landslides

He sits behind me and I can tell he has something to say but instead he asks a question.  “Am I responsible?”

“For my own behavior? I didn’t see how.”

I hear him shift his body trying to figure out how to face me without knocking me or him off the rock we are seated; one of us more precariously perched than the other.  

“I just mean to say…” but he doesn‘t.
So I say it for him, “Are you pressuring me? No.”

He sighs loudly. I turn  I tip.  I start to fall off backwards and do nothing about it.  He grabs me firmly on the arm. It will leave a mark but not one as bad as hitting the ground would have left. With two hands he slides me safely center, facing him.  

“Can you lie to my face like that?” He asks in a mock sternness usually reserved for his patients.  

“Absolutely.” I say smirking. “You don’t impact me or my life.  You don’t pressure me, drive me, or push me to push myself.  In fact, you Dear, never cross my mind at all.”

He tries not to smile.  “Misty, if you are taking on too much, running yourself into the ground and it is my fault I need to know so I can help you." His head drops slightly to one side and so does his tone, "You seem extremely focused right now and it worries me. I don't trust you or your judgement.  In every possible way you are too hard on yourself.”

“But that’s just it…” I start to say.
He answers, “I know I can’t stop you from inching towards the edge but I can stop you from falling off altogether.”

“I’ll let you know.” I say leaning back.  Stretching my body across the rock’s rough surface, laying all the way down until my hair spills over the edge like a muddy landslide. I feel his hand anchor my feet to the solidness of the stone beneath us. The foundation maybe formed of granite but I can still feel him shaking.