Little by Slowly: a Story of Love and Recovery

by Paul Hina

thinking anymore, just moving toward her. If there is a thought, it's just about getting to her, letting her know what's happening inside him. He's got to tell her how he hasn't been able to stop thinking about her, how there can't be anything wrong with his wanting to spend time with her, and that he would treat her better than Michael treats her.

  When he gets to the street, it occurs to him that he's had a bad habit today of letting his emotions control him. This stops him for a minute. He stands on the sidewalk outside his apartment and wonders if he's pushing too hard, if his coming to her house at this time of night, interrupting whatever kind of evening she's having with her fiancé, is a step too far.

  Of course it's fast. Of course it's impulsive and dangerous. And he doesn't care. The way that he feels for Jessi makes him impulsive. It is dangerous. But the thought of Michael putting his hands on her makes him so sick that by the time his thought clears, he's already descending the stairs of the train station.

  On the train, he thinks of what he'll say to her. He'll start off cautiously. He'll tell her that he was worried about her—which he is—and didn't want to reach her by phone. He should probably make a judgment about how to continue by the look on her face. Has he scared her? Is she frustrated with him? But, no matter what her reaction, he has to do something to come between her and Michael, something to let her know how having her in his life has changed everything, turned everything on its head in the most remarkable way.

  As the train moves into the darkness of the city's underground tunnels, he tries to quiet his mind, tries not to picture her face framed by Michael's hands, tries not thinking of what will be left behind if she disappears. What new pain would he find if she goes? What new bottom will he discover?

  Then his phone vibrates. He checks the screen. It's her.

  "Jessi?"

  "Sam?" she asks, searching, as if she didn't hear him.

  "Jessi?"

  "Sam, I can't hear you."

  He checks his phone, the signal is too low. It's the train. "Jessi? Can you hear me?"

  "I heard you, but you're breaking up."

  "I'll call you back."

  "Sam?"

  "I'll call you back," he shouts into the phone.

  "When?"

  "In a minute."

  "What?"

  "One minute," he says, shouting, though the volume is not the problem.

  "Okay," she says, and hangs up.

  He waits impatiently for the next stop, though it's not his stop. He walks up to the doors, sees himself distorted in the plastic windows of the train, and it's the first time—maybe the first time in his life—that he knows he's falling in love. His face, bent and bubbled as it is in the warped plastic of the train doors, is the face of a man determined to reach his love, a man impatient with desire.

  As the platform approaches, he opens his phone, dials her up, and when the doors open, and he emerges from the train, he waits for her.

  "Sam."

  "Sorry. I was on the train."

  "What are you doing? Are you busy?"

  "I'm coming to see you."

  "What? No. What?"

  "I knew you had been having trouble lately not drinking, and I thought maybe seeing Michael tonight could've sent you over the—"

  "Sam, listen, you can't—"

  "But I—"

  "And I don't… I don't think I should see you anymore."

  "Huh?"

  "It's just—"

  "Is it him?"

  "Michael? No. Well, maybe a little. He did seem pretty jealous after we left you earlier. He was asking a lot of questions."

  "So, what is it?"

  "All those things you said today, about how you were feeling and how dangerous it was for you to be with me—"

  "Yeah?"

  "You were right. I didn't want to believe—"

  "But I thought you—"

  "Sam, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you."

  "Good."

  "What? No. No, it's not good. How can you…? How is that good?"

  "Let's talk," he says.

  "We are talking."

  "No, I mean, let me come talk to you in person."

  "That's not a good idea."

  "Are you…? Is that water running?" he asks.

  "Michael thinks I'm taking a shower."

  "He's still there?"

  "Yeah. It is his house, Sam."

  "I need to see you."

  "We can't do this. We need to stop while were ahead."

  "Ahead of what?"

  "Before we lose control."

  "So, that's it. You just want to… You don't ever want to see me again?"

  "No, Sam. Didn't you hear me? I want to see you, yes. I desperately want to see you. Now. Right now. I want to spend time with you. But I can't. We shouldn't."

  "Why?"

  "Because I've only known you for a few days. And who knows what all this means. I certainly don't. And I can't afford to throw away what I've built with Michael because of some…" she stops.

  "Because of some what?"

  "I don't know. I'm just confused."

  "It doesn't sound like you're confused at all."

