I think I frightened my husband last night.
Lying in bed, waiting for sleep to claim me once again, my entire body spasmed at once.
I know I shook the bed, that my husband felt me shake. I don’t think I cried out but I can’t be sure. My entire body felt like one large rock, one large stone that weighted me down, made it hard to breathe.
“You okay?” He said softly.
“Yes,” I lied. “I’m fine. It was just a spasm.”
I could feel my body shaking from its force. The spasm had rocked me, almost like I had been punched. I felt my body protesting this injustice:
My shoulders shook, spasmed and quivered. I could feel my legs moving and their muscles talking in response, a subtle tick tick tick of the muscles. Like they were counting down to something.
“But are you okay?” He asked. I could tell he was worried.
“I’ll be alright.” I said.
But in reality, I was scared. The whole thing had lasted seconds, such a brief bite of time, but it had frightened me, shaken me.
I lay there wondering how I could possibly be afraid of myself, how I could possibly fear something that was part of me.
I wondered, briefly, if there was a way to cut it out of me. I wondered if I would dream when I closed my eyes, what sights I would see behind my eyelids, what colours would dance for me.
“I love you.” My husband said.
And, despite the heat, he reached over and clasped my hand.
“I love you, too.” I said.
And, suddenly, feeling the warmth of his hand against mine, I didn’t feel so afraid anymore.
I’ve read this three times, and what keeps coming to me is, “This is such a beautiful love story.”