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The cat came back
Yesterday afternoon, I texted
clintswan (as I generally do several times a day) to tell him "In other news, my nemesis is back." Bless his heart, he responded without missing a beat "which one?" By coincidence, before that day was up, I'd had a run-in with a particularly nasty character from last year, but I at the time who I meant was BB.
I know he's back because he sent me a text: "Your boy is finally back in town". Me being me, I had a snarky reply all set to send: "same old phone, who dis?" But, me being me, I decided not to send it after all. Not because I was worried about alienating him--quite the contrary in fact. Rather because a joking reply communicated a casual intimacy I no longer felt.
Four weeks. Four solid weeks, and not a single message. Yeah, I know, he was busy travelling and spending time with his family. I know I could have texted him whenever I wanted (and I came close). And I'm fully aware that if any of my other friends had done the same--gone away for a month and texted me on their return--I would have responded warmly, asking for deets and probably suggesting we meet up.
But BB isn't like my other friends. I'm not sure he's even a friend. He doesn't seem to know how--or, worse, he does know how and doesn't see it as worth the effort. The little things you do to make it clear to others they mean something to you he doesn't bother with. He'll answer questions about his day but he won't ask about yours, he'll accept compliments--grudgingly--but he won't give them. He could have shared his adventure with me--not all of it, of course, but something--a snapshot, a kvetch, an aperçu. But he didn't. In all likelihood he didn't give me a single thought from the moment he left Pennsylvania till the moment he arrived back in Chicago.
Seeing the words, "Your boy is finally back in town", my response was: so what? I'm supposed to cheer? Rather than say anything nasty, I decided not to say anything at all. I set a waiting period: I'll finish work, eat dinner, attend my union meeting, call my SIL, then I'll text him back. After four weeks, what's seven hours?
But those seven hours passed and I realised there was nothing I wanted to say. All I could think of were prompts to get him to volunteer something he hadn't offered willingly. Once again, here I am back doing all the work in the relationship. I'm tired. I'm not interested. Let him show some interest. Let him make an effort.
This was the goal, right? This was the motive behind waiting him out and not texting until he did first: To remind myself how little he needs me and how little I need him. And how do I feel? I feel like Pepa at the end of Mujeres al borde de un ataque de nervios, when she saves Iván--the rat who walked out on her--from being murdered and he falls down at her feet, promising to take her back, and she tells him it's too late. She just wanted to know he was okay; now that she's seen that, she can leave.
My boy is okay. I'm sure when he decides he needs something from me, he'll let me know. And I'll doubtless respond and humour him. But until then I don't see what he has to offer me.
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I know he's back because he sent me a text: "Your boy is finally back in town". Me being me, I had a snarky reply all set to send: "same old phone, who dis?" But, me being me, I decided not to send it after all. Not because I was worried about alienating him--quite the contrary in fact. Rather because a joking reply communicated a casual intimacy I no longer felt.
Four weeks. Four solid weeks, and not a single message. Yeah, I know, he was busy travelling and spending time with his family. I know I could have texted him whenever I wanted (and I came close). And I'm fully aware that if any of my other friends had done the same--gone away for a month and texted me on their return--I would have responded warmly, asking for deets and probably suggesting we meet up.
But BB isn't like my other friends. I'm not sure he's even a friend. He doesn't seem to know how--or, worse, he does know how and doesn't see it as worth the effort. The little things you do to make it clear to others they mean something to you he doesn't bother with. He'll answer questions about his day but he won't ask about yours, he'll accept compliments--grudgingly--but he won't give them. He could have shared his adventure with me--not all of it, of course, but something--a snapshot, a kvetch, an aperçu. But he didn't. In all likelihood he didn't give me a single thought from the moment he left Pennsylvania till the moment he arrived back in Chicago.
Seeing the words, "Your boy is finally back in town", my response was: so what? I'm supposed to cheer? Rather than say anything nasty, I decided not to say anything at all. I set a waiting period: I'll finish work, eat dinner, attend my union meeting, call my SIL, then I'll text him back. After four weeks, what's seven hours?
But those seven hours passed and I realised there was nothing I wanted to say. All I could think of were prompts to get him to volunteer something he hadn't offered willingly. Once again, here I am back doing all the work in the relationship. I'm tired. I'm not interested. Let him show some interest. Let him make an effort.
This was the goal, right? This was the motive behind waiting him out and not texting until he did first: To remind myself how little he needs me and how little I need him. And how do I feel? I feel like Pepa at the end of Mujeres al borde de un ataque de nervios, when she saves Iván--the rat who walked out on her--from being murdered and he falls down at her feet, promising to take her back, and she tells him it's too late. She just wanted to know he was okay; now that she's seen that, she can leave.
My boy is okay. I'm sure when he decides he needs something from me, he'll let me know. And I'll doubtless respond and humour him. But until then I don't see what he has to offer me.