I have lived alone for many years and there are things I had forgotten. But then you are suddenly reminded. The intimacy of seeing a woman in messy hair as she gets ready for bed. You lay in bed and hear her turn off the faucet. She steps out of the bathroom in a shirt and underwear. You watch her walk across the carpet to bed. She sits next to you for a second, pulls the covers aside, and gets in bed. Sometimes you touch her leg as she sits on the bed. Some nights it’s cold and she climbs into bed quickly. You feel her cold skin next to yours. Sometimes she touches the back of your head or kisses your neck. You smell the toothpaste and soap and lotion. She presses next to you, and you feel her get warm. Eventually, she turns over and goes to sleep. You listen to her breathing. At times you feel your breathing line up with hers. You slide closer to feel her warmth but try to not wake her up. On some nights it’s hot and you try to stay far away from her in bed.
There are times you wake up in the middle of the night. You feel for her and either she is too close or too far away. You get up to get water. You come back to bed, and you have to move her arm over if it’s in your way. Sometimes she has turned into the indentation you left behind, and you have to find a way to nudge her over. In the morning when there is time you lay next to her waiting for her to wake up. You watch the sunlight climb the walls. You get impatient. You fall back asleep even though you wanted to get up.
Then she wakes up. You kiss each other without opening your lips to spare each other the embarrassment of your breaths. She goes the bathroom, comes out and puts on something to go out into the living room. Eventually, you sit with coffee and chat. You talk about nothing. You look at each other distractedly. You eat something. You make plans.
At some point she takes a shower, performs her ablutions, puts on her day clothes, and fixes her hair. You walk out into the world and that private, vulnerable version of her is gone. Her hair looks nice.
All of this is the opposite of what Harry Styles describes at the beginning of “American Girls.” He sings “Right at home/ With perfect timing/ A face that knows/ Her perfect lighting.” This is not that. And maybe those women are just like that for part of the day. Or maybe they are like that because they need to be or are expected to be. Who knows. But I am referring to something else altogether different. I am thinking about the quiet face that you look at in the shadows of the bedroom just before you start to dream.
