A Fragile Status

         He really just couldn't figure her out.

         The first thing Spencer saw when he opened his eyes that Saturday morning was his girlfriend Alyson. She was still asleep, lying on her stomach with her arms and legs stretched wide. She was taking up about three-quarters of his double bed. And almost all of his covers.

         But it wasn't the cold that had woken him, he realized. It was the noise of her snoring. Her mouth was open wide and accompanying the train-like sounds coming from it was a thick line of drool, which landed on her pillow.

         He brushed her hair back away from her face and his hand was momentarily lost in the thick dark waves. She was a beautiful woman. And probably the most interesting one he'd ever met.

         But perhaps she was too interesting, too challenging to be with. They'd been dating pretty seriously for five weeks and he still felt as though he couldn't get close to her, that he might never be able to.

         They had good conversations. It was so easy for him to talk to her; she always seemed to know what to say to put him at ease and let him know she was interested in what he was talking about. But after talking with her, it always seemed to him that he had really done most of the talking. He knew her opinions on certain things, but usually not on what he thought was important. He'd ask her questions about herself sometimes, and she would usually answer, but it seemed like she used as few words as possible and he couldn't really draw her out. She didn't like to talk about herself, she said. She told him she was much more interested in him.

         They did have fun together. She liked to do things. Liked to go. Bowling, barhopping, out to eat, or to the movies, it didn't really matter to her. She laughed a lot and he found himself laughing with her.

         And staying in was good, too. They'd spent quite a few nights watching baseball on tv. They would order pizza and throw back a few beers and the night would invariably end with the two of them laying half on top of each other on the sofa, wrapped up in each other as much as in the outcome of the game.

         Except the nights never ended that way. They might end up together on the sofa, but they'd be naked and wholly satiated. And usually in the early morning of the next day. Oh yes, the sex was good. He had no problem getting close enough to her then.

         No, the problem was with her more than them. She just always seemed to be keeping him at arm's length.

         Spencer sighed and got out of bed. He went down the hall to use the bathroom. He got rid of the vestiges of the beers he'd sunk the night before, washed his hands, and began to brush his teeth. He noticed her toothbrush. She'd spent every night at his place for a week and this, a hair brush, a bottle of shampoo in the tub, and a towel hanging on the shower curtain rod were the only things of hers in his bathroom.

         About three weeks ago when they'd begun spending nights together regularly his friends told him he'd have to watch everything she brought in or else his place would be overrun with her stuff. His friend Jim told him of an ex-girlfriend that had taken over the bathroom and half a closet when Jim had suggested she have a toothbrush at his place. At the time, Spencer had resigned himself to a similar fate with a vague feeling of dread.

         But now he felt more uneasy about her having so little at his apartment. Last week, he'd gotten tired of her always leaving so early to get to her apartment before work. She'd just gotten out of bed and was dressing in the clothes she'd worn the day before. He'd offered her a cup of coffee and she'd said she just couldn't. She was going to be late.

         "Why don't I just clear out half my dresser for you? So you don't have to make the trip across town every morning."

         Deer in the headlights did not begin to describe her sudden stillness.

         "That really doesn't help me today," she said.

         "No, but for tomorrow. Any time you sleep here."

         "I don't know. Listen, I wasn't kidding when I said I was going to be late. Can this wait 'til tonight?"

         "Sure."

         A kiss later she was out the door.

         He'd thought about that impending conversation all day and decided he'd force her hand a little. He took off work a little early and cleaned out those drawers. He also made some space in his closet and bought her a laundry basket that matched his. She'd been uncomfortable when he told her about it over dinner that night, but she had moved some clothes in.

         And that was pretty much all she had moved in, he observed as he walked back into the bedroom. Two drawers of clothes, a couple things in the closet, a lundry basket half-filled, a necklace, watch, and earrings on his bedside table, and that stuff in the bathroom. She still had to go to her place every day to check her e-mail, water her plants, do whatever.

         'But that's fine, isn't it' he thought was he laid back down next to her. What did he want? Her to just move in with him?

         Yes.

         No way was she going to go for that. She was still freaked out about a couple of drawers.

         "Why are you so angry?"

         He looked over to her. She was on her side now, looking up at him with her clear green eyes.

         "I'm not."

         She smiled at him and said, "There's smoke coming out of your ears, Spence. And you look like somebody was talking smack about your mama."

