Jordan — Here, If You Want Me

I'll just be here, if you want me
To be near you.
— "Cry (If You Want To)," Holly Cole

Oh my God.

He's fine. Oh, Lord, thank you . . . I was so terrified, scared to death that any day Matthew would call to say he was being sent to Iraq. It was all too possible, but, oh, now he'll never go. I know — they keep saying it, over and over again on the news: we're not done. It looks like we've won, but there's still work to be done.

But they won't send Matthew. And they never did. I was so terrified . . .

In high school, we read a poem — a horrible, sad poem, about World War I soldiers dying, choking to death on poison gas. I can't remember just now who wrote it, only that he died in the war himself, or something like that. All I remember is the final part: Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.

Sweet and right it is to die for your country.

Something about it stuck with me. It was meant to be ironic, but it stayed with me both as cynicism and truth. I know it is honorable to die for your country. It doesn't make it any easier on those at home. At least, not for everyone at home. I know that there are those who would rather die in battle than not fight at all. But I'm so very thankful that he didn't.

How dulce that Matthew will come home to me.

Oh, I know. His staying safe makes him no more mine than he was before the war, before even a thought of war.

I'm not stupid.

He said it himself this summer — "I am my own." I've been thinking about that, I guess, since then. I'm so scared sometimes. I fight my own war, quiet, alone. I don't know why I love Matthew, really. I just do.

He's always been there. Some permanent fixture of my life, something steady to look upon, like a star — distant. "It asks of us a certain height . . .," you know? Like Frost said. Matthew has always . . . called up something in me. I don't know what I mean. Only that I want to be better when I'm near him. Oh, I know it's silly! I seem like something out of an old melodrama, I guess. "Stand by your man" and "Wife, hold your temper, and meekly put / Your hand 'neath the sole of your husband's foot." But it's true. I just love him. I don't think I can stop.

It makes me sad sometimes, to love him. He's never precisely said he loves me. Murmured "Yes" and nodded, but never actually said it. After his birthday this summer, I began to worry about that. Am I pushing him too hard? What if he doesn't love me? I don't know why Matthew would lie, except to make me feel okay, but . . . to make me happy, yes, he certainly would. Because he's good like that.

Oh . . . Sometimes everything is too much. I can't explain it beyond that. Just too much. Like the world lies on your shoulders, and your head is spinning, and your heart is screaming, ready to burst, and you don't know where you are anymore, only that you must figure it all out. And Now.

It's like that a lot these days. My heart's not really in my schooling. I know I'm lucky to be at Vassar like I am, and it's a great school; and I love kids. It'd be great to be a teacher, and some part of me feels like it's something I should do. But I'm just confused these days. My thoughts don't even make sense anymore. How am I supposed to concentrate on classes?

I can't figure Matthew out. I don't think I ever will, or that anyone can, but he confuses me. I don't want him to take pity on me. I'm so scared that's all it is. It's kinda funny — now that I'm sure he won't go into battle, I can stop worrying about that, but everything else comes tumbling down instead.

I've wanted Matthew more than anything or anyone else since I was in high school. Maybe even before. And . . . well, then it was just a silly crush on someone who'd always been right there, something that had built up over the years. Then it became love, and it is love, I know it is. And for a while, I was clueless. I thought he wanted me like I do him. And now I'm not so sure, and it horrifies me, because for so long now, I've been building up ideals and dreams around the belief that he did. I'm not sure why I was so blind. Maybe I just wanted to be.

I rarely hear from him; regular letters, not very personal. I call once — maybe twice — a week. I used to call more, but I don't want to push him away, to make him feel closed in on. The silly thing is, he's never said or done anything to encourage or discourage me. I've built it all up myself, and pulled it all down again. Now I'm rushing to put it together again before I see him next, and I'm in such a rush and frenzy, I'm not sure I'm doing it right. Or even entirely what I'm saying anymore.

I want something real.

A senator needs a wife — or a husband, these days. The people like to see smiling families.

But I don't want to be a political asset. I want to be the woman he loves. And I'm so, so, so, so scared that I'm not. Because I've spent so much of myself on loving Matthew that I don't know what I would do if I lost him — how I'd keep going, or where I'd even go.

I suppose all I can do is wait.

posted at 7:26 p.m. on 04-12-03