Alexithymia

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"There's a feeling I get when I look to the west
And my spirit is crying for leaving
In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke through the trees
And the voices of those who stand looking
And she's buying a stairway to Heaven" - Stairway to Heaven by Led Zeppelin

Nobody could ever feel this way

I stayed in bed longer than I had intended today. My wife actually beat me to the bathroom to freshen up, which kind of put a damper on my day from the beginning, but I figured it was just as well. When I went downstairs, the coffee was already brewing and my daughter was awake watching some teen music channel on the television with a giant bowl of cereal in front of her. I was about to yell at her to get her school clothes on before I realized it was Saturday. Saturday. That meant that I would be spending the day grading papers while my wife and daughter went to the salon and out shopping and doing all the little indulgent things that I use to with them.
It's okay though, I'm glad they can do those things. It gives me a lot of time by myself to think. You'd have to be fooling yourself to think that I honestly spend all damned day with my red pen in hand. No, that'll never happen so long as I have blood running in my veins.

It's on days like these that I often find my mind wandering. I try not to think of anything specific. It ruins my mood when I do that. I do find myself thinking of waterfalls and long stretches of grassy fields. Sometimes I hide away in myself to find times and places like that. It makes getting through the day that much easier.
I know I'm using "I" a lot, but believe me, this is the first time in almost as long as I can remember that I've actually taken the time to think about myself. From a very young age, there has always been someone there that needed me. At times that someone was the entire planet. I couldn't let six billion people down because of the way I felt, so I shoved myself to the back of my mind and put on a strong face for all to see.

Now look at me.

I have the ideal life.

I'm a success.

I have a bright, blushing young daughter who adores me and I am married to a beautiful wife whose father owes me his title. My job? My job is great. I teach Literature to advanced kids and am head of my department. I'm set to be tenured by next year; this is great! Yes, my life is wonderful. I'm a lucky man, aren't I?

I suppose.

Somehow it all feels phony. It's like I'm playing the part and I've done it for so long that I can't even hear the music anymore. I should be happy, one of the happiest men in the world even. But I'm not.

I sigh as I open the fridge and find nothing but Videl's nutritious, vitamin and protein packed bits of cardboard and my daughter's sugar-fest there to greet me. Saturday was also our grocery-shopping day and we were at the end of our rope. Discouraged I reached for the chocolate peanut butter blast cereal my daughter was eating only to discover that she'd emptied the box and returned it to the top of the fridge. Somehow I was not surprised. The next thought that crossed my mind was that I desperately needed to get a start on the surplus of work that had been unceremoniously stacked before me in a raging heap. It would have been awe-inspiring if I didn't know for a fact that I was to be left alone all day to do it. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I minded doing dishes and laundry and generally keeping up the place. I had always helped do those things from as early on as I can remember. It was just that I was the only one who did these things and coming home to a mess that I had previously straightened up day after day after day starts to crush your spirit after awhile.

I could have hired a maid, but that would be too easy.

My wife emerged from our bedroom with a towel wrapped around her head, a bathrobe clinging to her shoulders and her face drawn in a dismayed expression- but she still had her lipstick on, crimson. I greeted her as cheerfully as I could muster; she gave a grunt in reply and made a beeline to the coffee maker. I shrugged and grabbed a granola bar from one of the dozens of identical boxes in the cabinets. Blueberry flavored cardboard in the morning titillates me. I said hello to my daughter next, but she was too caught up in her music videos to hear me.

I had to get out; it was a desperate sort of thing.

I told my family I was going for a walk through the woods by our house. I didn't pretend to think they heard me because I knew my presence wouldn't be missed for a while. Pulling my jacket off the coat rack, I departed as quickly, making my way through the grasses and brush that lead into the forest. I knew where I was going this morning and no one was here to stop me.

I had only been walking for a few moments before I felt my mind start to drift and I thought of all those pleasant things that I use to have. Sunny days in the fields, the feel of the cool water against my back after a long day of training, the way the wind whipped through my hair mid-flight. I hadn't flown in a long time. Videl insisted upon buying a car and we've just been using that. Shaking my head, I took to the air; it felt better than I ever remembered. There's something about flying that makes everything in your life that seems so bad and stressful just melt away like spent candle wax.

So, I was flying around the treetops and around the brush and rock formations for a good hour before I noticed something. It was the something that I had been looking for.

I knew I couldn't surprise him, I never could, but I was still going to try. I could see it on his face now, that slight raise of the brow and upward pull of his lips when he saw me. It was going to be magnificent. I flew lower until it was safe to free fall to the ground. I landed a bit more unsteadily than I thought I would. I had gotten a bit rusty lately. I moved as stealthily and quickly as I could. He was right in front of me now, right in the clearing where the rock pool was. He was going to get a drink of water and I was going to mysteriously appear from the shadows and we'd catch up on old times- hell, we'd live in old times.

But he didn't.

He turned and looked directly at me before taking a sip from his canteen. He didn't even face me. Ouch. Disappointed, I slouched out from the flora and lowly crept over to his side. He didn't speak to me for a few moments, but I could tell he was happy to see me. We stoop for what felt like forever before he uttered a single word.

"What brings you out here?" He asked. His tone was not angry or bitter or cold, yet it held something behind it, something unrecognizable.

I tried to shrug it off and told him that I just needed to see my friend again, that I just really wanted to talk. He seemed to accept this at first until he asked what was wrong. I thought it was silly for him to ask such a question. It wasn't like I only came to him when something was wrong. Did I? He told me I hadn't been this way in years, at least not for longer than a few minutes of passing conversation.

