Five Things
"What?"
"Any five ... "
"Only five?"
" ... things. Yes." A nod. "If you could have any five things with you," she repeated, "on a desert island ... "
"So, what," Field asked, leaning back into the couch cushions. "I just happen to pack these things? Knowing I'll be stranded?"
"You have them," was all she said. Chewing on a pretzel stick.
"I pack them by coincidence?"
"Field." She waited patiently. Reaching for a mug of ice water.
The mouse nodded apologetically. And he took in a breath through the nose. And he let it out.
Sang the radio, "Look for me another day. I feel that I could change. I feel that I could change ... "
Aria raised her eyebrows. Waiting.
"Um ... " Field took another breath. "Five things on a desert island? So, like, essential things ... like, survival things?"
"No, like ... creature comforts."
"Don't I want matches? Or ... "
"A lighter would serve you better."
"Well, you know what I mean ... " He shifted a bit on the cushions, trying to get more comfortable.
"This is a game, Field. A game. Stop taking it so seriously ... and answer," she whispered, leaning closer to him, "the damn question."
He blinked at the force of her words. Swallowed. And nodded, and went, "Okay ... " And he thought.
She waited. Legs folded under her, sitting on her knees.
The mouse stole a glance at her. Gave it ten seconds before she shifted positions. On the count of ... one, two, three ...
She waited.
... four, five ...
"Um," went Field. And he blew out a breath.
... six, seven, eight ...
And she moved, bringing her legs out from under her. Foot-paws to the floor, and then back up onto the cushions again, sort of ... sprawling.
Field bit his lip, hiding his victorious smile. Closing his eyes. "Five things."
"Yes," she said wearily. They had been at this for ten minutes. And, for whatever reason, the mouse couldn't answer it.
He tilted his head.
She sighed again. Widened her eyes.
"I'm sorry," he said, shrugging helplessly.
"It's a game. Just ... play. Use your imagination. Why do you keep stalling? Play," she pleaded. "You think too much. Just ... the first five things you would think of. And stop after that. Don't analyze. Just ... pick. It's a ... "
"I don't like," he emphasized, "games."
"You do."
"I don't."
"You do, Field. You're playing them all the time."
He frowned, sat back a bit. "What ... "
"In your head. You toy with yourself. You toy with your reality."
"What?" He was still frowning.
"Just don't tell me," she whispered knowingly, "that you don't play games." She met his gaze. Direct. Determined. "Whether or not the aim of those games is for fun ... or for self-punishment ... I don't know. But you play them. Don't tell me you don't."
"This ... this is ... "
"Answer it," she said, frowning. "Answer the question."
" ... is stupid," he finished, stuttering.
She reached into the pretzel bag. Withdrew another pretzel stick. Nibbled.
The mouse frowned, nose and whiskers twitching. And he remarked, a paw clutching the arm of the couch, that, "The big ones are gross."
"What?" She blinked.
"The big pretzel sticks. They're gross. The only good ones are the small ones. Those real miniature ones."
"The ones so small ... they're pretzel twigs, not sticks?" she said smartly.
"That makes them less good?" was his challenge.
"Field."
"What?" he said, a bit terse.
"We're arguing about pretzels."
The mouse exhaled deeply through the nose. And nodded quietly.
Aria fiddled. Opened her mouth to speak. Closed it.
The mouse remaining wordless. Staring at the wall. Just staring, unblinking.
Aria fidgeted again, rabbit ears going ... wiggle-waggle.
The radio saying, "Talk of loneliness in quiet voices ... I am shy, but you can reach me ... "
Aria closed her eyes, opened them. And turned her head. Asking, "Why do you always leave the radio on?"
"The setting's on low. The volume," the mouse said, "is on low."
"Do you really need the noise?"
"It's not noise," he whispered.
"What are you trying to distract yourself from?" she asked pointedly.
"Nothing."
"You purposely give yourself so much sensory input ... as to keep your ... you ... " She started to stutter. Stopped. "You ... I don't even know." She went quiet. "But there's something ... I can see it, Field. On the inside, you're spinning like a top. And even when we're like this, at night, together ... you're still spinning. I want you to slow down. To stop. To be with me ... entirely. I'm trying to help you. You've been through a lot ... I know that. I'm trying," she repeated, frustrated, "to help you. I love you."
