“just be…”

“just be…”

I want to be without need to be regarded sane.
I want to tell him,
But I am scared of how tensely folded his eyebrows look in this moment,
A safe option is-
Teach me.
And so, I say.
I told you, just be.
He says typing furiously at the phone’s keyboard with his thick dandruff imprisoned
fingernails.
Then comes that smirk, dirty with secrets.
I deliberately restrain myself from cleaning his fingernails for him because I know
who the person on the other end of the phone is
.
Then show me how. I bargain.
It can’t be shown, you just got to. He insists.
Another smile, stained with fore coming pleas.
Just be, he continued. Just be as you feel.
When I be,
You’re being too much. He warns raising that dirty overgrown index fingernail.
And now- yet again,
I have to reshape, reform, re-become
for him as he needs.
Just …until our anniversary.

When I reform, he compliments me-
with a pet on my head.
I used to love it but now,
I hate those unclean nails but it fulfills me that he is ignorant about bits of himself.
Surely, his friend will tell him.

Just be as you are, be comfortable. He reassures me on our way to work.
How do you mean, just be?
I say it as he would.
That is what I always talk to you about-
I don’t want to have this talk anymore.
He dismisses, picking at his nose and thrusting mucus out of the dirt fusion in his
fingernail into the street.
I recoil away from him,
just a bit. He must not know.

I say something on our way back home,
He jumps in shock,
That isn’t you. You certainly cannot say that.
But I just did, without second thought.
It’s too much. It’s inappropriate. He says quickly looking around us and shamefully
tucks a braid behind my ear.
I notice his fingernails are still unkempt.
I sigh in satisfied approval of my actions,
even his colleagues didn’t tell.

So what is he ashamed of?
I look but I can’t see anything, anyone except me...and his damn fingernails.
Inappropriate to whom? You? I ask.
Yes, Me. He smirks.
Disgusting, I think to myself and then say,
But… you said you didn’t want to have this talk anymore earlier.
Well, you can’t seem to absorb it
so I have to be there,
it’s what couples do, honey.
I hate how “be” sounds on his tongue,
It’s…distasteful. conventional. restraining.
Like a religious rule.

But…
You know what?
What?
I can help you be you.
Oh, finally?
Yes, finally.
I will remind you, teach you, make you be you.
As I am?
Yes.
Do you know me?
….there goes that murky grin.

I should know you by now, don’t you say?
It’s what couples do, honey. He says
in between yawns.
Enough for today.
He spits on the sidewalk and rubs
the side of his mouth with his left palm.
Almost immediately, he pats my head with the same hand
and I involuntarily fall into his chest.
I want to tell him that I can help him trim his fingernails later tonight but I won’t,
For what I really would like to say is
I feel existence shouldn’t feel as dutiful as he does.
But today is going just fine,
Maybe tomorrow, I will tell him tomorrow.

***