I felt rotten, like an apple that someone had taken a bite out of and tossed aside. With my shoulders hung, I tossed a simple "Goodbye, Mr. Piccolo." under my breath as I turned to leave.

But he stopped me. His hand was wrapped lightly around my arm.

"What did you call me?" His voice seemed soft in that moment.

"Mr. Piccolo?" I whispered, my voice wavering like it hadn't in years.

He seemed to smile at that, which was a comfort. "I'm not sure which one I like more, Pic' or Mr. Piccolo." The slight sarcastic edge to his voice put me at ease and I felt like I could look the man in the eyes again.

We sat and talked for hours after that. Well, I did most of the talking, but just as well. I told him about my job and how my family was doing. Pan was really interested in joining some of the spring sports teams and Videl was, well, I really didn't know where she went half of the time, but I thought the word 'out' covered that thoroughly enough. I'd occasionally reference one of the epic, fate-deciding battles we fought together, which put a nice haze of nostalgia over us.

But time is a cruel mistress. The daylight was fading quickly and I had gladly spent it all out here. It was the wrong choice, I know, but I needed this more than the car needed waxing or the rugs beating.

As I stood and dusted my pants off, Piccolo stood as well. I suppose he was going to go back to his cave and spend the rest of the night in quiet meditation. For an instant I thought of asking to stay with him tonight, but that would have been ridiculous. I stuck my hands in my pockets mainly because I didn't know what to do with them. He was standing there, looking at me, waiting.

"Are you going to do it?" He spoke and I had to look away and laugh gently to break my awkward silence.

"Do what?" I couldn't just not answer him.

"What you came out here to do, kid." His brow twitched; a sign of growing agitation.

I stalled for as long as I could. I told him that he was being silly and that I got everything off my chest that I needed to. The truth was I didn't have the guts to ask.

"Mhh." He nodded and closed his eyes. "Then you better go back home. Your family is waiting for you."

For some reason that hurt more than I thought it could have.

He had already started walking away before I snapped back to my senses.

"Wait!" I called after him. He hesitated but otherwise did not reply. "If I could just-" My inhibitions bit down on my tongue for me. This is pathetic. I'm a thirty-year-old man-child who can't even cough up a few words to save my own ass. And he was staring at me. God, those eyes were staring at me like I have something smeared across my face. How can he expect me to talk when he's looking at me so intently?

"Would it be okay if I justtt-" My mouth could have spit up sand and bile as my throat constricted upon itself. I could feel the acid boiling in my stomach, making me feel more nauseated than anxious. "Stay and give you a hug?"

Dear Kami, I'm a loser.

"A hug?" He was both skeptical and unamused. "You never felt the need to 'ask' before."

"Well, I guess I am now." This was going well.

He made a noncommittal grunt and shifted so that we were facing each other. "There's not much I can do to stop you."

I was four again, sniffling and sobbing about a nightmare that I had and that my daddy was gone. I was wearing that same petticoat with that stupid little hat and my knees and elbows were all bruised and banged up-and I was going to go hug Piccolo and he would make it all better. It's great, I know.

Hugging piccolo has always been a lot like hugging a wild bear. Even if he lets you, you get the distinct impression that neither does he like it, but also that he can't wait for you to let go and potentially rip you to shreds. But I did hug him. I felt the muscles in his stomach tense as I virtually collapsed against his chest. I didn't cry though. I couldn't do that to him right now. I was suspended around his neck like a rag doll begging not to be abandoned. His scent hit me like a ton of bricks. I loved it, the musty, woody smell combined with the arid desert air. It's intoxicating; believe me. One can get lost in it.

Before I realized what was happening, he was trying to push me away. So soon? I opened my eyes only to understand what I had done. I did it to my wife all the time; I must have been confused. I was kissing the area between his neck and shoulder. It was such a little action; it wasn't really anything.

But the flush of his cheeks made me realize that maybe, just maybe, that this was a little more than anything.
When I finally let him go, I got that tingling sensation over my entire body. It's not butterflies; it's more like every part of me had fallen asleep at the same time, but I was compelled to stand, lest I collapse in a heap at his feet.

"Okay." I said and folded my arms over my stomach. I thought I was going to puke if I did anything to ruin the moment we had. Or maybe it was only my moment. "I better go."

Piccolo said nothing as I retreated into the woods. His cheeks were still burning as far as I could tell. I had to go before something bad happened. Something bad always happens when I get too anxious over anything.

Dinner went the same way that it always did. Pan spent the night at a friend's house and left wifey-poo and me at the dinner table. Alone. Again. We had a rather bland dinner of baked cod, peas, and baby carrots. I could have choked if I wasn't so hungry. She was still prim and proper from work. This wasn't the same woman I fell in love with and married. The Videl I knew was wild and determined with a fighting spirit and a no nonsense attitude. Oh, how age has withered my girl into what sits before me. She's still beautiful, but it's the price she paid for it that hurts me. Her lips are still as full as they were when she was young, her eyes brilliant blue pools, even her ass is still as firm and buxom in her pencil skirt as it ever was. Yet, all the passion and desire I held for her is fading. Perhaps she lost interest in me first. Maybe when Pan moves out we'll sign the papers. Maybe not. There are too many questions in the legion of what-ifs that we live in.

It was nighttime that I lived for. When my dreams seized my body enough to rid my mind of all these stupid fears that I collect.

In the end, that's all I really wanted today.

A climax, a release.

Tomorrow, he may even join me.