Untouchable

Dearest Rachel –

In a few ways, I was actually quite prepared for life on my own. Thanks to our vastly different sleep schedules, I was already used to retiring to an empty bedroom. Similarly, the quiet mornings on my own aren’t that much different than before, apart from the fact that they’re not nearly as early as they used to be – and the fact that there’s no lump on the other side of the bed where you are sleeping anymore. On a larger (if thankfully more infrequent) scale, there were those weekend getaways you would take once or twice a year with various Bible study groups. And of course, in their last few years, you would take one week every month to go downstate to visit your parents (and later, just your mom) to see to them; for me, this was a regular taste of what life alone without you might be like. I just didn’t expect to have to deal with it on a permanent basis so soon – or even, at all.

So, I did have enough practice to deal with it, although in those days, there was always the understood assumption that you would return eventually. I never sent you off with the song – but you heard it enough, what with our having much of his music, and having seen him in concert several times – but the sentiment of Randy’s song certainly applied:

At some point, I would come home from the office, and more often than not, you would greet me at the door, wrapping your arms around me, and giving me one of your near-trademark deep kisses (I say near-trademark because I kind of had to teach you how to do that, having learned it from Chris back in the day. Back then, you didn’t know what to make of it, comparing it to being assaulted by one of your family’s dogs. But eventually, you warmed up to it, and often all but demanded one from me on a daily basis; it almost wasn’t a kiss unless we opened our mouths in the process). It was the sort of welcoming greeting that would have been considered the stuff of the fifties-era suburban ideal (although, for censorship’s sake, they would limit it to a mere peck – your greeting would have been a absolute fantasy for those archetypes).

A while back, I was at dinner with Jeff (as his new wife Julie was away visiting family), and he mentioned an incident he’d remembered from the summer of the pandemic. You’ll recall how the church was conducting weekend services at the camp, since Wisconsin was open in a way that Illinois wasn’t. In any event, he and Julie were apparently sitting a few rows (such as they could be considered rows in the middle of a playing field) behind us. At some point, you just came up to me, completely unprompted, and gave me one of those kisses; at which point, Julie turned to Jeff and said, “I need to get to know that woman.” Unfortunately, between the pandemic and the accident, she didn’t get much chance to do so.

But that was so characteristic of you to do. And while I will insist that I didn’t take it for granted, I think I may have made the mistake of thinking that this level of affection you bestowed upon me was normal among married folks. Julie’s reaction (as related to me by Jeff) would suggest otherwise. And that’s a shame, for both our sakes.

Now, I’ll admit that I would rarely initiate these contacts – I rarely had to, let’s be honest – but as time has gone by, I’ve slowly begun to realize how much I miss that level of human contact that, I have to acknowledge, could have only come from you. It’s probably why I find myself looking for ‘Megumi’; I don’t think I could go the rest of my life without a little bit of what would be referred to as ‘skinship’ by the anime we would watch together.

Of course, when those shows spoke of skinship, they generally were referring to actions that would be considered a bit more ‘fanservice-y’. Many of them would, on this side of the pond (and maybe even over there, in real life), get one slapped with a sexual harassment lawsuit – or just literally slapped, period – unless it was between two consenting adults, like the two of us. But I’m not even talking about that level of contact. Even the touch of your hand on mine, or on my shoulder, would be welcome after such a long drought.

In fact, that’s sort of how this came to mind in the first place; last night, while sitting in Joel’s Bible study, I had my back to the door. It would be just the sort of scenario where, if you had slipped out to use the facilities beforehand, you would sneak back in and surprise me by putting a hand on me before pulling out your chair and settling yourself in beside me. One of your friends will occasionally come to the study these days, and I sometimes imagine her doing something similar as she slips in, but it would be so out of character for her that I’m sure it would shock me out of my chair. Without you, I’ve sort of become untouchable.

To be sure, I understand her discomfort with that level of contact; as much as I admit the need for it, it’s not something I can bring myself to accept from just anybody. For all the bond that Lars and I have built between the two of us, I still find myself recoiling slightly when we say goodbye after our post-walk lunch, and he embraces me. Maybe I’m just resisting it when he slaps me on the back in the process. I’ve heard somewhere that guys do this just to reassure themselves – and each other – that, despite this display of affection, they’re still completely masculine: “Yeah, I’m hugging you, buddy, but I’m also hitting you, so it’s all good!” I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I’m not entirely comfortable with it. Still, I deal with it for his sake; accommodations must be made for the sake of friendship, after all.

But anyway, I miss those connections you and I had, and there are these moments when it’s felt that much more acutely. Just thought I’d let you know; I don’t know if this is unusual on my part, or if it’s something common to mankind. I’ll leave that to those who read this to decide for themselves.

Until next time, honey, take care. Keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.