Emilie walked into the apartment shortly after midnight, grinning from ear to ear.
"How was your night?" I asked, curious to see if anything had come of Emilie's recent interaction with her new love interest.
"Oh, it was good," she responded as she walked out of the living room. "Is anyone else home?"
"Julie and Audrey, but Audrey's asleep. She just got home about 20 minutes ago. She was so tired that I was afraid keeping her awake any longer would have resulted in a nervous breakdown."
Emilie only heard part of what I said as she stood in the doorway to the back rooms. "20 minutes ago? Then she probably is actually asleep already. Dangit!"
I tried to ask about her night again, but she was no longer within earshot. "Emilie!" I yelled with an exaggerated whine in my voice. "Come talk to me!"
At this point Emilie was discussing something completley different with Julie, and I gave up. I went back to my game of online Canasta, which I was losing at spectacularly. My opponent must have been cheating. About 10 minutes later, after the return of Caitie and her date, a knock on the door signalled Ted's arrival at our apartment. He was in search of a pancake recipe, a very specific one apparently, and asked whether or not we had a Better Homes and Gardens recipe book. I fetched it for him. Emilie came out from behind the curtain separating the living room from the vanity area, and the two of them starting talking about the evening. Their word choice and tones of voice were telling, but the details were vague.
I looked back and forth between them, feeling left out and frustrated. "Emilie! You mean something happened and you didn't tell me? I tried to ask you about it!"
Apparently Caitie was privy to the evening's events, as she instantly attempted to defend the lack of revelation about the evening. "Well, you know, she was still in shock!"
I didn't believe that was true, and was hurt. Why had she sought out Audrey so instantly after arriving home if the shock of the evening's happenings prevented her from talking about them? Why wouldn't she tell me instead? I sat on the couch and pouted (I know, the very mature thing to do), struggling between wanting to become invisible and desiring others' attention in my imagined personal injury. I worked hard on convincing myself that this was just another example of how Emilie loved Audrey better than she did me. "I just knew it!" I silently mewled to myself. "I'm not good enough and Emilie doesn't consider me a close enough friend to talk to about things. I know I'm not perfect like she is, but why does she look down on me so? Why doesn't she love me?" Few things hurt me more than witholding information from me, especially if that information is given freely to someone else. I pride myself on being trustworthy and a good confidant.
Later that night, as (in spite of myself) I cried on Emilie's shoulder about life in general, I realized just how insecure I am. How silly is it to think that I'm in a competition with others for any one person's attention? I don't need to feel hurt because I'm not the first one someone runs to with news, be it exciting or distressing. Why is it that the first thing I assume when faced with a situation like this is that I've somehow failed? That I'm not good enough and that it's a personal attack (whether intentional or not ) on me? I feel at times like Buttercup: "I will never doubt again," I say with every hope that it is true. Yet how quickly I fall and how quickly I doubt! I shouldn't need constant reassurance that I am enough, that I'm not a waste of space and my existence is valid. The amount of love and support I receive from others every day astounds me; how lucky I am to have such friends. As Emilie held me tonight and whispered that she loved me, my fears of inadequacy were temporarily allayed. The recent hurt feelings were forgotten. She loves me? She loves me! Despite my predisposition toward disbelief of any profession of love for me, I knew somehow that what she said was true. And I was grateful for it. "I will never doubt again," I thought to myself. Emilie smiled kindly and silently replied, "There will never be a need."
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Valentine's
A steak dinner (Outback, no less!); ice cream (The Malt Shoppe even!); a movie (The Chronicles of Narnia, who'd have guessed?!).
Dang Gina, could Valentine's Day get any better?
That's right. I didn't think so.
Dang Gina, could Valentine's Day get any better?
That's right. I didn't think so.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Default to Submission
"Hello, my name is Tarythe."
"Tyler."
He shook my hand, and as we released our grip his fingers lingered in mine. I pulled away.
"Nice to meet you," I said with a nervous laugh.
He responded with the same, and I nodded my head once and looked at the ground. Who was this guy? Caitie, Emilie, and Cassidy had brought two of them back from the hot tub: Bryan, whom they had known since last September, and Tyler, his tag-along friend.
"Me and Bryan go way back," Tyler was laughing. "Back to when we were young and would watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles together." I didn't comment on his improper use of the word 'me'.
"Do you still watch it?" I asked. "Oh yeah," he replied. "In fact, we have it on DVD."
"Lucky," I responded. "We only have it on VHS." I walked over to the shelf where we keep the movies, picked the video up, and (per his request) revealed that Raphael was my favourite turtle. I looked at the cover for a short moment, and was about to extend my arm to hand the video to him when Tyler walked over and stood close enough to me to make that movement impossible. He looked at the video I was holding. He then reached around and placed his hand on the small of my back, and in one smooth move dropped it down even lower. Oh, he was quick. I handed him the video and stepped out of his reach, walking around him into the kitchen. I could feel his gaze following me.
"Just breathe," I told myself. "It was an accident - he didn't realize where his hand was." I took a swig of my rootbeer (and yes, I just used the word 'swig' to describe the drinking of soda), and chatted with Cassidy for a couple of minutes. I then walked back out to the living room, picked up my laptop, and sat down to work on an essay I was writing. I was immediately joined in my corner of the couch by Tyler, who appeared very interested in what I was doing.
"Homework?" he asked, peering over my shoulder.
"Indeed."
