I thought I was ready to start again, ready to share light and life and beauty with another from the depths of my heart. Unflinchingly honest, I explored every furrow, fertilized with hard-won self knowledge. I planted the seeds of cautious optimism and watered the ground with genuine interest and attention. I knew, positively knew, that I could be part of growing something beautiful. And I met Rose.
Rose’s air of accomplishment almost scared me off at first. I wondered what someone with her self-described strength, joy and intelligence would see in someone like me, someone who has admittedly struggled to survive and grow in a lifetime of inhospitable conditions. I calmed myself with the thought that I have lots to offer, that the shit I’ve been through would make fabulous fertilizer.
So I reached out to Rose, and Rose reached back. But, oh, the Rose that grew took hold like kudzu, grew fast and choked out the sun, the air and whatever sexual interest I had at the outset. She chased and spread and just scared the bejesus out of me. I wanted so much to stick it out, stake it up. After all, we barely knew one another. Try to allow time to grow us roots, I said. Growth takes as long as it takes.
I know I tend to be hard on people and that I really could benefit from being more trusting. But I would have to really deceive myself to convince myself that I love her, that I could love her after so few days together. I told her that last night that all I could feel were a few moments of tenderness toward her. I reminded her that I want to date more than one woman at a time. I stressed that we had discussed all of these issues at the outset.
She needed reminding. Not because I think she is that into me. She is into her idea of me, and that is sad at best and delusional at worst. She sees my humility as a lack of confidence. She sees me like most people see a shed that requires improving. My life needs tweaking, she is just the woman to adjust the dials. Openness is dangerous in that way. I say I want to make some changes in my life, she sees me as a lost soul, a hopelessly confused spirit. No. I am an expert at living with the consequences of my actions, and to be honest, I wake up each morning feeling pretty okay about my world.
She wants answers now, answers I gave her before cutting her out of my life, answers she chose not to hear. Like how, outside of a hostage situation, three or four dates is not enough to decide that you know someone. Oh, be quiet…I know…crushes happen and hormones happen. There is, however, a huge difference between what we want to believe about someone and the reality. The potential for misunderstanding is mammoth.
If I am the only woman who feels insulted by the pressure of false intimacy, then shame on me. To be subjected to terms of endearment from someone I hardly know causes me pain. I want a vote when it comes to the number of sexual references I endure in the course of a day. And when I summon the courage to ask for what I need, for my air and my own patch of soil with room for my roots, I want to be respected.
We all takes risks when we open our lives to a possible friend, an eventual lover. If we are smart, we talk things out and make sure we share the same expectations. I will not ask you to move to Buenos Aires, you will not ask me to role play in a bunny suit and allow you to videotape us. There are many negotiations, and when entered into honestly, they help us build trust and leave us free to be romantic and maybe, just maybe, fall in love.
Not this time, though. As I strip the kudzu from my body one vine at a time. I fight the urge to return to the shadows. Rose sends out shoots; email, texts and mail, and I steadfastly spray defoliant in her direction. Respect my garden patch, I say, and I mean it. A Rose by any other name? Well, she can be a real pain in the ass.
No comments:
Post a Comment