overstepping tender_square she had a habit of leaving her yoga mat in the middle of the living room. she kept it out to remind herself to stretch after mornings she had neglected to do it. rolled away, a mat returned to the corner of her office was a string she failed to tie around her finger. she didn’t know she had forgotten to return to her body until stiff muscles berated her after sunset. he had a habit of walking across her mat with his boots on in the house. it drove her crazy, though she tried to be as calm as possible whenever she saw him do it. “could you please not step on that?” she’d ask. and the air would leave his mouth in a stream of steam and he’d throw up his hands in frustration and silence. she’d counter it kindly, “i don’t care if you walk across it with socks, it’s the boots; i’m worried they’ll ruin it.” again, she’d left the mat out, and as they walked through the house and into the kitchen with full arms of groceries, she called out, “watch for my yoga mat,” in anticipation that he wouldn’t see it. they’d left their wet boots on because they were going for a walk afterward. on the way out the house, they were trying to figure out whether they would drive to their route, or hike the slippery streets. as he entered the living room, he stood in the middle of her yoga mat with his boots. “i just asked you not to step on that!” she sighed. “why do you leave this obstacle course for me to walk around?” he groaned. she explained herself, gave her reasoning. it didn’t diminish the annoyance that had arisen in either of them. “forget it,” she said. “i will start putting it away going forward. i’ll set an alarm or something on my phone so that i remember to practice.” she figured this was the quickest way out of the maze. their walk was silent, save for the crunch of their feet on the packed snow. he was pouting. how often did she placate him in this state? he hated any time they spoke sharply to one another, which wasn’t often, but it was going to happen on occasion because they were two people who shared a life. was he waiting for her to apologize? she didn’t feel she needed to. she wasn’t rude. why did this have to be a big deal? she told herself she wouldn’t reach for him, wouldn’t be the first to speak. “here i was, trying to arrange something for your benefit,” he said, “and i feel like you didn’t value what i was doing at all.” he was hurt, but she wouldn't budge. “i could turn that around and say i feel like you don’t listen when i just told you something that was important to me.” she hated when anyone lobbed the claim of being “oversensitive” at her, and she didn’t wish to do that to him, though she felt it at times. molehills were mountains. or maybe it was her distaste for conflict. any of it. all of it. “you’re so caught up in your schedule of how you like things done and i’m just expected to fall in line and fit into that,” he pleaded. how did his stepping on a yoga mat bring them here? the night prior, he was upset because she cut a conversation between them short. it was nearing 10:30, and she was settling in for bed. she had shared a poem with him, one she thought he’d appreciate (they never liked the same things though, why she still bothered trying to bridge their preferences was a mystery to even her). the poem fell flat for him, he said it was “trying too hard” in sections. he defended his stance. “isn’t the duty of an artist to work over the cynic?” and already she was lost, unable to formulate any kind of argument to lubricate their discussion the way he wanted. she wondered why talking about art with him so exhausting at times. then she realized it reminded her being back in grad school, critiquing everything, finding the fault in what’s presented. she left that mindset when she graduated; he never had. she could tell he was edgy when she asked if they could resume the conversation the following day. “i can’t discuss it to the level that you wish,” she said groggily, “because i’m not a night person like you are; i’m winding down, my brain is not functioning at that level.” “what other time would we do this?” he asked rhetorically. the insinuation being that she didn’t make time for him. it was true she scheduled her own days as she saw fit. much of that impetus was related to her personality; she needed to keep herself occupied otherwise she’d slide into a depression. freewheeling days during winter hollowed her out. the spike in pandemic cases keeping them inside their home together made it worse. the few tears that fell froze to her cheeks on their walk. “i don’t know how you want me to fix it,” she sniffed. 220104 ... tender_square they fought over the stupid yoga mat again. and her tears fell to the floor as she held balasana, thinking about whether this would be their undoing, petty arguments as stand-ins for larger issues they dare not discuss. he had stormed out the room, wordless. the door for their bedroom would have slammed if it fit the frame right, if the wood hadn’t expanded from the constant central heat warping its shape. she was embarrassed for crying over triviality; he didn’t apologize for stepping on her mat with wet shoes. she had said his name calmly: “you’re doing it again.” she was still eating dinner on the couch, watching him track in snow between mouthfuls. “what?” he said. he was breaking down a box for a large shipment he received, walking back and forth through the house bringing materials outside to the recycle bin. she didn’t answer. instead she rose from the couch, motioned for him to move his feet, pulled her yoga mat off the floor, and shook it, the sound of which snapped the air like a slap, louder than she’d intended, and she hung it over one of the dining chairs without speaking and returned to her meal. no apology. he was out the door with armfuls of cardboard and styrofoam, resentment and frustration. when he came back inside the house she explained, “i left it out because i was planning to do yoga after i finished eating.” she had made a point of moving it as close to the dining table as possible, giving him a wide berth to walk around now that the christmas tree was packed away again. how he managed to step on it every single time baffled her. “i’m not trying to fuck with you,” he said later, after apologizing. “i’m just not as spatially aware as you are and i don’t see these things when i’m focused on something else. i know you don’t believe me.” “i don’t understand how you can miss a big purple rectangle on the floor, but okay.” what else was he missing or stepping all over with respect to her as he wore those blinders of his? “i appreciate you apologizing.” “so that’s it?” he said, waiting. “it’s all on me? i’m just supposed to work around what you’re always setting up for you?” “i wouldn’t have left it out had i not been planning to use it. i was *literally* going to use it in 10 minutes.” “you said you would put it away.” and she had agreed to this, though her saying it felt like a capitulation to get them out of their argument as efficiently as she could, restoring her need for harmony once more. but this argument waged on, their voices rising inflections of aggrievance. “this is stupid,” she said. “i’m tired of arguing about this. it’s fine. it’s fine.” the more she said it was fine the more she knew it was the furthest distance from truth. she had left out her yoga mat following her afternoon practice, because she was planning to use it again three hours later for her evening practice. and with him watching, she rolled it up and placed it in her office and left their conversation. 220108 ... unhinged the possibility of this ever present, like an extra layer of mambo_time 220108 ... unhinged we both did our best to stay in bounds i am not a victim he is not a disgusting asshole i am not a whore he is not a saint maybe just maybe humans can love, be in_love with more than one person at a time 220109 what's it to you? 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