And In This Corner ...

We don't fight.


Wait. We have disagreements. Sometimes I say "bye" or "ttyl" and really I mean "I'm just done right now, you're making me angry." and she says something like "you're amusing me right now" and she means "you're amusing me right now." Really. That's what she means.

 I fight like I'm going to war. I have a list of grievances, like ammunition, rifles, and I'm even dressed in camouflage. I'm marching into battle like I mean business. I've already figured out what she's going to say and have three comebacks prepared. More than that, I've already figured out how I'm going to tell my parents (because they love her) and how I'm going to defend myself when my auntie and uncle ask me what the hell happened. But she hasn't even dressed for combat. She doesn't bring with her any bullets or nerve gas. She just brings her.

I tell her what's going on, heart pounding, and my face heating up. I reach over to run my fingers up and down the chamber of my pistol (do pistol's have chambers?) and I'm rehearsing my next line when suddenly she says something like:

"I'm frustrated and I miss you."

What the ...  I hadn't prepared for that.

Fighting in my world always meant that I was going in with the big guns and only one person was coming back out alive. Fighting was a matter of having a foster home or having a family. Fighting was a matter of loyalty and never, ever had to do with love because people, in my little 4-year-old heart and mind, never stuck around long. If ever. So if I was going to go out in some technicality caused by a fight well then, I was going to go down.

But then she came along and we don't fight like that. Finally there is someone who understands that fighting really is fighting to be close to the person. Fighting for clarification. Fighting to stay close. Fighting isn't about pushing the other person down enough times that they can't get back up to hurt you. Fighting isn't about you or me it's about we.

So, we don't fight.

We have our moments when one or both of us are tired. And one or both of us can't easily be tousled out of disagreement or a bad mood. We have our moments that last mere moments before I eventually ask if we're having our first fight, and she, laughing, insists that we are not.


I think we've just redefined the word. Neither of us are perfect, and I'm sure there are several times I've gotten on her nerves. I'm a bit spoiled, and so is she (and I am not responsible for that!) I don't always act my age, and sometimes I get too loud in her ear. She has some issues with road rage, and even though she says she's listening to me, I suspect she just knows when to pipe in with something and then go back to letting me spew out boring details of my day to day life.

Or it's probably that, with boxing gloves on and the bell about to ring, she knows exactly what to say to make me laugh, can push me against the ropes, tilt her head to the side or shrug that shrug she always does, and disarm me.

Just like that. Ding, ding, ding.