My tone of voice wasn't rude, but my answer was short; I felt no need to elaborate, and volunteered no further information other than that about which I was specifically questioned. He proceeded to ask me where I was from and which countries I'd thus far visited. He compared my travels to his own. All this while he was sitting way too close for comfort, watching to see what I was working on and coming nearer and nearer to leaning all the way over my lap. I scooted as close to the arm of the couch as I could.
The time finally reached midnight, and the boys got up to leave. Tyler shook everyone's hands, and as he got around to me, said, "You'll have to join us the next time we go hot tubbing." The look he gave me was meaningful, and (I can only assume) meant to be seductive. Or something. I meant to reply with some very cruel and sarcastic remarks, but instead just stared down at my computer. Oh, the things I could have said. I went to bed later with a sick feeling in my stomach, almost as if I myself had done something wrong. I slept for a grand total of an hour and a half that night.
Now comes the point of the story: Why didn’t I do anything? Why didn’t I say anything? Why didn’t I simply get up and walk out of the room? Honestly, why can I not stand up for myself? I’m extraordinarily good at defending others, but when I myself am put in a compromising situation I freeze.
There were a number of times over the summer, when colleagues and I were out on the town, that I had to come to the rescue of friends of mine who were plagued with over-enthusiastic (and drunk) men. Most of them got the point when I glared at them, yelled at them, or simply pushed them out of the way. For one particularly persistent jerk, it took me backing him up against the wall, my hands at his throat, for him to understand that I was serious. I probably would have sworn at him, but I didn't figure that it would get my point across any clearer. After that, I didn't have to spare any more energy on him; he stayed on the other side of the dance floor for the rest of the night.
As quickly as I rush to the side of my friends to kick the trash out of people who violate their personal space, I do nothing for myself. Instead, I become weak and passive. As soon as I feel threatened, my brain stops functioning and I default to submission mode. The question I must ask myself, then, is: Why? And how do I change that?
"Tyler."
He shook my hand, and as we released our grip his fingers lingered in mine. I pulled away.
"Nice to meet you," I said with a nervous laugh.
He responded with the same, and I nodded my head once and looked at the ground. Who was this guy? Caitie, Emilie, and Cassidy had brought two of them back from the hot tub: Bryan, whom they had known since last September, and Tyler, his tag-along friend.
"Me and Bryan go way back," Tyler was laughing. "Back to when we were young and would watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles together." I didn't comment on his improper use of the word 'me'.
"Do you still watch it?" I asked. "Oh yeah," he replied. "In fact, we have it on DVD."
"Lucky," I responded. "We only have it on VHS." I walked over to the shelf where we keep the movies, picked the video up, and (per his request) revealed that Raphael was my favourite turtle. I looked at the cover for a short moment, and was about to extend my arm to hand the video to him when Tyler walked over and stood close enough to me to make that movement impossible. He looked at the video I was holding. He then reached around and placed his hand on the small of my back, and in one smooth move dropped it down even lower. Oh, he was quick. I handed him the video and stepped out of his reach, walking around him into the kitchen. I could feel his gaze following me.
"Just breathe," I told myself. "It was an accident - he didn't realize where his hand was." I took a swig of my rootbeer (and yes, I just used the word 'swig' to describe the drinking of soda), and chatted with Cassidy for a couple of minutes. I then walked back out to the living room, picked up my laptop, and sat down to work on an essay I was writing. I was immediately joined in my corner of the couch by Tyler, who appeared very interested in what I was doing.
"Homework?" he asked, peering over my shoulder.
"Indeed."
My tone of voice wasn't rude, but my answer was short; I felt no need to elaborate, and volunteered no further information other than that about which I was specifically questioned. He proceeded to ask me where I was from and which countries I'd thus far visited. He compared my travels to his own. All this while he was sitting way too close for comfort, watching to see what I was working on and coming nearer and nearer to leaning all the way over my lap. I scooted as close to the arm of the couch as I could.
The time finally reached midnight, and the boys got up to leave. Tyler shook everyone's hands, and as he got around to me, said, "You'll have to join us the next time we go hot tubbing." The look he gave me was meaningful, and (I can only assume) meant to be seductive. Or something. I meant to reply with some very cruel and sarcastic remarks, but instead just stared down at my computer. Oh, the things I could have said. I went to bed later with a sick feeling in my stomach, almost as if I myself had done something wrong. I slept for a grand total of an hour and a half that night.
Now comes the point of the story: Why didn’t I do anything? Why didn’t I say anything? Why didn’t I simply get up and walk out of the room? Honestly, why can I not stand up for myself? I’m extraordinarily good at defending others, but when I myself am put in a compromising situation I freeze.
There were a number of times over the summer, when colleagues and I were out on the town, that I had to come to the rescue of friends of mine who were plagued with over-enthusiastic (and drunk) men. Most of them got the point when I glared at them, yelled at them, or simply pushed them out of the way. For one particularly persistent jerk, it took me backing him up against the wall, my hands at his throat, for him to understand that I was serious. I probably would have sworn at him, but I didn't figure that it would get my point across any clearer. After that, I didn't have to spare any more energy on him; he stayed on the other side of the dance floor for the rest of the night.
As quickly as I rush to the side of my friends to kick the trash out of people who violate their personal space, I do nothing for myself. Instead, I become weak and passive. As soon as I feel threatened, my brain stops functioning and I default to submission mode. The question I must ask myself, then, is: Why? And how do I change that?
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