His name was Jeremy, but everyone called him Jem. Her name was Julia, but everyone called her Jules. From the outside looking in, they were two people of extraordinary nature, both talented, with lively senses of humor and generous souls. Friends enjoyed their company while strangers were compelled to stare at them and wonder who they were and if they might know them. It wasn’t their physical beauty, for there was nothing of that nature to latch onto, it was an interior light in each of them that burned just below the surface of beauty that made them as appealing as candy apples on a crisp autumn day.
From the inside looking out, though, Jem and Jules believed things to be quite different. They were opposite sides of the same coin. One of them naturally introverted: the other extroverted. One of them had survived a hard childhood; the other had been supremely contented in their youth. One of them had survived a difficult transition into adulthood; the other had slipped through life fairly unscathed. Yet each of them would have claimed the other’s sins and pain if asked, for Jem and Jules were extremely critical of themselves, and if they shared anything at all it was the curse of idealism combined with a quest for perfection. Their own standards were so high they could never be met, therefore they were disappointments to themselves, self-proclaimed failures, neither of them able to grasp the happiness that even those closest to them assumed to be the foundation for their lives. If anything, they rejected happiness and grasped at substitutes.
Jem turned his misery inward. He never presented as anything but a light heart to the people he met. Sometimes there was anger, but it was a tooth gritting, grin-and-bear-it type of anger that often resulted in a walking away from the focus of his wrath so as to avoid physical confrontation, be it an object, a dog, or a person. He claimed to prefer to be alone, but kept to crowds. Jules projected her misery outward. She gave, of her time, her money, herself, or any combination of the three. She gave with a furrow and a frown, always wondering in the back of her mind what her giving would cost her, hoping that in giving people would be satisfied and eventually leave her alone. Jules kept to herself, but always ended up amidst company.
Mutual friends brought Jem and Jules into each other’s universes. Friends who had been walked away from, friends who had been urged to abandon them, had remained loyal to the Jem and Jules, believed, in fact, that the two singles would make a rather good pair. They sensed the similarities, knew the differences, and thought that two such exceptional people, the doer and the giver, would compliment each other. A random meeting was planned after much thought and discussion above and around the two, carefully implemented, for both Jem and Jules were highly suspicious of the motivations of others, being highly suspicious of their own motivations.
It was a delicate dance that they executed, the both of them tiptoeing around the edges of each other on first meeting. Jem and Jules knew what the expectations of them were and tended to capitulate to please others. This was too difficult, though, for their natural instincts sent up warning flares within an instant, threw up walls just seconds later and made for nothing more than an arena where polite conversation was made and tentative smiles exchanged. No amount of gentle prodding, no amount of jovial coaxing, nothing, could breach their fortifications. Frustration abounded within the convivial group, for the friends, so well-intentioned, felt their attempt had failed; Jem and Jules harbored their own dissatisfaction at not being able to please those friends who were well-intentioned, yet misguided. Jem shook his internal head; it was an uncomfortable state of affairs. Jules rolled her internal eyes; it was an unrealistic situation. They smiled at one another, sensing the ridiculous of their mutual predicament and finding a certain amount of humor in it. Jem shook his head outright, imperceptible to all but Jules, who shifted her eyes in something that might have been a roll and they laughed aloud. A tiny tension eased. The friends were mollified. The two strangers relaxed as much as their natures allowed. Conversation was simple, for Jem liked to talk, and Jules liked to listen.
The meeting was not a complete failure by the standards of the friends, for they saw the smiles and laughter and talk as positive signs. Perhaps? Maybe? Possibly? As they all said their good-byes hope was kindled by a touching of hands and brushing of cheek against cheek.
Jem went home, alone, teeth grinding behind a smile, feeling as if a little something inside him had come undone and desperate to knit it back into place. Jules went home, alone, and plotted sweet revenge that would never come to fruition while she spackled an interior crack that had somehow come to light. They slept soundly and had dreams they forgot on waking. They threw themselves into doing and giving and the hectic paces of their lives, knowing, assured that they were still whole in their loneliness; comfortable in their misery.
It was so much easier that way. But…
Sometimes Jem looked at his busy hands and remembered soft fingers. Sometimes Jules touched her face and recalled a rough cheek. Every time they pushed those thoughts away, knitted and spackled them up and went about their busyness. But sometimes, when it was very late or very early, sometimes those thoughts came back to taunt and tease with a hint of cruel hope. The friends resumed their plotting and planned yet more randomness.
Jem and Jules wished that these friends understood. Why couldn’t they understand that sometimes, most times, it was just too frightening to risk being happy? Happiness was fleeting and slippery; something that slid and floated and gave them nothing to hold onto. Loneliness was solid, rock solid and substantial. It was easy to keep a grip on things when you were lonely and alone. It was warm and familiar; simple. Neither of them wanted the complications of happy, with the implicit knowledge that happiness, if embraced, eventually let you go. Loneliness was a faithful companion.
Still, they met again and again within the controlled randomness machined by their friends, thrust together unwillingly, unwittingly, until the discomfort of expectation grew to be the normal course of their lives. They were the couple within the couples that weren’t a couple; the unpaired pair. It was not of their choosing, but had been chosen for them, and they, willing to please yet unwilling to bend, grit and groaned and became used to each other as reluctant participants in a ballet they didn’t know the steps to.
Sometimes, most times, though, there were hands and cheeks; such utterly cold politeness that kept Jem and Jules at bay. Eventually, through no fault of their own, through the exercise of repetition, the fingers would linger and squeeze a fraction tighter, and the cheeks would press closer, perhaps with a slight hint of lips. Once, Jem was sure that Jules might have breathed in his ear, felt the phantom illusion of heat against his cool skin and he quivered before he could stop himself, almost sure that Jules quivered, too. Once, Jules was sure that Jem might have twined his fingers with hers, and tickled the palm of her hand, sending a tremor up her arm that she couldn’t stop, and Jules was almost sure that Jem trembled, too.
Jem began to consider Jules. Jules began to consider Jem. Neither of them considered themselves, for they never considered themselves anything but unworthy of the considerations of others. Wonder insinuated itself past the tightly woven shrouds and well spackled ramparts. Internal heads shook with awe, internal eyes rolled with fear. Perhaps? Maybe? Possibly? Sometimes, when it was very late, or very early, Jem and Jules might shudder with the potential of change, of risk, of life actually touching them somewhere other than on their polite, cool surfaces. Loneliness rebelled, sensing something was amiss. Loneliness offered its firm, warm shoulder to Jem and Jules, reminding them of the precarious ways of a world-wide open, of the potential for disaster, or worse, the potential for happiness which could only ever be fleeting and singular and painful when it inevitably left. But…
Jem edged closer to Jules, a single, tentative step. Jules edged closer to Jem, a toe’s length. The friends retreated, looked away to allow the unraveling to transpire, to let the plaster crumble. Fingertips touching fingertips, palm to palm, and loneliness screamed a warning that fell on deaf ears. Cheek to cheek, rough on soft, and loneliness wept at the sway that began, the back and forth, as tentative tendrils of trust wove their way through the loosened fabric and cracked walls. Jem held his breath, listened close, raised an eyebrow to Jules who listened closer to the silence of loneliness defeated.
Jem bent and smiled, Jules inclined and grinned, and as hands held then released and cheeks slid in slow motion past each other there was only a moment, a fraction of hesitation when their lips shivered above and below with joy at the gamble of their kiss.