  "No, Sam, you're wrong. That's all I am. I'm one tangled wreck of confusion right now."

  "So, what? You're going to stop coming to meetings?"

  "I don't see how I can keep coming to meetings. You'll be there."

  "You know hiding from me is not going to make the problem go away."

  "I disagree. It seems like it will make one very important problem go away."

  "But who will help you through?"

  "Someone. Someone else. I'll go to a different meeting."

  "Don't do this, Jessi," he says. And there is a space, a silence too long. "Jessi?"

  "Oh, Sam. Why did you have to come into my life? Things were—"

  "Terrible."

  "Yes! Yes, but it was a terrible that I knew. A terrible fixed in my mind, a terrible I was accustomed to. There was none of this… This uncertainty. I don't handle uncertainty well."

  "I'm coming over."

  "No! Sam, wait," she says, and then Sam can hear a knock on a door through the phone. "I'll be out in a second," Jessi yells. "Sam, I have to go," she whispers. "But I'm asking you… Seriously. Don't come here. Not tonight."

  "But wait. Are you telling me that this is the last time we'll talk."

  "I don't know."

  "I'll never see you again?"

  "Sam, I can't… Listen, I have to go."

  "That's not good enough. I need to see you. I can't bear thinking of you with him tonight."

  "Sam, no. There won't be any… We won't be… You know."

  "What?"

  "I won't be with him tonight. We haven't been… Well, active—not for some time."

  "Oh."

  "Seriously, I have to go. Now. Two minutes ago."

  "Okay, but I need to hear you promise me that we'll see each other again, that we'll talk again."

  "I can't."

  "Jessi."

  "Okay, I promise. I'll call you."

  "When?"

  "I'll call you tomorrow."

  "Okay."

  "So, you're going back home?"

  "Yeah, I'm going home."

  "Okay. Tomorrow then."

  "Tomorrow," he says.

  Sam sits on a bench at the train station, and he can feel his spirits sinking. There is an old, familiar dreadfulness closing in on him. Hearing her express her feelings for him should have filled him with joy, but he feels this enormous sense that he's missed an opportunity. Here is this girl that he knows he could love, and she's promised to someone else. And what if she senses this same gravitational pull toward Sam that he feels toward her, or what if she knows this same emotional certainty that he knows, but is too loyal, too determined to live her life the way she thought she was supposed to live it, instead of how she would like to live it?

  Sam boards the next train, and quietly, sadly lets the rails take him further away
from Jessi, and closer to home. Home is the last place he'd like to be tonight. He wants to be with her. He doesn't want to spend any more nights away from her.

  He realizes now that he has to go all-in with her. He has to let her know that, no matter what happens, he's made every attempt to win her affection. He doesn't want to leave any thought left unspoken, any feeling left unfelt. He doesn't want to be left with regrets, can't afford to have regret eating away at him. If this thing isn't going to happen, then he wants to be sure that it isn't going to happen because she didn't want it, and not because he didn't push hard enough.

  As he exits the train at his stop, he wonders what she is doing right now, what life must be like in that enormous house for them right now. In that house, if you're in a separate room, you might as well be occupying different countries. If they aren't intimate anymore then why would he stay the night? Would she have said that just to get Sam to back off, or to calm his insistence on coming to see her?

  As this occurs to him, he is right back where he started, envisioning Michael's hand on her naked hip. And it doesn't matter how hard he tries to shake the thought loose, it just won't go away. It makes him sick inside, makes him want to turn around and go back, go and stop Michael from any touches, any kisses, any hollow 'I love you's.'

  Simply thinking of them together makes Sam feel as cagey as he's ever felt.

  Well, he did feel a certain caginess earlier after Kelly told him about her affair with Chris. But that was a clearer betrayal. His friend had knowingly betrayed him, and Sam had spent months with these terribly guilty feelings about the miscarriage, about his culpability in the end of that pregnancy. This is the perfect illustration of a moment where his caginess, his anger, was completely justified.

  But, this, this betrayal is different. It's not malicious. It's a secret betrayal. Michael doesn't know that Sam loves Jessi, doesn't know that Jessi is falling for Sam. Michael doesn't know that just by occupying her space, he is betraying their opportunity for love. Michael doesn't have the slightest idea about the obstacle he represents to their