I Want You to Want Me

I leaned back into the round, purple cushion wedged into the arm of the couch. It had a flower with long yellow tentacle like petals that seemed to wrap around my ribcage and hold me. It wasn’t comfortable, but I just stubbornly pushed back into it further.

I put my coffee cup down on the glass topped end table next to me, disturbing into the split leaf philodendron perched there, leaves swaying. I watched as she brought her chair around from the desk to face me on the couch.

I could still hear the song playing through my mind, stuck there on repeat.

“I want you to want me, I need you to need me, I’d love you to love me….”

I was suddenly warm. I had been late and had not stopped to take off my winter coat, still damp with the foggy condensation. But I was already wedged into the corner of the couch and didn’t want to unwedge. I took a deep breath, which felt like the first breath I had taken all day. I pulled off my knit beanie, hair scattering with static, and looked down at my hands, fingering the blue pom-pom. I breathed again.

“It’s been kind of a shit morning, actually,” I said.

“It’s Ok, you’re here now. You made it. Tell me what’s going on.” I looked up at her, saw her focused blue eyes behind her gold rimmed cats eye glasses, and when my eyes met hers I immediately looked back down at the frayed yarn entwined with my fingers.

“It started when I woke. Well, before I woke. I was dreaming.”

“Yes?” She leaned back into her office chair, opening the space between us, inviting me to continue. Her notebook was still face down on her knee, the pen still clipped to the front. I noticed she was wearing plaid wool pants, muted brown and gold and navy blue, with pleats and sharp creases and cuffs at the ankles.

I usually come in blabbing and pouring out immediately. I hate losing time at the beginning of the hour so I organize my thoughts on my way up in the elevator on the way up. But today I was uncollected and she’d noticed.

“I have my alarm set to wake me to music, but softly, gradually. I have a randomized playlist that the algorithm chooses for me. The song “I Want You To Want Me,” the cover by Letters to Cleo was playing, but in my dream, it was Cheap Trick singing it. I was at a concert, down in front of the stage, and Robin Zander was belting it out, looking right down at me.”

I started tapping my heel, jiggling the hat on top of my knee as I spoke. Self consciously I stopped, pressed back further into the cushion, and looked out the window. I breathed in again. Why couldn’t I relax? I bit down on my lip, furrowed my brow, and just dove in.

“It was one of those dreams where you have memories of what happened before, even though it feels like the dream just started. I was there with this girl from college, this woman I crushed on hard, but who had never given me the time of day. She was a tangential friend of friends, and just a floor above in the dorms, so I saw her all the time. Anytime she showed any kind of attention toward me, I melted, and not in a good way. I was like Homer Simpson, blending into the hedge.

In my dream, she walked up to me in the hall, still back in the dorm and said, “Hey, I know you are a rock fan. Want to come to a concert with me?” When I asked when, she just said, “Now” and took my hand, and then we were at the show.

So Robin Zander is singing at us, “I want you to want me,” and I look down at the girl from college, and she looks up at me with this look that just grabbed me, just held me still. Its this look i’ve seen before. When I used to go to Arts Cafe on Irving, and they had this counter with a plastic cover and under it were photos and postcards that folks had sent them from all over the world. There was this one wedding photo with this doofus guy looking at the camera and his absolutely gorgeous bride, just looking up at him, like she’s devouring his soul with her bright, joyous eyes. It was that look she gave me.

Then the look faded. The light grew cold on her face and the smile froze and melted away. Then she looked down and walked away, head down. I tried to go after her, but she melted into the crowd and no one would let me through to go after her. And Zander’s behind me singing, “Didn’t I see you crying,” and I’m calling out to the girl, but she just fades into the crowd as the gap seals up behind her, shoulders closing in front of me like gates. And I stopped, and the music faded and I woke up, in tears.

I haven’t been able to shake that feeling all day.”

She turned the notebook over on her knee, and as she spoke jotted very quickly then said, “And what do you think is making this dream affect you like this.”

“I guess I just miss feeling that way, feeling wanted.” I don’t know why this felt so hard to say. It felt greedy and ungrateful.

“And things aren’t there with Jace?” She held her hand flat on the notebook, pen woven between her knuckles, still.

“No. I mean, they were. I thought they were. They’ve got so much on their plate. “ I adjusted myself against the cushion again,

“I thought things were going well with the two of you.”

“They were… are… I mean… I don’t know… I just don’t feel like I’m their priority lately.”

“Tell me more.”

