We've Made It

Sometimes, I forget that you and I have made it.

I wake up from vivid dreams and expect to be back in the spare room up in the attic with those old, paneled walls, free of insolation so that I woke up every morning clinging to you for warmth. I expect to wait for my eyes to adjust to the strangely bright night light we relied on for any sense of safety.

Sometimes, I even expect to wake up back in that tiny apartment we stayed in above your grandparents’, with just two rooms and a broken oven. I expect to wake up with anxiety about every step I took and the necessity to consider which floorboards to step on in order to not alarm anyone of our consciousness.

Then there are some days, when I wake up, that I find myself wondering if you were only a sweet dream. Those days, I find myself thinking that I’ll wake up in a room I shared with my sister in a townhouse in South Carolina. Maybe I’ll have to lug my cello into school and deal with the divorce my parents were clearly facing all over again. I won’t have faced that I’m queer or that there’s an actual reason that I don’t really fit in with any group of people unless you are there. I won’t have ever met you, you’re just a sweet fantasy that my young brain couldn’t really comprehend.

“Mmm, baby, you okay?”

Today, I suck in a deep breath through my nose and roll over onto my left side so I can face you where you sleep. It’s you, with your soft, brown eyes that only ever welcome me with warmth and care and love, and your recently dyed-black hair that settles against your shoulders in the sweetest way. Though I’m still half asleep and processing that I’m not where I thought I was, I smile at you and hum in the affirmative.

Yes, I’m okay, because we’ve made it, you and I. We are cuddled close in our queen-sized mattress that’s settled in the corner of our bedroom. We are safe in our small apartment that we only moved into a month and some change ago, where the toilet flushes weird and the wifi sometimes goes out for hours on end. We are only steps from the kitchen that’s bigger than any other room in our place, where you make the most delicious food and give me the most expressive smiles I’ve ever seen.

“Yeah, you?”

In your also-half-asleep state, you smile back and reach out to grab my waist. The sun is just beginning to rise outside of our window as you tell me, “Yes, I had the loveliest dream. We were in Egypt and riding elephants.”

While I wrap my arms around your shoulders and tuck your head under my chin, I have to ask, “Do they have elephants in Egypt?” You snort and refuse to give an answer.

As I cradle you and press a kiss to your head, I think of all the times we’ve fought and how we haven’t really fought once since we moved into this tiny place of ours. We pay every bill on time and in full now, and I don’t worry about how to make this paycheck stretch until next Friday. Last night, we spoke about how you want to get the new Legend of Zelda game, but you’re willing to wait until we get a rug for our living room and a bookshelf to go with it. We aren’t hurting for money, so I secretly am planning to get all three in one go.

The first alarm on my phone goes off, and I quickly reach over to shut it off with a groan. “Five more minutes,” you whisper, your lips suddenly right by my ear, and I quickly set another alarm. Yes, you’re right, we have all the time in the world.

Then you pull your head away from my chest and gently grab me by the jaw. “Hey.” I look into your dark eyes and wait patiently for whatever it is you want me to hear. Then this earth-shattering smile stretches across your face, and my heart swells at least two more sizes, pounding out of my chest. “We made it.”