She teeters between absolute, unadulterated love and completely miserable regret. One minute she�s cursing distance and opportunity, the next she�s dreaming of our imaginary life together.
More and more, I find myself invested in the ride between.
It becomes so hard to play the armchair therapist and supportive friend when you are so intrinsically involved in a person�s mental life. All the time I find myself trying to discern what is best for her, and my impartiality is tainted at best.
There are times when I think she should move on and stop talking to me because my very existence seems to prevent her from functioning as a person. Sometimes I feel as if I am a tool she is using to keep herself unhappy, attaching unnatural importance to a thing that she can�t have. But as soon as I start thinking like that, I realize how good it feels to be wanted. When I think she�d be better off without me, my heart aches for the theoretical loss.
I realize that as much as my logic tells me that it won�t ever work, it won�t ever happen, my heart secretly yearns for success.
I just want to be wanted again. It�s silly to try and shut that part of me away just for the sake of some imagined impartiality.
What�s a boy to do?
Our phone conversations still end in tears, and every time it rips me up inside because I can�t find a way to comfort her. This caregiving instinct inside me remains starved, and I hate every second I can�t help.
She dreams of us being together. She longs for my presence with an appreciation I�ve never known before, and every time she mentions it, I can�t help but wonder. What would it be like?
What would we be like?
Many times she tells me how much she wants to get on a bus and come visit me, and eventually I decide to test her resolve.
She has one weekend before she starts school. She has one weekend before she starts her new job. She has one weekend before her life becomes full-time, bound and responsible, and I decide to propose what we�ve both been dancing around for the last month.
On a Friday morning, I ask her to come up and visit me. It�s last minute, no planning, no complications, just a spur-of-the-moment call to action.
Put up or shut up.
At first she is excited and stunned, but the excuses soon follow.
She can�t drive through tunnels. The last time she accidentally found herself driving into a tunnel, she completely shut down. She took her hands off the wheel and her feet off the pedals and curled up into a terrified ball of anxiety. Luckily, her passenger took the wheel and navigated the car all the way to the other side. If she were alone, she most certainly would have crashed into the walls of the tunnel.
I tell her that there are no tunnels between us, only a couple of bridges.
She details her horrid direction sense. What if she got lost? How could she navigate alone?
I tell her that I can give her exact directions with landmarks all along the way, but if that doesn�t suit her, she could easily take the bus.
She tells me that she doesn�t have any money and there is no way her parents would let her use her savings.
I could easily pay for her ticket, but I�ve already exceeded my cellular plan by 280 minutes through our nightly conversations. That alone will completely skew my budget for the next few months.
Regardless, I know this isn�t a money issue with her. I could spend all day solving the various excuses she�s throwing at me only to have her invent a new one. When given the opportunity to turn our theoretical relationship into something real, be it plutonic or otherwise, she falters.
It seems that I called her bluff.
We both let the proposal drop, and I can�t tell if she�s feeling disappointment or relief. The whole ordeal leaves me terribly depressed and resigned.
Some moments will define a relationship for life. The wrong decision or a misplaced word can taint everything, doing irreparable damage. Without fully considering the implications, I tested her and she failed miserably.
We end our conversation with the usual refrain, promising to speak again tomorrow, but this time I say those words with a different tone. I feel as if we�ll speak again tomorrow until the end of time, continuing a charade of intimacy until we both grow tired of the insincerity.
I stumble over to the television and sink into the couch until my mood is as drab as the beige fabric coverings. I sit there for the next four hours, horribly disappointed in myself for expecting anything out of life. Horribly disappointed for assuming that a person�s words could somehow mesh with their intentions.
Horribly disappointed in everything.
And just when I get bored of my depression, at the exact moment when I decide to pick myself up and move on, she calls again.
