THE EMOTIONAL GESTURE

The first time I ever heard of the “emotional gesture” was when I was eavesdropping on a master’s class at the Actor’s Studio. Essentially, the emotional gesture is to one’s emotions what a “tell” is to a poker hand; it is a moment when all pretense is dropped, subconsciously, and truth is distilled out.

Simon and I have been through a fair bit recently, none of which I’ll be getting into. Essentially, lots of externals have tossed themselves into the mix but what is between us seems, at least to me, to have remained fixed. It is safe to say he is notably good at not letting the rest of the world bleed into the space we have together. Whatever this is, I love it and I’ve never felt safer or more content.

Last night, somehow Simon and I ended up back at his apartment drinking wine. J- being the third of our musketeer troop- showed up just as I was passing from “buzzed” to “drunk.” The three of us had quite the evening and it’s safe to say I made quite the ass of myself. It was really, really fun and exceedingly silly. We stayed up until the Liverpool game was on and then the boys watched the game while I fell asleep… or passed out. Whichever works for you.

As all the commentary was in Chinese, the boys turned off the tv sound and hooked my iPod up to the speakers to listen to Linkin Park. It’s safe to say I was really out as I vaguely remember rolling over and thinking, “Gee, ‘Crawling’ is rather loud. Might wake the neighbors.” (For those of you not familiar with Linkin Park, their music is very loud and very aggressive.) However, I did eventually stir from the bowels of my nap at the deafening silence when the match ended and the iPod was turned off.

As my mind was pulling itself back to consciousness, J decided to go home. I hadn’t really stirred or opened my eyes but my capacity for processing sound was beginning to work again.

“What do you think the odds of her going home now are?” J asked.

Simon snickered. “Yeah, good luck with that man.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

I don’t remember if I actually said “Goodbye” to J or if it was something I merely thought I should pull myself from sleep to do. However, a blurry bit later and J was gone.

Lying there on the couch, I simply dissolved to unconsciousness again.

My consciousness was stirred again at the gentle brushing of fabric across me. The familiar sensation of being cocooned in a duvet settled me into even more relaxation and then Simon picked up my feet to tuck the duvet around them. Gently, he tucked the duvet in all around me to keep me warm. Curled up on my right side in the fetal position (the same position I always sleep in), he tucked his way up to tucking the duvet in around my hands in front of my face but was careful not to cover my face. Throughout his tucking-me-in, I was too tired to stir and so it’s safe to say he thought I was out. Whatever he did, he certainly wasn’t about to meet resistance from the barely there me. Finally finished tucking me in, he just placed a gentle hand on my head and tussled my hair a little.

It was the sweetest, loveliest gesture. That it was something he couldn’t help doing takes my breath away. I have never felt more adored in my life. There was more comfort and respite in that one gesture than in a thousand confessions or love letters. That is precisely the way in which someone makes me theirs.

I have recently turned down a multimillion-dollar offer for marriage, children and (his) American citizenship from a man who would pay others to pamper me. Frankly, I already have enough in terms of “things” and the notion that my stalker felt he could overcome my obvious disgust of him by appealing to the lowest common denominator of greed is just insulting. Frankly, there is no need to sell myself, much less forgo the chance of a man like Simon so that I might change my silver rings to platinum.

I am truly fortunate in this moment. I have a boy who can’t help but touch my hair after he tucks me in.