Contradiction

Contradiction: correct information which gives the opposite information from the wound, and is the truth.

This afternoon Scott took a break from his work on the roof to help me reupholster a chair. The follow-through of attention, which he'd agreed to give me when I asked a couple of days ago, was healing enough; but the biggest impact came from another, unexpected contradiction.

We disassembled the chair, pried off dozens of staples holding the old fabric in place, and peeled it off to use as a template. I was going inside to cut the necessary pieces of new upholstery and asked Scott if he was coming to help. He had already turned his attention back to the roof, so I expected to be denied; had in fact already steeled myself for the disappointment. He turned, paused a moment as if considering, and replied, "No, you've got it." His tone was casual, almost cheerful, and conveyed complete confidence in my ability to handle the task.

My mouth was already open to automatically ask, wheedle, protest that I wanted him to help me, but the words were literally snuffed in the back of my throat. A stunned moment of confusion, disorientation; inside I reeled, trying to process this information. This did not compute with the emotional and verbal response I'd prepared. Instead of feeling abandoned, I felt unexpected pleasure. He'd just imparted to me the knowledge that I was absolutely capable of doing this myself, and I knew he was right. I actually wanted to do it myself! Marveling, all I could say--all I needed to say--was, "thank you!"

He came in once and asked how it was going, and I knew I had it under control. I'm still wondering over the whole thing: surprise at his uncharacteristic response, but mostly chagrin over how easily my pattern came to the fore (I didn't even know my mouth was open until I realized the automatic reply didn't fit!), and gratefulness that I had the space in which to catch it and receive the gift Scott gave me.