A Little Conversation
/The memory of a little lunch conversation with great meaning.
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Her hand is on mine. Gently she squeezes. Then she spoke. “I heard something interesting the other day. I was wondering if you had ever heard of it.” She pauses. “It is easier to seek forgiveness than it is to ask permission. No, I think the word is better? It is better to seek forgiveness than it is to ask permission. Yes, that’s how it goes.” Her nod was decisive. She knew she had the right word.
I look into her eyes. I smile. This was another one of those little things she had never been taught. One of those little things I found so endearing.
The edges of her lips curl upright. “So, you’ve heard of it?” She leans forward, eager for a conversation.
I reply, “Yes, I have. And behind those big, beautiful eyes of yours, I see you've already reached some conclusions.”
She tilts her head in false modesty. “Maybe?” She stretches the word out as long as she can. “I might have an opinion. But I would like to hear what you have to say.”
I place my hand on top of hers. “You have questions. Please ask away. Make statements. Continue if you will. Go on. I would...”
She interjects. “I guess I must. It is the only way to stop you from going on like this for hours. I was wondering if you thought it was true. Is it better to seek forgiveness than it is to ask permission?”
“I don't know. I don't tend to do either. But I would think it would cause less damage to ask permission first. If that didn't work, then seek forgiveness.” I muse.
“So, you already knew.” She pushes the plate aside with her free hand. She leans forward. The table between us no longer an obstacle.
Joy dances in her eyes. Her face inches from mine. I had a great desire to remain quiet. Curiosity finally overcame me. “And what is it that I knew?”
“That neither of those two were the best choices.” she softly replies. Our lips touch. Then she retreats. She becomes quiet. Wonder and curiosity still stir in her.
She knows that I understood her statement. I only need a moment to prepare for whatever else she is going to say.
She rallies her thoughts. “In my heart, I know how you are. And really, I’m not complaining. I love how you are. But I don't think I truly understood it in my mind. Then I heard two men arguing about this. I didn't say anything, but I thought about it. It didn't seem to fit. But I didn't
know why. Then it dawned on me. You don't play by these rules. I just want to understand it in my mind.”
“Are you asking me to explain it?” I said out loud. For a direct question, it really wasn't directed at her. I ask the universe. We were going to talk about it. I have no choice in the matter.
Once again, the edges of her lip curl upward. Her nod was barely noticeable. But her eyes are eager.
I want to say we, but I restrain myself. “I try to live in a way that makes either of those two choices unnecessary. In my world, I only keep the things that are important to me and the things that are mine. I try not to hurt anyone. I try not to let myself get hurt. Living this way excludes everything else that is not mine. Generally, I have no need to ask permission or forgiveness.”
She smirks. Her grin signifies some deeper understanding. “You’ve apologized to me?”
“Yes, I have. And that is because I've unintentionally caused you pain.”
“Only minor little trifles.” she stipulates.
I continue, “It's difficult to explain. If I’m forced to ask permission, that means I am living in someone else's world. Messing with somebody else's stuff. I try to avoid doing that. If I have to ask forgiveness, that means I've already messed up somebody else's world. I don't want to be responsible for someone else's world. So, I try to avoid doing that."
She leans back, playing with the curl in her hair. She is deep in thought. She murmurs, “Let me see. You only want what is yours? You don't want to be responsible for what is somebody else's. You don't want to hurt anyone else. You don't want to get hurt. Well, my love, this is a hard life you've chosen for yourself.” She leans forward. “I've seen you get very protective. I know you could hurt someone if you had to. How does this fit into your world?”
I happily reply. “Well, I always hope you feel safe with me.”
She nods and smiles warmly.
“I don’t intend to ever scare you. I want those in my world to be treated with the respect and grace that they deserve.” I pause to look away. “I don’t like aggressive intrusions in my world.”
“Aggressive intrusions.” She repeats, allowing the meaning to sink in. “You would protect people in your world from these intrusions. And I’m part of your world.” she concludes.
“Yes, you are. I hope that I am justified in any actions that I take. If I'm justified, I don't need to seek permission or ask forgiveness. There is no shame in protecting those you love. It is a way to offer respect, dignity and grace.”
She grew serious. " You do know the world won't return that favor. It won't give back the dignity and grace you deserve, in living this way. So, answer this question. What would make someone choose this way of life?”
The answer to this question felt very simple. Still, it was very difficult to articulate. “Because life this way is less complicated. It makes joy more profound. It keeps anger under control. It allows love to be true. It makes the world more real. Well, you know these things already.”
She immediately sat up in her chair. Excitement appears on her face. “Now, that's interesting. What would make you say something like that?”
It was my turn to grin. “I've had the opportunity to watch you for a while now.”
She interjects. “Yes, you do a lot of that.”
“And you enjoy every minute of it.” I pause to watch her some more.
“Yes, I have. But that's not what we're talking about.” Her smile was nearly as wide as her face. “If I know all of this already, why would I ask you?”
I answer, “Maybe, because you want confirmation, conversation and understanding.”
She holds up a finger. “OK, I believed that you wouldn't pick forgiveness or permission. That's confirmation. And we did have a lovely conversation sitting here over lunch.” She holds up two fingers. “What was the third one?”
“Understanding.” I reply.
“We do seem to understand each other. I do seem to have a better grasp of all this. But I don't think that's what you meant.” She gazes at me, waiting for further explanation.
I answer, “That's because we haven't been discussing my philosophy. We've been discussing something else. In a way, we’ve been discussing you. Maybe, it's just our way of life.”
Awareness shone in her eyes as she said, “I'm not asking for permission or forgiveness. But I'm going to kiss you now.”
“I always knew you were brilliant.” Then I stopped talking.
By M J Fairchild
From: United States
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