Yesterday my best male friend nearly lost his girl.
They had been quarrelling quite a lot lately. They felt they had an excuse though: as always they had been very busy. With everything. With nothing specifically. As a result they hadn’t been paying attention, I mean really paying attention, to what the other was feeling, doing, going through. This finally exploded into a real fight.
Prior conflicts had been accompanied by a lot of silence, walking away from each other and sulking behaviour. This time, for the first time, there was actual shouting. Hurling reproaches at one another. This wasn’t sadness, this was true anger.
Both were visibly affected by this. There had been a certain panic in their shouting. Panic on how something could be so damn perfect in theory and so damn complex in reality.
They’d been here before so many times, though never this far. So many solutions had been opted already. Less time with each other, more time with each other. Less planning and structure, more calendars and fixed times and days. Less talking things over, more never-ending analyses of situations.
She was scared. Because all these conflicts reminded her too much of her ex boyfriend, who had created hell on earth. Who had made her a cruel and vicious person to fight with. She wanted to protect him. Protect him from her and her spiteful comments.
He was frustrated. Because she refused to tell him what was wrong.
No matter how hard she tried, she simply couldn’t capture what it was exactly that was wrong. He didn’t care, wanted to be told anything, as long as he could please her.
She believed he should take more control. Arrange things, take her places, take time for his friends and himself as well as for her, be more concerned. Try harder. Or maybe not quite. Just try differently.
He interpreted this as if he wasn’t good enough for her. He asked her whether maybe she’d actually already given up on them a while ago and was just slowly getting used to the idea. She bit her lip. A sad and grey shimmer fell over his eyes.
She died inside. He cried outside.
He asked her what it was she wanted him to do. She wanted to tell him that all she wanted was to cuddle up in his arms and forget about the rest of the world. But somehow she couldn’t. She fell silent. He got scared as silence is such a scary sound. She felt sorry for him. Still, she had always believed he was smarter with social things than she was herself. She was sure he’d know what to do. She decided to ask him.
His answer was that she had to make a choice. Either send him off now. Or make an effort, a real effort to make things work. She told him that if she’d choose the latter, he would have to accept that there would be more fights. He thought a little longer, then firmly, straight-faced accepted this risk.
It was her turn again. She took one hell of a long look at the boy lying next to her on the bed. He wasn’t perfect. Took a deep breath. He wasn’t all she knew he could be. Held her breath for a few seconds. He was the one she wanted to show what he could be. Let go. He was magnificent already. And told him she’d try. She’d chosen.
He grabbed his girl and held her as tight as he could. She melted into his arms, letting herself being intoxicated by his smell and grip. He kissed her hair. She smiled. They were going to soldier through this.
As a self proclaimed observer of human behaviour I believe she made the right decision. Though I realize only time will tell. One way or the other I’m sure I’ll be forced to observe the outcome as well. Because my best male friend’s girl, that is me.
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“…I believe she made the right decision”
So do I. And I hope everything works out with your perfectly imperfect guy.
Left by London-Lass on Monday, April 23rd, 2007