Tell Me You Love Me

9/13/2021

I cried a little looking out the window on the plane home from Utah.

It was difficult to fathom the beauty I saw.  Dark green mountain ranges littered with trees, rivers running through canyons, patches of green and brown with the occasional lake every few miles. This was beauty. This was real country.  And suddenly I felt like a little girl again.  Watching the world on TV, but now the screen is a window and my spot on the couch is a seat 40,000 feet in the air. Canned grape soda is chardonnay in a plastic wine glass.

How life has changed.

Growing up in a medium-sized town with less than medium means was alright most of my childhood, but became confusing after a certain period of time. I didn’t know that we weren’t “middle class” until I was about eleven years old—when the recession hit. That’s when I realized we didn’t actually have much and were just getting by while occasionally enjoying things…and then eventually less than getting by. I’m very grateful for never having lived without a home, but I must say, a full and happy life requires a bit more than that…so I compensated in other ways. We didn’t ever have cable for more than a month at a time so I read books all the time, mostly fantasy and historical fiction. Reading about the Tudors and imagining what leading a scandalous life hundreds of years ago might have been was much more enlightening than wondering about the life I was missing out on. Escaping into a fantasy world was my way of living large, which I could never do in real life. Writing fictional tales was my way of controlling a narrative, which I felt I never had a grasp on. Being told what to do, what to wear, what you can’t do, what you can’t wear, all while not being able to do much anyway because of a lack of finances made for very boring summers. I felt almost crushed when the last Harry Potter book was released. The closing chapter of my favorite fantasy world where I could be magical, confident, and vicariously experience my most forbidden interest: romance.

Around the age of ten, I was no longer allowed to talk to boys. Why ten? I don’t know, you’d have to ask my overly religious parents. From what I’d gathered, that is the age where girls are no longer quite “children” any longer, though obviously nowhere near adulthood. But that didn’t matter. As long as I had long hair and a body nearing puberty, I was a threat to my honor to God unless all temptation was removed before I had a chance to even understand it. But let’s not get too philosophical here…The point is, I didn’t have much of a life as a kid. I was sheltered, I suppose. So I lived life through fantasy. Books, movies, magazines, I was addicted to any portal of the world I was not allowed to see. Thankfully, I had enough time alone to be able to watch things I wouldn’t be allowed to watch if a parent saw me. My dad would literally shield my eyes when the actors would kiss in the end of the commercials for Kay Jewelers—you know, the part where they sing “every kiss begins with Kay”…yeah. I think I was intrigued by romance because it was the type of love I’d never really witnessed. I loved my parents and I knew that they loved me too, but I never saw them love each other. To be fair, I was too young when they ended their marriage to have any real memories of when they were together. My older sibling probably remembers more but it’s not really something we’ve ever spoken about with each other. I don’t remember seeing many of the couples in my family (uncles and aunts, grandfathers and grandmothers) express much affection with one other either, except maybe one uncle, but he is an extremely happy and positive person. He’s still one of my favorite relatives. A family-oriented man who loves his daughters so much, but loves his nieces and nephews, cousins and brothers in the same enthusiastic light. He proposed composing an official family tree so we could have a tangible piece of our bloodline to attach to our legacy. His vibrant attitude is always so inspiring and he constantly shows me and my other younger relatives so much encouragement and expresses his love and pride and is there for us whenever we need him. He is the only uncle that I can recall ever kissing his wife in front of others. And it makes sense. They are truly in love (not just settled down with kids, they really chose to love each other). But why is he the only one? Why are conservative families like this? And I’m not talking red-state, cowboy conservative. If you know what I look like and where I come from, you’d know that I mean first generation, immigrant conservatives. They vote blue but they live red…ish. Family values, very strong religious beliefs, living lives based on fundamentalism. I guess they were taught to hide any inkling of desire, because desire is the sister of temptation…and temptation is the sister of… sin? I don’t know the Bible that well but someone has definitely said that. Anyway. This uncle of mine. When I think of him, and where is unapologetic optimism might stem from, immediately what comes to mind is what happened to him. About 15 years ago, his first wife tragically died. I don’t remember much of her, but in the stories my relatives have told me, I know that he loved her insanely. She was the love of his life and they were inseparable. They had one child, a daughter, shortly before she passed away.

