The Opposite of Claustrophobia

By Martin Brick

What’s the smallest place you’ve ever been in? I’ve always liked small spaces. Call it the opposite of claustrophobia. Remember those forts you would build out of sofa cushions? I could stay in there for hours, even after I was too old for that kind of play. There’s comfort in that lack of space. I think it’s Feng Shui. I saw it in one of those books at Barnes & Noble. They suggest that you place your chair back against a wall, facing a door, so you will see evil if it enters the room. Little spaces don’t leave any space for evil. You’d feel it if it were there.

I think it is like that with a marriage, which is “constraining” if you ask my friend Lindsay who’s been married before. But I like it. Having another person there seems to tighten up the space of the apartment and leaves less vacancy, less unclaimed space. Wedding day was perfect. I loved that bustier that went under my dress. It fit so tight to my ribs like hands of constant reassurance. I found myself wearing the bustier after the wedding, under regular clothes. Being at the video store alone feels better when you’re wearing something tight under your polo shirt. Mike liked it at first, like I was trying to extend the spirit of the honeymoon, but generally I wore it without considering him. It wasn’t sexual for me.

He’d go off to work and the house would feel too big. I’d put on the bustier and crawl into the closet, the bathtub, or under the bed. So tight and so small. Felt as good as being in bed with him naked when the sheets are tight and he really holds me.

I don’t know what Lindsay finds so constraining about marriage. The whole institution is disappointingly shallow if you ask me. And despite all the sex, despite all those days I held him and told him to call in sick and stay in bed all day, despite all that we still couldn’t produce a child.

But there’s adoption. And after waiting far too long, they finally brought us Noah. He’s everything Mike is not. He appreciates the closeness and never has to leave for work. I like to put him inside my sweater. I put him against my skin. I wish I could have felt him grow inside me. Now that must be the most sublime smallness there is.