         He took a deep breath. Talk to her about it or not? Nothing could change if she didn't know what he was thinking. But she would totally freak out if he sprung this on her.

         "I think we need to talk."

         She quickly sat up, almost at the foot of the bed, eyes wide and arms crossed. So not the way to begin this.

         "What about?"

         "I feel like you've got this relationship on a time limit."

         "What in the hell are you talking about?" she asked. Her arms were still crossed, but her eyes were narrowed now. He wasn't sure if that was out of confusion or because she was gearing up for a battle. He sat up against the headboard.

         "The stuff you do- it's how my friends treat the girls they only want to date for a couple of months."

         "What stuff?"

         "You don't keep your stuff here-"

         "Then whose stuff is in your drawers? 'Cause it looks like mine."

         Oh, this was definitely going to be a battle.

         "You don't tell me anything personal. We've been dating for over a month and I hardly know anything about you."

         "That's crap. I tell you stuff."

         "Alyson, do you have parents? Because I've never heard you talk about them. How about brothers and sisters?"

         "I- Yes, of course I do. They just aren't people I talk about."

         "Then name somebody you can talk about. Name anything you can talk to me about."

         "We talk all the time. God, all we do is talk."

         "No, we talk about baseball and how you can't believe how good the Mets are this season. And we talk about which movie we want to see. And we argue about whether to get Chinese or pizza. There's nothing there."

         "Spence, that's not nothing. That's life. Why do you need my biography?"

         "I don't need eveything at once. I'd just like to feel like I'm getting something."

         "So you're saying what here? Are you breaking up with me?"

         "No. And why are you jumping to breaking up? All I wanted to do was talk to you about something that's bothering me.

         "No. You want to talk about how I'm not sharing enough or whatever. And I didn't jump anywhere. I wake up and you start in with this? And I'm just supposed to say 'Ok, honey, I'll try?' What did you think was going to happen?"

         "Honestly? I thought you were going to act like this. And not because I'm being unreasonable but because this is always how you act when I push you to talk about anything personal. And I just want to know if you don't mean to or whether it's because you're not going to be around that long."

         "Did I ever say I wanted to break up with you?"

         "You act like you do."

         "How the hell do you get that? I can't remember the last time I slept in my apartment. I can't remember the last time I ate dinner alone. Or watched a movie alone. Or took a fucking shower alone. So what the hell am I supposed to be doing here?"

         "It just seems like you're preparing to make a quick getaway."

         "What?"

         "Everything I know about you is something I can see for myself. Like that you snore and drool and like baseball and action movies and hate Thai food. It's like I have your stat sheet. Likes, dislikes, and that's it. It's like you only want me to know the basics."

         "And you want what from me, exactly?"

         "Some details. Like why do you eat chicken, but not beef? Where did you grow up? Have you ever been in a serious relationship? What's your favorite color?"

         "Can't we just get to it? Why can't we just get to know each other as stuff comes up?"

         "I just want to know if we're going to get to it."

         "Where is all this coming from, Spence?"

         "I was thinking that I love you. And then I was thinking that it was stupid of me to think I love you because I don't know enough about you to be in love."

         "And you don't think it's a little early to be thinking about love? I'm trying to take things slow here, why are you rushing?

         She was out of bed now and putting on clothes. Street clothes. Clothes to go out in. He knew he'd pushed her too far this time. And he knew how to walk it back. But he didn't want to. So he tried to push just a little further.

         "I don't think I'm rushing anything. I'm not asking to marry you here. I just want to know what you're feeling."

         "I'm feeling rushed, Spencer," she snapped.

         He didn't know what to say. She was leaving, he knew. And he didn't know how to stop her. He didn't know if he wanted to stop her. She was already at his bedroom door, one hand on the knob.

         "Listen, Spence, this is getting pretty heated. I'm going to take a break. Take a walk, run some errands, whatever. I'll... I'll see you later, ok?"

         She smiled at him, and he smiled back.

         "Sure," he said.

         He sat in bed, waiting for the door to close behind her. It did. She was out of his apartment. He got up, went to his closet, got out a suitcase. He opened it and started taking her clothes out of her drawers, putting each item in the case. He didn't know very much about her, but he knew enough. He knew he'd have to bring her stuff to her apartment. He knew she wasn't coming back.