Read Online All We Know of Love by Nora Raleigh Baskin - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nora Raleigh Baskin
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Millions over the course of a lifetime. You can convince yourself of just about anything in order to sleep better at night. So if you think you’ve won an argument, or if you think the reality is so clear and so obvious, think again. When I broke up with Adam for the first time, I never thought he’d agree so easily, so quickly. So willingly. So comfortably.
We were in his room.
Adam had an odd collection of posters on his walls, which by that point I had memorized. There was a poster of Derek Jeter, poked full of thumbtack holes and slightly torn in the upper left corner. Muhammad Ali and Albert Einstein both looked out from across the room. Adam’s bar mitzvah sign-in board stood folded behind his door. I had opened it up and read it over and over when he wasn’t in the room, trying to absorb any detail, every year and day and moment of Adam’s life before me.
I had made it my job to learn everything I could about him. I listened to every story he told. I made observations that would have made my science teacher proud.
Though I doubted Adam could have named my favorite ice-cream flavor, or which AP classes I was taking in school, which CD I’ve been listening to over and over. Or my birthday.
“This isn’t a good relationship for me,” I told him.
And then there were the newer decorations in his room. Rap concert posters, ticket stubs, his team photos from lacrosse and basketball. On his desk were his laptop and scattered sweatbands, and one curling picture of me slipped into the frame of his mirror. I had given that to him.
“Why do you say that, baby?” Adam asked me, but his eyes were on his computer screen.
He rarely touched me after we did it. All the urgency gone from him. His body slunk away and slouched in his chair. I could feel his energy collapse into itself, away from me. But he would always kiss me passionately when it was time to say good-bye, as if to distinctly mark the separation.
It was his trademark. The good-bye kiss.
Adam banged at the keyboard. A rapid succession of instant messages chimed in and out, computer buddies opening doors and slamming them shut.
And I was left lonely, but not alone. His smell was on me, the soreness of my muscles and the memory that lingered between my thighs for hours. The fear that came over me as soon as I left his presence, the fear I had been foolish again. Taken a chance. I read and reread my health notes, and knew that withdrawal is not a viable method of birth control. Neither is the rhythm method. Neither is nothing.
I should have gone on the pill, but I was afraid.
And that’s when I told him for the last time. He was self-centered and narcissistic. He paid attention to me only when we were together and couldn’t seem to conjure up my face when we were apart. I was taking all the risks. I was the one who left school during
my
classes to be with him during
his
free periods.
He returned my phone calls, but rarely made them.
He took everything I offered, but offered nothing in return.
“My love . . .” Adam responded. “I offer you my love.”
Was he kidding?
He was not.
But then for a minute, I stopped. It seemed so honest. So perfect and so true. There is nothing greater than love. Everything else was just material, wasn’t it? Or immaterial, depending on how you looked at it. Gifts were just belongings. What did it matter that he didn’t buy them?
And after all, I’m supposed to take care of myself, aren’t I?
Birth control is ultimately the girl’s responsibility. This is the twenty-first century. What am I complaining about?
“I’m completely present,” he said. “I am here, aren’t I?”
He was. Here. And that was more than I could say about some people. Some people leave and never come back.
No, this is different. He is not good for me. This is not good for me. I have to be strong. I have to leave.
I could feel my heart literally breaking, cracking wide open with familiar wounds and pains I thought I would never
We were in his room.
Adam had an odd collection of posters on his walls, which by that point I had memorized. There was a poster of Derek Jeter, poked full of thumbtack holes and slightly torn in the upper left corner. Muhammad Ali and Albert Einstein both looked out from across the room. Adam’s bar mitzvah sign-in board stood folded behind his door. I had opened it up and read it over and over when he wasn’t in the room, trying to absorb any detail, every year and day and moment of Adam’s life before me.
I had made it my job to learn everything I could about him. I listened to every story he told. I made observations that would have made my science teacher proud.
Though I doubted Adam could have named my favorite ice-cream flavor, or which AP classes I was taking in school, which CD I’ve been listening to over and over. Or my birthday.
“This isn’t a good relationship for me,” I told him.
And then there were the newer decorations in his room. Rap concert posters, ticket stubs, his team photos from lacrosse and basketball. On his desk were his laptop and scattered sweatbands, and one curling picture of me slipped into the frame of his mirror. I had given that to him.
“Why do you say that, baby?” Adam asked me, but his eyes were on his computer screen.
He rarely touched me after we did it. All the urgency gone from him. His body slunk away and slouched in his chair. I could feel his energy collapse into itself, away from me. But he would always kiss me passionately when it was time to say good-bye, as if to distinctly mark the separation.
It was his trademark. The good-bye kiss.
Adam banged at the keyboard. A rapid succession of instant messages chimed in and out, computer buddies opening doors and slamming them shut.
And I was left lonely, but not alone. His smell was on me, the soreness of my muscles and the memory that lingered between my thighs for hours. The fear that came over me as soon as I left his presence, the fear I had been foolish again. Taken a chance. I read and reread my health notes, and knew that withdrawal is not a viable method of birth control. Neither is the rhythm method. Neither is nothing.
I should have gone on the pill, but I was afraid.
And that’s when I told him for the last time. He was self-centered and narcissistic. He paid attention to me only when we were together and couldn’t seem to conjure up my face when we were apart. I was taking all the risks. I was the one who left school during
my
classes to be with him during
his
free periods.
He returned my phone calls, but rarely made them.
He took everything I offered, but offered nothing in return.
“My love . . .” Adam responded. “I offer you my love.”
Was he kidding?
He was not.
But then for a minute, I stopped. It seemed so honest. So perfect and so true. There is nothing greater than love. Everything else was just material, wasn’t it? Or immaterial, depending on how you looked at it. Gifts were just belongings. What did it matter that he didn’t buy them?
And after all, I’m supposed to take care of myself, aren’t I?
Birth control is ultimately the girl’s responsibility. This is the twenty-first century. What am I complaining about?
“I’m completely present,” he said. “I am here, aren’t I?”
He was. Here. And that was more than I could say about some people. Some people leave and never come back.
No, this is different. He is not good for me. This is not good for me. I have to be strong. I have to leave.
I could feel my heart literally breaking, cracking wide open with familiar wounds and pains I thought I would never
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