her would even think of falling for a "has been" baseball playing housekeeper like me.

Who am I kidding? How can you even consider it? She'd probably laugh in your face if you even brought up. She's your boss, for Heaven sakes. I don't know why I keep this up. I'm never going to be good enough for her and that's the truth that I'm going to have to face. I'm always going to be "Brooklyn" and she'll always be "Park Avenue."

And yet, I keep a little bit of sanity everyday by just being near her. By stealing away those few precious moments that only I get to have. The warmth of her ring finger as it brushes against my hand in the morning as she takes her mug from my hand. The electric spark that seems to light up the sky when she sits next to me on the couch. And let's not forget, the smiley faces she writes in the "O" of my name when she signs my paycheck. She'll never know how much these silly things mean to me. I know she'll never see me the way I see her. She may never know how much I wish that I was the future "mistake" she was considering as she sits alone in her room tonight. And so, I have to ask myself, 'Can I accept that? Can I live with knowing that I'll never hear the words 'I love you' coming from her lips?' That I'll never find myself looking up into her eyes as I kneel down in front of her to ask her to marry me? That I'll never be the one to look into another chocolate-eyed person and not see a little of myself there too?

Can I stay quiet and not tell her how I feel because I know she deserves better? A man who can give her all the things she wants? All the things a woman like her deserves? Can I? Will I?


Because even if I did have the courage to say those three little words, there is no way that it could possibly last. I can picture it now, her walking away and me not having the courage to chase her. Just like now. Not having the courage to take the first step.

So maybe it's better not even to open my mouth. Because, deep, deep down I know the silence now would be a hundred times easier to take than it would be if she ever left me. That would be even harder to live with.

So here I sit. Alone in the dark again. Waiting for tomorrow's momentary touch, as takes her mug from me.