In The Middle, A Short Story

Truth sat his hand upon my shoulder. Thick pads held firm across strong hands, muscles that would make a body builder sigh. 
I lowered my head felling shame thinking that 'its better to stand with the stoic giant than to battle a hydra filled with petty lies and half truths'. 
Truth shook his mighty  head and lifted my chin. Honestly, I am humbled by his sincere attention.
Looking into my eyes Truth spoke, "I never forget, never complain  and usually denied". 
A slow tear dripped from my right eye, as I thought of all the times I ignored him, abandoned him and denied he ever cared. 
Strange feelings crossed my mind as I had to face Truth. He is usually the most powerful man in the room yet so many walk over him like a ghost.
Truth reached out and wiped my tear away whispering, "Do not be afraid to face me? What kind of person would you be without me?
My heart slowly implodes into whimpers. He knows, I see his non-judgmental stare, I am foolish. 
Inside it feels like a furnace burning all my attitudes and petty selfish desires. How does he do that to me?
I want to crumple and make excuses or witty remarks to escape him. Truth knows me too well, he would not let me run out of this room.
My little cozy house. Colored to my tastes and decorated with memorabilia and little treasures. Truth could find comfort in my dwelling. 
As long as I did not say too much or become jittery.
Truth followed me into the kitchen. Both determined to make tea and a light meal. As he walked behind me, the foundations of my home began to shake.
Truth reminded me that I had a lot to do on the little place to make it a real haven of security. 
His presence also caused me to ache for more company.  My little house felt lonelier and colder, even though I knew he was following me. 
I could not shake off the feeling that something was not right.
Truth came over often; sometimes he slept beside me in my bed and other times; he sat across the table and let me ramble on about little nothings.
Truth was the perfect companion.
In fact, Truth never asked to pay the rent; never asked for a midnight kiss,  or borrow money. Truth never asked for anything from me except my complete honesty.
When it was late at night, and I had to contemplate things that were unpleasant, Truth made me irate and frustrated. 
Those days when Truth left for other places and more interesting things, I could tell my house lost is purity, serenity and peacefulness. 
Regardless of my opinion of Truth, he stood on his own two feet and never depended upon my emotion or attitude. I had to hand it to Truth for being self-sufficient.
If I was truthful, I know in the face of such a stoic man, I am nothing without some bitter clarity.
Truth always wears modest clothing, of white saying he has no time for shades of grey. I consider his words carefully as he sternly looks over his tea cup at me.
"Little one, You should know that there is no greater beating; strips of flesh hanging off  the battered soul: than to be honest with yourself. No matter how it hurts."
I quickly look for something on the table, anything so I do not have to look into those grave eyes. My heart is hurting more now than ever.
I gather the plates gently and move along. Sweetly I smile at Truth, and he smiles back taking a drag off a cheap cigarette. It seems time is moving slowly. 
Maybe I am wrong, maybe I am moving too swiftly to notice time and Truth is too kind to remind me of its passing.
While washing up, I wonder if Truth has some special powers and do they play with time. My heart seems to weigh in on so many issues. 
Truth reaches for my waist from behind, His hands are strong and warm, I gasp in surprise. The glass I held drops into the water, splashing both of us.
Truth laughs at my folly. He has poetic timing. 
As the days linger on and my days with Truth extend, I notice my spine stoops more and weighs with my short comings. 
Every time I look in the mirror after he visits I seem older, sadder for the loss of his company. I guess if he asked me anything, I would do it for him.
I reached up in the night after a fitful sleep and touched Truth's cold cheek. My mind filled again with those things I hid so well. My stupid perceptions, half-truths and lying smiles. 
I realized that as cold as Truth is, he has a heart too. Faltering, I wonder is his heart is warmer than mine.
As truth leaves that stark morning, graying skies greeting a morning dawn. I kiss him good bye until he decides I am worthy of a visit. I cannot begrudge him.
The aimless wanderings he has dedicated his life to; lonely in a desert of politeness and carefully staged torture. He is a patient man.
Would not any woman truly find this large giant of a man beautiful? Honestly, no better lover could be aspired. 
His roving hands miss no hidden place. Truth is a man of many talents.
