Shampoo

"Good lord! You have a lot of shampoo in your shower. How hadn't I ever noticed that before?" 

"It's not mine. When an ex-girlfriend and I broke up, she left the shampoo here and I kept them in case someone needed them."

"Weird. I have never, in my life, ever left shampoo or a beauty product at a boyfriend's house. Ever."

"That's weird, Michelle." 

I jump in the shower, deciding to skip shampooing my hair. 

I walk into the bedroom and he stares at me, knowing from the crease between my brows that I was over-thinking something. 

"I've never left shampoo at a guy's house. Ever. I might have taken stuff with me, but I always carried an overnight bag and never left anything behind. That's strange, right?" 

"Well, not completely. You're not the type to leave things behind. I'm used to you and your overnight bag. That's just how you are."

"My ex used to keep stuff at the house all the time. It always bothered me. I would put it in a bag and put it in the corner."

"Okay, Michelle, now THAT is odd. Why would you do that?"

"It was like it mocked me, his toothbrush next to mine. His wash cloth in the shower. His shampoo next to mine. It was, well, too permanent; we, however, were not permanent. I don't like facades. I never have."

"I don't know if I'll ever figure you out." 

How do you think I feel? I see a shampoo bottle and now I'm starting to think I'm incapable of bonding. Yeah, these thoughts are staying silent.We climb into bed, he puts his arms around me and pulls me close, running his hands through my hair. 

"I can buy you shampoo, you know, if that helps."

I pretend to be asleep and within minutes, I hear his soft snoring. I gently move his arms off of me and roll over to stare at his ceiling. I know I'm over-thinking this but I can't help it. It's just one more thing to remind me of a life with nothing strongly connecting me to another. I wonder if I do this purposely, keep things shallow or if I never demanded more. That's what bothers me the most, the realization of how little I have ever really asked for. I feel guilty for a moment as his arms find me again and he pulls me close to him. I do admit, it feels nice, feeling the strength of his arms around me, but only for a moment. After a few minutes, I feel suffocated and want to be on my own side of his bed. 

I think back to a relationship, years ago. I did have a toothbrush of my own when I was with him. I always felt a little silly at how much I enjoyed our morning after ritual of brushing our teeth together at his sink, planning our day. When the time came for the toothbrush to be thrown away and my new morning ritual included me staring into a mirror, a solitary figure, contemplating how much makeup it would take to hide the tear stained cheeks and red eyes, I stopped asking for permanence. It no longer seemed necessary. Where I had once poured myself into making two become one, I now worked to have enough energy to stand alone. 

I feel arms tighten around me and hear him murmur into my ear, "You think too much. I like you even if you don't leave stuff here. It's okay. You're just weird, but in a cute way. Get some sleep."

I roll over and bury my face in his chest, loving the smell of his soap and shampoo. I wake up in what feels like minutes, but a quick glance at the clock tells me he let me sleep in. I stretch and roll over and I'm shocked when my arms hit a bag. 

What did he do now?Inside the bag is a bottle of my favorite shampoo, a toothbrush, a pink robe, and a brush. As I am removing the contents, I notice a small pink envelope fall out of the bag. Inside is a note . . . . 

"I did some Spring Cleaning while you were asleep. It was time to remove ghosts of girlfriends past to make room for you. I hope you don't mind."

I feel tears sliding down my cheeks. How amazing that something so small can signal such a huge step towards something/someone for me. I hear the door open and realize he had been standing outside the door, giving me space or maybe, knowing him and how he knows me, provide a barrier to prevent me from running away. 

"It's my favorite shampoo. How did you know?"

He flashes me his cute half smirk. "I smelled all the shampoos until I found the one that smelled like you. The salesperson kept staring at me, but I wanted everything to be perfect."

He kisses my forehead and pulls me close. "You are an odd one, Michelle. But you're my odd one. I have to say, though, you are most definitely probably the one woman who sees a bottle of shampoo as a bigger sign of commitment than a key to my apartment."

"Key are for convenience. Showers with my own shampoo are for staying."

He rolls his eyes like he usually does at my unique logic, but I know he knows what I mean. 

"I just wanted you to know there is room for you here. Not in addition to, but as an only. I even cleaned the whole bathroom and bought a candle. It's the same one I saw at your place. I hope you don't mind?"

I realize that I do feel some fear, a bit of apprehension. But I also realize I'm okay with moving forward with the unknown, knowing that one day, the bottle of shampoo could be emptied and no more is bought to replace it. But that little bit of fear, uncertainty, it sure as hell beats always feeling as if I don't quite belong. 

I jump up from the bed and kiss him and then run off to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I'm rinsing when I feel him behind me, arms reaching around my waist to take the toothbrush and place it next to his. 

And in that moment, I realize, I feel safer and more content than I have in a very long time.