Will and I, by Christine Harris

 Sometimes I think my August birthday came with an innate affinity for summer.  The moment I catch the first fragrance of lilacs, I step out of hibernation and revel in the nascent season with as much delight as a child counting the days ‘til Christmas.

Tonight is one of those perfect late June evenings. July Fourth has not yet arrived, so my illusion that the summer will last forever is safe.   My home on a hill faces west and nature has outdone herself this day. I raise my glass of Pinot to the spectacular sunset show then head to the kitchen to finish setting the table.

To the undiscerning eye, this is an ordinary scene. The day is done. A cool summer breeze rustles the curtains as a young woman sets a place for two. Flowers grace the table; chicken roasts in the oven and salad chills in the fridge.  Clearly, someone else is expected.

 His name is Will, and I can tell you that there is no such thing as an ordinary day with Will. He is the man I love; my soulmate; my BFF. Our time together is always special, but it’s seldom easy. Tonight we are celebrating my new home, but the evening will end in a way I never cared to imagine.

We met six years ago in a psychiatric hospital of all places. No, we weren’t inmates, but sometimes I think we should have been. He was a nurse, and I a counselor working the night shift until I finished grad school. While the patients slept we spent a couple hours getting acquainted. I remember everything about this night – what I wore – the book I was reading – the electricity in our quick handshake. I had no inkling of the path that lay before us. It blindsided me. We had much in common, but what should have been an insignificant difference would later impact our relationship in ways I could not have anticipated. He is black and I am white.  

Will was raised in the Caribbean, and I  in Boston, so it wasn’t as if either of us never met a person of another color. I just never knew one well enough to date or even have as a friend. I think curiosity gave us the freedom to speak with open hearts, and what resulted for me was love at first sight or something close to that.

Prejudice is such an insidious thing though. I didn’t know then and I don’t know now whether either of us was prejudiced.  What I do know is that our lives collided in ways beyond our choosing that lifted us to the stars and just as quickly dashed us to our knees. It didn’t take long to lose our bearings in a world that has never really been color blind.

But I digress.  The doorbell rings and Will arrives for dinner. We smile through the screen; then kiss each other hello.  We laugh through a chatty cheese course and polish off the salad. Our dinner is perfect until a familiar dance begins.

“I’ve been thinking about our relationship again,” he says.  “I don’t think I can do this anymore Chris.  It’s one thing for us to live with the choices we’re making, but is it fair to lay this on our kids”?

I sit quietly, surprised at my serenity. This is not a new conversation. I know that Will’s own family was interracial and so he speaks his truth. We have weathered raised eyebrows, the wrath of our families and a few obscenities. We have plumbed our psyches alone and together trying to understand why we can’t find love with our own kind.  Working in psychiatry isn’t necessarily an asset here. Will:  “Am I trying to better myself by marrying up? Can I not accept who I am? ” Me: “Am I marrying down because it’s what I deserve? Do I have a need to feel better than?”   There are never enduring answers and I always have trouble seeing past my feelings…but love conquers all…doesn’t it?

Will pours us a refill and I sigh. I don’t like this dance and I’d rather sit this one out. Instead I say:

 “I don’t know another way to show how much I love you Will. No matter where we start we eventually seem to end here and I don’t know how to fix it.”

 “It can’t be fixed” he says, looking into my eyes, “Someday you’ll wake up, look at me and say ‘My God I married a nigger!’” 

I am stunned. That he could contemplate such a thing is beyond my comprehension. I hurt when he says it; I hurt more because he believes it.

            This part of the journey has been painful.  The moments of our most profound connection are the moments of our greatest doubt.  I have trouble recognizing the obstacles. It’s always Will who starts this conversation. I usually draw on skills from captaining my high school debate team and try a rebuttal. When that doesn’t work, I cry. A lot. We hold each other, wishing for a solution that never comes.

Tonight I speak softly. “Will, I don’t know what to say. I love you. I don’t see in color; I can’t imagine I ever will.”

“I believe you” he responds “but maybe that’s part of the problem. Maybe you should see in color. That’s how things are Chris. Prejudice is real. You think love is enough; I keep telling you it isn’t”!

I am beginning to appreciate that we’re at a perennial crossroads. The societal chasm between us weighs heavy.

Will continues: “I know we never resolve anything. We can’t move forward. We don’t want to let go.  I can’t conceive of not having you in my life.  Maybe we should give ourselves some space…we could just see each other enough to stay connected… If time goes by and we still feel this way…”

For whatever reason, this is a night of brutal honesty. I actually smile and say:

 “If time goes by and we still feel this way we’ll be in exactly the same place.”

 I am surprised by the wisdom arising within. More surprised by the courage. In a moment of clarity, I see us as we are and I don’t want my role in this pas de deux anymore.

“Will” I sigh “I have no doubt we love each other; I think we always will, but we can’t seem to break through this. We never pass Go and collect our $200.  Seeing each other sometimes might sound like a better option than saying goodbye, but we’ll wind up exactly where we are tonight.”

He raises his eyebrow and looks sad. This is unexpected, but Will’s a smart guy. He sees where it’s going.

“We’ve given this our best shot,” I say. “Our whole lives are ahead of us. We both want kids and as long as we’re together neither of us will be open to other possibilities.” He recognizes the truth and only nods then looks away.

The words have all been said. As if on cue we stand and hold each other for a long time, wanting to remember how we feel together…as if I will ever forget.  I walk him to the door; we kiss goodbye for the last time and then he leaves. My hand is on the screen and the summer wind tousles my hair as I watch him go. He stops on the porch; then turns to face me, caught in a halo of street lights. Silently he places his hand on mine from the other side of the door and we stand there and weep.

I never saw Will again. We swapped a few tentative calls and holiday cards, but the barrier of our choosing was never breached. I did fall in love again, though maybe not as deeply. I followed the summer and live at the beach now, and every so often when I’m perched under the night sky listening to the waves roll in, a cool summer breeze comes out of nowhere and carries me back to a distant place and my heart remembers.