Sometimes I forget about his past life. A much darker story where tragedy took the wheel. He’s such a happy man now. Somehow it all makes sense. I know my uncle well, but I don’t know who he is inside like a close friend or spouse might. I didn’t see the grief, let alone the transformation into who he is today. But one thing is for certain: he experienced the type of growth that we all aspire to achieve when our worlds fall apart. And I think his second wife helped him. She was a friend of the family already and, despite relatives expressing that it was too soon to remarry after his first wife’s death, they were enamored with each other and did it anyway. Plus, he was now a single father. He thought of his daughter and how she absolutely needed a mother. I know it sounds like he remarried in haste but he was either very smart or very lucky. They’re still happily in love and have several beautiful, happy, healthy children. Was it too soon? Maybe. The important part was that he just happened to be right. I just wish I knew how he refused to be bogged down by hopelessness and chased what was right for his family. One day I will ask him about this all. It’s actually quite stunning how much I know about him (which is almost everything I’ve just shared) that he has never told me himself. I guess that’s just what happens in a huge extended family: your business is never private.

Never seeing your parents kiss kind of fucks you up later in life. Both of my parents got remarried twice after their divorce from each other, but even then I hardly saw them romantically engaged with their later spouses. One time, my stepdad brought home flowers for my mother and I was making a sandwich in the kitchen while they were in the living room and I overheard him say “I love you” to my mother in English with his thick African accent. I was confused and also incredibly humored—I had never heard those words said to my mother if it hadn’t been coming from one of her children or a relative. My mother was being romanticized? Desired? I didn’t understand it and it kind of made me uncomfortable. By this time, I was around 17 years old, never dated anyone, had kissed two or three people, and was a virgin. Another time I remember was seeing my father and stepmom kiss. On the lips. That is the only time I’d ever seen one of my parents/stepparents kiss on the lips. Stepmom #1 packed dad a lunch before he went to work in the summertime (which is when I’d stay at his house with the big backyard), and as he left she handed him his lunch, told him to have a good day, and they shared a single, gentle peck on the lips. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I actually remember feeling a fight or flight response at this moment. And shortly after, I was very upset at my own reaction. Why did seeing them love each other bother me? Did I adopt my mother’s resentment toward my father and feel betrayal seeing him kiss this new wife? I liked her and I’ve always been able to think for myself without parental manipulation affecting me so much, so that didn’t seem to be the cause. At this point I was about eleven years old, making it the first sign of affection between any of my parents that I’d ever witnessed. I guess my reaction was not my fault due to a lack of understanding, but really a consequence of circumstance: my parents coming from a culture of subdued personal freedoms, cultural norms which they passed along to us.

Upon reflection, my inclination toward exploring romance has, and always has been, heightened by deprivation and lack of access or understanding of romantic love. My parents loved me well, but they stopped loving each other before I could have witnessed it. That makes me sad sometimes. Not because I feel bad for them anymore. They’re over it now. It makes me sad that I never got to see what that looked like as a model for what to explore for myself. Either way, that wasn’t allowed. I wasn’t allowed to date, wear anything above the ankles, and if I was seen talking to a boy, I would’ve needed a plausible excuse such as a school project or he’s a friend of one of our relatives. Cultural conservatism and religious fundamentalism taught me many good lessons, but ultimately it prevented me from making important personal discoveries about my sensual and sexual spirit that could have aided in my transition to adult womanhood. I wish I had been able to observe secure, honest, healthy loving romantic relationships growing up but I’m grateful that I did not really witness any bad marriages. Just loveless ones. Or at least that’s what they looked like to me…

The onset of my mood today must have something to do with who I’ve spent my time with the last few days. Someone very kind and generous, selfless and thoughtful. It’s made me happy to feel so at ease, but also a little melancholic. When will I feel like this again with someone?  I love myself and being alone is fine. But what if I didn’t have to be? What if I could know what it felt like to love and be loved like this all the time?

48 hours isn’t enough…