“When I go see them, I don’t know, the warmth isn’t there. They used to reach out more, hold my hand, touch my arm or my back or hair. Kisses feel more like handshakes now. And when I reach out and hold them, grab their hand when we are sitting together or when we are walking, there is reciprocation, but it is brief, a reaction rather than… desire?”

“But you said they’ve been preoccupied.”

“Well, yeah. As I mentioned last week, their ex has reentered the picture. Not as an interest but asking Jayce for help. Only he’s kind of a mess, needing money and support. I don’t think either of them are interested in each other, except Jayce feeling obligated to help him.”

She leaned back in her chair again, jotted quickly in the notebook then asked, “And how are you feeling about that?”

“I just think they should cut him loose. I don’t think he’s good for them, at all. But I also get it, you know. You’re that close to someone for a long time, when they are in need you want to help. Even if you aren’t good for each other, you want to be good to them.”

We talked for the rest of the session about how things were going in the rest of my life. In a word, stagnant. Things weren’t bad, but nothing felt like it was moving forward. She had a way of pulling everything in holistically, and I could see how a lot of my feelings in the relationship with Jayce mirrored how things were with my job (stuck), my parents (stuck), and my music (bored, stuck).

The session ended, as it always does, right when I felt like I was just warming up. This time especially, what with the late start and my initial reluctance to say anything out loud. But I’ve learned with therapy that this is just the way it works. You don’t leave with answers, you leave with the questions you were to uncomfortable with yourself to ask.

When I got outside, the sun had brightened and warmed up a bit. I took off my coat and held it in the crook of my arm, padding my body against the cold metal shelter I leaned against as I waited for the J-Church to take me out of Noe Valley and back into the city for the second half of my shift.

My phone vibrated with an incoming text.

Jayce: Are you out of your session? I need some help….

Me: Yeah, I was just heading back to work, but I can swing by, what’s up.

Jayce: I’m having some issues. Anxious. Scared, a little, actually.

My heart skipped, but I swallowed, took a breath, and typed calmly.

Me: Absolutely. I’m on my way. I’ll be there as soon as I can. What’s going on?

Jayce: It’s Rob. He came around again, asking for help with money. We argued. He’s never gone off on me like this before. He left, really angry, but I think he might come back.

Me: Ok, I’ll be there quick as I can. Ping me if he comes back.

This was the moment where I wanted to panic, but there was nowhere to panic into. I had to wait for the streetcar to arrive. I had to sit quietly and wait for it to get through the 7 stops before I could get off again at Delores Park. At every stop an actual ache as the J-Church sat still, wasting time before moving on. I had to walk up the hill to their tiny studio apartment, each step feeling like in those dreams where you have to run but your feet are enveloped in quicksand.

I went around to the back of the small building where Jayce lived between two grand Victorians. I could hear the raised voices as I rounded the corner to the back stairs. I stopped and watched, out of sight, to see what was happening.

They were up at the top of the stairs, Jayce with their back to the slightly open kitchen door. Rob was one step below on the stairs. With his height he was face to face with them, and he was yelling. Jayce had shrunk back toward the door .

“Why are you doing this? I just want to talk!” Rob’s voice was shrill and tearful and rough.

Jayce’s voice was quiet and small, but pointed, “I don’t want to talk anymore, Rob. I just want you to go.”

“No. Damnit Jayce. I love you. I’m not leaving till we talk.” He started to push is way toward the door, and his shoulder knocked Jayce into the lintel.

I don’t know exactly when I started moving or even how I got up the stairs. I was just there, at the top of the stairs, and I ducked around Rob and pushed my body between them. Rob tipped back and caught his balance on the second stair.

Even below me on the stairs Rob was still taller than me, and I had to look up to meet his eyes. “Rob, I’ve already called the police. They’ll be here shortly. Leave now and this blows over.”

His lip curled up in a snarl. “You didn’t call the police.” He growled. Jayce stood silent behind me in the door frame. He started to move forward.

I reached into my bag and brought up the can of pepper spray I kept in there. I brought it up between his face and mine, aimed right at his nose. “Leave now.” I said. I kept my voice low and steady, looking straight at his eyes.

He snorted, then chuckled. The chuckle fell flat, and he looked down. Out of the corner of my eye I saw his arm move. Before he could bring it up, I pressed the button. A stream of orange liquid sprayed out of the bottle directly in his face.

