Thirty Fourth

“Do you hear me?  I feel like when I speak it’s as if it's wind just moving through the air to you.”

This declaration slays me.  He knows just what to say to make me feel like I am nothing, like I am the worst person in the world.  All our lives he has been accusing me of not listening, not hearing, interrupting, being judgmental.

I don’t have the distance to judge the truth of these accusations.  No one else has ever told me any of this.  I have a need to know if it is true, although it is true for him so I suppose the truth of it doesn’t matter.

“Yes, I hear you now.” I say, my head lowered and unable to make eye contact.  I am ashamed, which was his intention all along.

“I don’t think you do,” he repeats, gathering up his wallet and coat, “I don’t think you are capable of hearing me.”  Perhaps this is true, perhaps this is the one person I cannot listen to anymore.  Or perhaps I am only hearing what he is not saying.

The door clicks behind him as he leaves.  The cat immediately comes out from under her chair and circles my feet.