Men and Women: Thunderbolts and Statements
I had a second date with K on Saturday. It went really well. I had a great time. But there was something kinda weird happening. After rolling around on my bed for an hour or two she initiated a conversation about feelings. This kind of thing doesn’t worry me usually - in fact, I kind of expect that stuff from women - but it was something rather shocking to listen to.
“Can I tell you something?” she said.
“Yeah. What? You’re married?”
“No. I’m not married. I just want to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
“It’s just because I want to be honest and up front and straightforward with you.”
“Uh huh.”
“Well, usually when a guy likes me they tend to zero in on me for some reason.”
“That’s not unusual. That’s sorta how guys are. Once we come for you we’re pretty sure that something feels right, whether or not we know what it is.”
“Yeah. No, I know. That’s kind of how it is with me too.”
“…”
“Well, every time I’ve gotten into a relationship with someone it’s because I knew from the moment I met them that I wanted to be with them. It’s sort of like a thunderbolt. Wham.”
“Yeah?” I said.
“It always happens like that.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “No thunderbolt.”
Her face kinda went slack. I already had an answer. “No, no thunderbolt.”
“Story of my life,” I said.
“No, it’s not that. I… when I met you, you seemed like a really interesting guy. And I really like you. I really do. Every time I pass up a guy that doesn’t give me that thunderbolt I end up regretting it. I always regret it.”
“I see.”
“And what do you mean, ‘Story of my life?’”
“I was just kidding,” I lied.
“Oh,” she said.
“So it sounds like you have some thinking to do.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I just don’t want to hurt you.”
“Don’t worry about me,” I said.
“I just don’t want to,” she said.
“Well, that’s not really up to you, is it?” I asked.
“Huh?”
“Look, I know exactly what I’m doing. You deal with people and you run the risk of hurting them or being hurt, you know? I’ve thought pretty hard about that, and I said to myself, ‘Which would you rather: get hurt from time to time and be alive, or never get hurt and not live your life?’ And the answer is a simple one. I’d rather take the risks and be alive.”
“Oh,” she said.
“Look, here’s how we’re going to proceed.”
“How?”
“I’m going to do what I want to do. You do whatever you want to do. Just be yourself. Give free, receive free.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean just that. If I want to do something for you, maybe give you something, then that’s what I’ll do. And you can accept it without feeling compelled to do anything in return. I do things because I want to. And if I want to feel hurt at some point, that’s what I’m going to do, and no amount of effort on your part will change that. All I want you to do is to be yourself, to be honest with me and yourself.”
“Okay,” she said.
It was at this point I began to feel kind of heavy and bogged down. I couldn’t think clearly about what she was saying. It was complicated. I mean, I knew that this was a warning. She was telling me to be on the lookout, to be aware that the bottom of this could fall fast, or maybe not. I felt like she was telling me like I should act like there are no guarantees, to not go putting my eggs in any other baskets, but that statement kind of means nothing to me. That’s how I deal with people already. I don’t trust people to do anything, and because I of that I don’t expect them to. I already expect the worst and hope for the best with everything, so it really wasn’t much of a warning. Rather than keep this line of talk up, I knew I had to think fast.
“Well I have a warning for you,” I said.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Be careful.”
“Of what?”
“Of me. I’m insidious. I enter through your fingertips and then the virus spreads into your blood, and pretty soon it’s everywhere. And once it’s everywhere it’s fatal. It’s a dark and subtle art I practice. Pretty soon you might find yourself feeling like you’re going to throw up every time you leave me. ‘God, what is it about him?’ you’ll say. ‘Every time I leave him I feel sick. Why is it I just want to be around this guy? Why can’t I leave him?’”
“Is that right?” she asked, smiling.
“Yup. And before you know it, thunderbolts are raining down everywhere. And the ground opens up and you’ll fall. Consider yourself warned.”
That got her laughing. I smiled a little bit but I kept looking right at her, dead in her eyes. “I mean it,” I said, just holding my face like that, looking right at her, knowing that the longer I held her gaze the more she would be overpowered by it, driving my eyes into her, making her skin melt and making her forget her words. It worked all right.
The rest of the night went just fine, like nothing happened. I think I handled that well, and it seems to me that it would be foolish to draw any conclusions from it. I have no faith in love, none at all - only eyes. And these eyes now see everything. I approach it from a position of power now. I project only what I want, and I love with no expectation of anything in return. No warnings are going to change the way I act. What was emotional and impulsive in me is now deadly and sure, and deadly sure.
So she made it clear that she’s going to do what she wants to do, that she may or may not feel something, but it has no effect on me. How could she do otherwise? Isn’t that what it means to be a human being? To be stumbling in the dark, unsure of what we’re feeling, but feeling things nonetheless? And wouldn’t it be truly stupid of me not to recognize that in people? Yes, it would.
I know these things, I see these things, and I don’t let them get in my way. Not anymore.