Learning To Love You More




Assignment #37
Write down a recent argument.

Erica Kaltenbock
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania USA



Wednesday Morning, February 15, 2006
Brett: (at his computer) What's wrong?
Me: (laying on the bed, across from him) Nothing.
Brett: Yes there is. I can tell.
Me: (heading out the door, going towards the bathroom) Doesn't really matter, does it?
Me: (after a shower) Brett, come here.
Brett: What?!
Me: Do you want to know what's wrong?
Brett: (walking away) That's why I asked you... before.
Me: Well, come here then!
Brett: (walking away, still) Why?
Me: (grabbing Brett's arm) I don't want to discuss private matters in front of Brandon (Brett's brother)
Brett: What, then?
Me: It bothers me that you invite me to stay over, and then spend all morning doing your taxes.
Brett: Well, you were online for a half-hour before.
Me: More like ten minutes, and I was checking my e-mail.
Brett: Yeah, right... Well, when else am I supposed to do it? Between going to work and seeing you, I have no time (walks away)
(I then go upstairs and lay down in Brett's bed for a few minutes. Brett enters the room. I lay there, watching him collect various documents and envelopes. He glares at me, and as he walks away I persue him again.)
Brett: (in the doorway of his bedroom) I don't understand why you are being such a hypocrit. There have been many times at your house when you ignored me and did something else.
Me: How convenient to bring that up!
Brett: Well, its true!
Me: I just don't understand it. You do this every time. Instead of spending time with me in the mornings when I stay over, you run around doing everything else but spending time with me. Today was supposed to be romantic.
Brett: No, that was yesterday.
Me: I see. Romance on a schedule, like everything else in your life.
Brett: Just stay in bed! (Slams bedroom door and goes downstairs.)
(I remain under the covers of his bed and begin to cry. Angry thoughts race through my head in a jumble. I am sick of arguing... all I want is for us to get past all this nonsense. I get out of bed and go downstairs to see what he's doing.)
Me: (looking at Brett sitting on the sofa, looking through papers) Come here... please?
(Silence... I then go over to him and grab his arm, more forcefully than intended.)
Brett: (Resisting me) Let go of me!
Me: Well, come with me then. I want to talk to you.
Brett: You don't need to grab me like that. Don't ever do that again!
( I then push him and run upstairs. I feel like a yo-yo at this point, with all the upstairs-downstairs chasing. I am fuming at this point. I throw myself face-down on his bed and cry. I pound my fists into the bed with frustration. Finally after calming down, I go back downstairs again. Brett is now sitting in the loveseat. I sit adjacent from him, looking at him intently.)
Me: Can we go upstairs and talk?
Brett: Yes.
(We go upstairs together, I lay on his bed... he sits at his computer, staring blankly at the screen.)
Me: Still going to do that?
Brett: I figured you were already angry, what's the point in stopping? Might as well get it done.
( This statement angers me beyond belief, but I no longer have the energy to antagonize any further.)
Me: Come lay with me. Let's talk, okay?
(Brett sits there, hesitant to move. I could almost see the gears turning in his head. He gets up slowly, then comes to lay with me on the bed.)
Me: I'm sorry. I don't mean to get so angry. (I kiss his cheek) I just love you so much, and I get hurt when I feel you would rather do other things when we are supposed to be spending time together.
Brett: I'm sorry too, I just thought it was a little hypocritical of you. You do get involved in other things when I am at your house. I'm just a go-getter. I like to get things done while I am thinking about it.
Me: I understand. I love you so much ( I caress his cheek). I love when we are together.
Brett: So do I. I love you, too.
(We kiss, and hold each other. Brett looks at me and tells me how nice it is that I am with him. We lay there for the afternoon, in each others arms, talking about this and that. I was relieved not to be fighting with him. I could tell, by his look of contentment, he was also.)