"There's a sudden joy," the radio whispered, "that's like a fish, a moving light. I thought I saw it ... "
"I ... I love you ... too," said Field, slowly. Sporadically. As if the words were glass. As if they would break on his tongue and draw blood. So fragile.
The rabbit breathed. Tired now. Suddenly tired now. And she opened her mouth again, and she clamped it shut. And she shook her head, biting her lip.
The mouse's eyes darted.
Silence.
And Field coughed a bit.
She turned her head. Whiskers waggling. "You okay?"
"Yeah," he said, nodding quietly.
"You coughed."
"Throat itches," was all he said. He was getting a cold.
"I'll get you some throat lozenges after work tomorrow."
"I can get them," Field said quietly.
"I'll do it."
The mouse clamped his teeth together. Closed his eyes and moved his neck a bit. Opened his eyes. "Cause you make more money than me? Cause I'm irresponsible with my resources?"
"Field," she said, sighing. "I never ... ever said that."
"So, I can't buy my own throat lozenges?"
"Yes, you do have a problem ... saving money. And you don't make that much to ... "
"Well ... "
" ... begin with," she finished. "And I don't see why me having a higher-paying job should make you feel less ... "
"Well, I can't ... support you," he stuttered. "How am I gonna ... support you? I ... what if we start a family? What am I ... "
"We support each other. This isn't a contest ... "
"I can buy," he said, a bit angry, "throat drops."
"Lozenges," she whispered correctively.
"Whatever," was his whispered response.
Aria reached a paw ... back into the pretzel bag. Getting a third pretzel stick. She nibbled. "If I didn't know you like I did ... if I weren't intimate with you, I would think you're being childish."
"How do you know I'm not?" he challenged.
"Cause you've too much depth for that. Cause our love is built on heavy things. Cause I know."
He met her eyes, briefly, before darting them away ... looking to the floor. To the coffee table. Her coffee table. In her little house.
"You always have this ... thing."
"Thing?"
"This feeling of inadequacy. Like ... like you think you're not good enough for anyone. Not smart enough. Not attractive enough. Like you hate yourself for having confidence. You're submissive, and I like that ... it's fine ... but, sometimes, you confuse your submissiveness with inferiority. You devalue your talents. You ... "
"That's not true."
"No?"
"No."
"Then why snap at me when I offer to pick you up throat drops after work? The grocery's next to my work."
"Lozenges," he said, correcting her. "You said drops. Lozenges," he said, correcting her ... as she'd corrected him.
"Touche."
This brought a slight smile to the mouse's muzzle.
Which, in turn, gave her a small smile, too. And she exhaled. Inhaled. And continued, "You spend so much time trying to distract yourself. You think so much, try to ... inhale too much. Afraid of missing something. Afraid of ... what? What are you afraid of, Field?"
"My fears?"
She nodded.
"I don't know ... that's ... not something that I really wanna ... "
"We've the time."
Quiet.
"Field," she prodded.
"I don't know what I fear. I don't know why I've the compulsions that I do. I don't know why I'm prone to depression, why I ... can't enter a room of furs without having to suppress a possible panic attack. Why ... why," he stammered, "why I ... even having you, while I still, in the back of my mind," he admitted, finding it painful to admit ... fearing that she would hate him for it. " ... why I still desire other males. Why ... why am I these things? Why ... why?" he asked, almost desperate. Almost pressing. Almost panicked. "I don't know," he said. "I don't," he stressed, "know, Aria. I don't." His breath was ragged now. Having worked himself into near hyper-ventilation.
The worry. The anxiety. The fear ... not being good enough. Not saying the right thing. Trying to plan every word, every interaction in advance ... rehearsing potential arguments with other furs in his mind (in the event that such arguments actually happened ... but knowing, if they did, his rehearsal would be for naught, and he would simply stutter and fall to pieces; but practicing anyway) ... his tics. His quirks. His squeaks. His jerks.
