The other morning when Bryan brought me coffee in bed –
(yes, I said when, because that man brings me coffee in bed every morning)
– he handed me the cup then reached out and rubbed my forehead with his thumb.
“What are you doing?” I asked, still waking up.
“I’m wiping away your grouchy lines.”
“You look like you’re mad.”
“It’s 5:30 in the morning and there’s a light on in the room – I would call that squinting.”
“Well, you look mad.”
Now I’m paranoid about this ugly face I keep making and catch myself doing it all the time – driving into the sun, walking against the wind, thinking about what to say next, digging a hole to plant my tomatoes.
Even when I’m not thinking about it, my body expresses anger.