Alex is nervous again. He bites his fingernails and flicks his cigarette ashes constantly. All the while, Isabel watches, too worried and in love to laugh at his frazzled state. She watches him bow down and surrender to this false self- the Alex supplied and fostered by white coats and gray walls. He stubs out his cigarette as if he were waving a white flag to the enemy but his struggles are not done. She stands and crosses the room when he attacks his fingernails again. And with a gentle smile Isabel pulls his hand away, extracting the last pitiful nail from his unforgiving mouth. To Alex's delight and bewilderment she places soft kisses on his fingertips and calms him, sitting down in the comfort of his lap. They give and take in this way often these days. So fresh in their new beginning together. More and more- no, from the beginning Isabel has believed that she gives more than she is given. There is a constant protection that she offers him, keeping his own damaged mind at bay. But in these moments, when she perches on his lap and his arms snake around her, as if they were brought there by gravity and she strokes the soft hair at the nape of his neck, with the pungent smell of his stubborn nicotine habit heavy in the air...in these moments she realizes that he has given her everything that is his to give. In that life Alex may have been another man; he may have protected and soothed her, but this life is a new one. Strange and unfamiliar as it is recognized. She wraps one arm behind his shoulders and very gently, she brings his head to her chest, feeling his shoulders shake and shudder. She knows these as well. As well as she knows Alex. As well as she knows the backs of her own hands. Isabel runs her fingers through his curly brown hair, careful not to let them snag. She smiles when his shame passes and he is her Alex again. |