He didn't know. He just didn't know.
And, voice quiet and shivering, he pleaded, "Just ... don't ask me why. Okay?"
She looked to him tenderly. Feeling, knowing ... he was in some kind of pain. His memories, his losses ... desires, wants ... his future. In the middle of that, there was some kind of pain.
"Don't ask me what's wrong, cause ... I don't know."
"Field ... "
He didn't respond.
"Field, why can't you relax?"
He didn't know.
"Hmm? Why can't you ... just play? Just be? Are you afraid of losing this? Of losing me?"
Field bit his lip. "Why are you ... interrogating me? What did I do? Why are you doing this to me?" His eyes watered.
"I'm not doing anything," she emphasized quietly, passionately. "I'm ... caring about you. That's all."
"Then don't ask me questions," he pleaded, like a wounded mouse.
"Why?"
"Cause there are too many of them. And ... the answers are tied to my heart," he whispered. So vulnerable.
She took a slow, wispy breath, and whispered, "Field, I'm not gonna ... crush your heart. I'm not gonna break your heart."
"I've had it broken before," he said dully.
"You think I haven't? You think you're the only one? All hearts have to break ... at one point or another. It's how they get stronger. It's how they learn. All hearts break, but all hearts mend. And all hearts flourish. You're not alone. Even if you think you are, and even if you feel you deserve to be ... you are not."
He stared at the floor, nodding quietly ... supposing that was true. And wondering how they'd gotten on this topic. What impulse had steered them so wildy off-course? The triggers of their words, of their thoughts, their actions. The little flights of fancy ... that led them to do all the things they did.
Did God have a paw in that? Did He push them along? Was He nudging them along?
It couldn't be random. Life, Field knew, couldn't be random. There was too much ... and were it all chaos, it would've caved in on itself. As the mouse's mind had done (time and time again). But, no, there was a design. There was a paw to catch it all. And hold it all in place. Just as there was, now, a love in Field's life ... to hold him. To keep him from falling to pieces. And, in the event that he did fall to pieces, his love would put him back together. Would be his glue.
There was quiet ... for a moment. And another. More moments.
"An umbrella. A blanket," Field started whispering.
Aria squinted, looking to him.
"A sword. A Bible. And you."
The rabbit blinked.
"That's what I would take with me. Five things on a desert island."
She smiled. "What are the other four things for? You're taking me, but ... "
"You. And an umbrella ... to keep you dry. A blanket ... to keep you warm. A sword ... to keep you safe. And a Bible ... to keep you heartened."
She beamed, whispering, "Well, you could save the luggage space ... and just bring yourself. You can do all those things, you know. Keep me dry, warm ... safe. Heartened."
Field bit his lip.
"You can, you know," she whispered. "I know you fear failure. I know you've failed at things before ... I know you fear being a burden, but ... you're not a burden to me. And you'll never fail me. And I know," she said quietly, nodding, looking him straight in the eyes. "I know you could do those things. You could," she assured, "be those things. You could be my safety. My strength. My light."
The mouse's eyes were watering. He looked away. His paws trembling. He clutched at his own tail to stop them.
"And I know," she continued, "that another one of your fears is that ... "
The mouse sniffled, shaking his head, the tears dripping down his cheeks.
" ... you fear I'll think you're weak when you cry."
Field closed his eyes and bit his lip. Not making a sound as he did so. Swallowing. Breathing.
"I don't think you're weak. I think you're full of emotion. Full of life. And I love you for it."
Field's throat ached. From the raw honesty, the unfiltered feeling. And he took a shaky breath, and he nodded, whispering, "And I'm ... grateful. So very ... grateful," he whispered.
"It's not a chore," she whispered gently, giving a warm, reassuring smile. Putting a paw on his cheek. "It's a pleasure."
He closed his eyes.
She ran her fingers through the fur on his cheeks, to the fur on his neck ... and wrapped her arm behind him ... and pulled him close.
He leaned against her. Crying quietly against her breast ... breathing of her warmth. Of her presence. Her touch. And, though vulnerable, though timid, though leaking of tears ... the mouse, momentarily, was fearless.