What a thought, Is Truth as passionate as I feel when his stands before me making me feel secure? 
Not because of anything I  know or do; but by the fact I can see him in all his glory, remarkable and beautiful, as well as rare.
When I am alone and felling empty; I remember the strange sayings I want to share with Truth. Laughing at the ridiculousness when he returns to see me again. 
Twisted sayings like: Better to be flayed by lies is to writhe in a bowl of hot noodles... or Truth bares proud flesh, his striking fist is crueler than any whip yet once dealt with settled.
I think I will try those after a glass of wine.
"Truth" I call out. As he strolls cocky and confident  towards me.The wind gently moves his coal black hair as the afternoon sun glints shyly upon him. His eyes pierce through me, making me catch my breath.
 I whisper gently,"Take my heart and fill my soul." He kisses me. 
I lead him into this shanty house of mine; thinking that life is  nothing more than a cheap crumples paper in the face of Truth. 
He means more to me than I ever could admit. I hold back tears of joy for seeing him again. There are times I wonder if he will ever return at all.
We repeat the usual pattern of coy smiles and light discussion. As I begin the dishes, I feel and arms wrap me. I feel so small and tiny in his grip.
My damp hands touch his arms returning the kind favor of his embrace. My eyes widen thinking ab out his taunt muscles. In his arms I find comfort, in spite of the bitter pains that have plagued my life.
Smiling at me Truth leads me into the living room. "Truth, you stir such passions", I mumble. He swings me around saying, "Roses may have thorns but the barbs of truth are intractable". 
I laugh, such an odd man. He finds ways to carve his mark deep into the recesses of my soul. 
Again we part, the morning rises too early and he goes his way. My mind blurs the days til we meet again. Truth may not be everyone's ideal but he is mine.
The afternoon is bright, and the sun hot. I carry in tea things into the living room, Truth is in town. I have put all my best out for him, he is too often ignored or abused. 
Some say the worst of him, but I know Truth. Summer comes too quickly in this small town. No one ever gets ahead. 
I heard his name bandied about in the grocery store earlier that morning. Excited I knew soon I would hear his strong footsteps at my door. My heart skips a beat. His white suit is immaculate. 
For such a large man, he is graceful. 
He knocked at the door. I blank out as Truth smiles upon me and a twinkle escapes his eye. My hand shakes as I close the door. He smoothly glides to his favorite chair noticing the tea things.
How can a man pay attention to so many details? Everything from a slight tear upon my cloth napkins to the small chip in my teapot. He begins to tell me stories of his travels.
I listen carefully and shake my head at those times he expects it of me. The folly is upon me, for really Truth does not care about the nuance, but the frank honesty of our conversations. 
Its this kind of dialogue he tells me, "Rarer than gold, silver or pearls; a beautiful conversation that has meaning is valued".
I offer sugar, "One lump or two? Truth?". He shakes his head slowly, no, and smiles gently. His eyes again pierce my soul. I laugh to my self thinking, 'Why would Truth want anything sugar coated?'
As masculine and ingratiating as a man can be, he lifts the steaming cup to his lips. My eyes shift thinking of what those lips are capable of. 
I blow carefully thinking how hot the tea is and wonder at Truth's obvious ability to ignore the heat of his drink and savor its flavor. As I nibble my plain scone, Truth looks closely at my face. 
I stop and return the stare. With the greatest care, Truth leans into me and swipes a crumb from my cheek. I blush and Truth quietly laughs. We fall into a comfortable silence.
As I put up my things, I realize there is no better place than one where Truth is accepted, loved and respected. The night closes in; "Truth, Would you like to dance?"  He gracefully raises his arm to escort me into the living room. I feel loved and full of joy. For Truth is with me, and satisfies my lonely heart with times like these. 
It has been a long time anyone has made me feel this way. Gone are the folly, the pandering and the half- truths; I deluded myself with. There are visiting  the less than's; might have's; or could have been's.
My clothes have improved. My home smells fresher and the view better, thanks to Truth.Truth is the best lover, bedfellow, and companion. 
Many think the are all alone but for me what seems empty is illusion, because with a little effort; I can see the Truth in my life and I am never alone again.


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