For a moment I thought it hadn’t worked, and his hand came up and swatted the can out of my hand and over the rail. Then he inhaled with a deep wheeze and started coughing. He tried to lash out at me, but his eyes had filled with tears and I moved back a step into Jayce. Rob lurched forward and I kicked out, landing my foot flat into his chest. He toppled back on the stairs and fell, tumbling, landing halfway down.

Rob didn’t move for a moment, then he inhaled with another deep wheeze and started hacking again. He pushed up from the the stairs, grabbed the rail, and pulled himself to his feet. A great screape was on his arm, red and already seeping with blood where he’d landed on the concrete step, When he looked up, blood was streaming down from the bridge of his nose, mixing with the tears pouring from is red swollen eyes and down his cheeks.

He swatted at his cheeks and tried to look up, but there was no focus on his face. He pulled himself up to standing with a guttural, non sensical growl, and took a step up the stairs.

A siren sounded in the distance. Rob froze.

“Leave, Rob. Before they get here.” My own voice surprised me with its loudness and sharpness. I felt Jayce jump behind me and they gave out a little cry that stuck in their throat.

Rob tried to yell something, but no words would come out, only a deep but strangled yelp, then he turned, and tripped on the stairs going down the rest of the way, but found his footing at the bottom an didn’t fall again. He lurched around the corner and was out of sight.

I turned to Jayce and saw they were crying, eyes streaming almost as badly as his had been, and her chin trembled beneath her parted lips, her nostrils flaring with each shallow breath. Her eyes were fixed on where Rob had disappeared.

I put my hand on her arm, curled my fingers around to the inside of her elbow and drew her inside the door, and closed it and locked it gently and deliberately.

“But, what about the police? They’ll be here.” Jayce’s eyes were big under deep furrowed brows of worry. I lead them into the living room and over to the papasan chair but they sat just on the edge.

“I didn’t call the police. That siren was just a fluke.”

It took a moment for them to catch up. “What?”

“Yeah, no police. Rob’s day is bad enough without that. The siren was just a siren. Let me make you some tea.” I squeezed her shoulder and moved back to the kitchen.

The electric kettle sat on the microwave and the sun glinted through the transparent sides into the half full water inside. Already warm, the water boiled almost before I had the tea bags in the cups. Jayce didn’t have any chamomile left, just an empty box still in the cupboard. I tossed the box into the trash and grabbed mint for both of us. I rinsed out Jayce’s favorite mug, a handmade oversized round yellow ceramic cup shape with “That Bitch!” flourished on the side in blue script. For me I just grabbed a black cafe mug, the first clean one from the collection in the cupboard. The water steamed into the streams of spring light from the window.

I went back into the living room, the temperature noticeably cooler with the shades pulled and only points of light shining through. I put my mug on the coffee table and handed Jayce theirs. They still sat on the edge of the papasan, took the cup, but didn’t move to take a sip.

I went to the couch and grabbed the throw blanket, a piece crocheted by Jayce’s younger sister the previous Christmas. The red and blue and yellow yarn matched nothing in the apartment, but Jayce loved it for its softness and crafted love. I brought it to Jayce and wrapped it around their shoulders. Almost like magic when their shoulders received the blanket some of the tension passed out of them and Jayce let out a long sigh. They shifted their hips back and leaned into the cushion, careful not to spill the tea.

I grabbed a pillow from the couch and sat on it on the floor between her and the coffee table, gave their ankle a squeeze, and picked up my own mug of tea. “It’s going to be ok, Jayce. Rob’s smart enough not to come back. I won’t let him bother you anymore.”

Jayce’s eyes finally met mine over the tea they held in both hands. A small but relieved, “Thank you,” cut through the steam over the cup. The expression in Jayce’s eyes over the cup made my heart skip.

It made me think back to the bride photo on the counter at Art’s Cafe, but it wasn’t that look. It was different. It was warm, and sad, and guarded, but pleading. Vulnerable but not wanting to be, grateful but waiting, unsure. It wasn’t the wanting look I had been pining for, but something that pulled at me even more.

I got up to my knees, took the cup from their hands and set it on the table. I leaned over and kissed them on the eyebrow and breathed the scent of their shampoo. Jayce leaned in to me and just held on. They began to cry, and through sobs just said, “I’m just so sad.”

“It’s OK,” I said. “ Its OK to be sad. Just be sad. You’re safe here.” I just held them there as the sobs shook their body and their tears wet my shoulder and my knees burned against the hardwood foor.

A new song filtered into my brain, un bidden but welcome, as the moment extended and Jayce’s need filled both of us.

“You can’t always get what you want. But if you try sometime, you just might find, that you get what you need.”