Battleground: A Love Story

By John Pierce

"You have broken down my defenses. And I don't really resent it."
                                         - Vita Sackville-West

I feel it in my side: the armrest digging in as I shift my weight.

I glance to the left, making sure my leg is still holding its ground, clinging to the far precipice of the seat. I must not look as though I'm actually leaning into her. At least not too much. That our elbows are touching on the armrest is purely incidental. It means nothing. I don't feel it. I'm not aware of it. And neither is she.

Actually, I wonder if she notices. She pulls her elbow away and scratches her forearm underneath the sleeve. I'll never understand why she wears wool if it makes her itch. It's not even cold out, even if we are in a movie theater. I guess, for one thing, it gives her a good excuse to pull her arm away.

I've lost her...

The armrest, that no man's land, is now emptied. She has retreated, and I'm left alone. Existence has, once again, been rendered meaningless.

I shift my weight to the left, leaving the armrest open, hoping to draw her back onto the battlefield. This is the difficult part, having enough patience... patience...

I look up at the screen and wonder briefly what's going on...

And she falls for the bait! Her left elbow is occupying the field.

Now is the crucial moment; it's time to flank her. The back end of the armrest is open. Furtively, stealthily, my right elbow begins to move into place. The opposition is in sight, a couple of inches away. We must take this slowly, centimeters, millimeters at a time. We press on haltingly. One gradual advance followed by a nonchalant rest. (I try thinking my part: "My, this certainly is a comfortable armrest." I feel like whistling my innocence, like they do in the cartoons.)

Hours pass. My elbow finally arrives, occupying a highly defensible position, right next to hers. It's no ambush. She knows I'm here. So now, it's her move. A cowardly retreat or a heroic charge?

She inhales. The moment has come. For me, either an instant defeat or a longer, slower, and more painful one is imminent. I, of course, pray for the latter.

She moves suddenly — scratching under that sleeve again...

And she's gone.

Her strategy was solid. It's over for me, and I never had a chance. I sit stunned, despair flooding in.

But then, I sense movement. She reappears, surreptitiously creeping back, hoping to catch me unaware.

Her elbow inches closer, closer... and contact is established.

We sit, elbow-to-elbow. The opposition force has finally been engaged. I will live to fight another day.