A note from Ariel: I've known Micaela since junior high. And almost since I met her, I've known and respected her as a writer, so it's great to say we are once again writing together. It's also curious and awesome, retrospectively, to remember this story she tells- of quietly and bravely rebelling against social pressures and the ever-present hype of Romance- and to see how it has helped lead to the present. I will shut up now and let her tell it.
You might say this story began in the back of a church. We were introduced and I couldn’t even maintain eye contact because woah, he was so cute.
Maybe it started with a text: “Hey, thanks for being so nice and showing me around. Want to go see a movie sometime?”
Or the response, “Sure. As long as it isn’t a date.”
Most people think it started much later, when they began whispering to me, “Wait, why aren’t you guys dating? Don’t you like him? He totally likes you.”
Or even later, when they’d point out all the things he did to be around me, the effort he put forth seemingly only for my benefit.
For a while, I thought it began over a year later, after I had gone away.
When the news of my engagement spread, it seemed like everyone I’d ever dated got back in touch with me to react.
His response came to me like a game of telephone, a pained whisper from his family, overheard by mine, relayed to me via a lagging Skype connection.
“Oh no, he’s not going to be happy about that.”
For a while, I was royally pissed. Not because of his reaction, which I never directly heard, experienced, or expected. I was pissed because of the entitlement everyone else felt in regards to our imagined relationship.
Unbeknownst to him, people had been waiting with baited breath for Our Story to unfold. When I left, many people took it as the turn in the romantic movie where the love interest rushes back to the airport/apartment/office to declare their love and beg the beleaguered protagonist to stay with them, please.
But it wasn’t. Not at all. And people, these strangers, were pissed. And they asked me—rudely, kindly, shyly—over and over again, “Why didn’t you just wait for him? It would have worked out!”
My father—who was never a huge fan of any guy I dated, especially this guy who pointedly did not date me—eventually got so fed up with it that he responded for me, saying, “It isn’t striking out if you never step up to the fucking plate.”
Honestly, I don’t give a shit about the beginning. All I care about is the moment it ended.
I had just moved a thousand miles for a ton of tiny, terrible reasons. One of which was to gain some distance from this person to whom I had devoted so much—too much—of my time and thoughts.
I had always processed problems much better through narrative, so I began to write and read ferociously. I wrote my problem out on paper and saw it reflected back over and over again through story after story. Late one night I had a (totally clichéd) crystalizing moment. I picked up the phone and called the only person I thought would understand.
“You know, when in stories, there is that person who pines over someone? They’re always the third wheel in the love triangle?”
“Uh…yeah?” My friend was understandably confused, because I probably sounded like a crazy person. But I mistook her confusion as misunderstanding my point, so I continued.
“Like in Harry Potter? How we find out Snape has been pining after Lily for years and years. But he only really knew her and was close to her for a really short period of time. He never really…got close to her, or close enough to understand her and love her fully. I mean, he even went to Dumbledore not because he loved the thing she loved most—her son—but out of his selfish desire to keep idolizing her.”
“…Right.” Thank God for patient, nerdy friends.
“So…he didn’t really love her. He idealized her, and in his mind he was in love with this person that didn’t exist. There was no relationship, because there was no version of Lily that Loved Snape. There were just these one-sided, unrequited, selfish feelings for the benefit of one person.”
“Yup.”
I never spelled it out for my friend, but I’m sure she knew that I went on such a long, weird, Harry Potter tyrade because that was me. I was Snape.
Did the terrible Harry Potter analogy undercut this enough for you?
Good.
But my point remains. This weird, non-relationship was one of the most formative ‘relationships’ of my life because it taught me a really valuable lesson. None of the imagined moments or weird, subtle subtext mattered. The only moments that mattered were the ones where we were straightforward--he said no to my date, I moved away to move on. And that was how ‘Our Story’ ended.
But, it was also where My Story began—the one in which I tried to learn how to be honest and straightforward, and to say what I meant without shrinking away from the conflict it might bring. I told people when I was sad, or mad, or seriously pissed off at them.
Honestly, most of the time it sucked. And I’m still not that great at it, but I like to think I’m able to summon the courage when it counts.
I also have the benefit of hindsight, which allows me to tell you the beginning of a new story. One where I meet a man who tells me, clearly, “I like you. Can I take you out on a date tomorrow?”
And, because I’ve learned how truly important it is for someone I love to be straightforward, I easily reply, “Yes.”
I know that sounds so cheesy, and it kind of is, but I can tell you that not all of our days are easy. But, when problems arise, I know my husband will always be straightforward. And I do my best to approach him with the same level of candor, eternally glad that I don’t have to wade through maddening subtext anymore.
You might say this story began in the back of a church. We were introduced and I couldn’t even maintain eye contact because woah, he was so cute.
Maybe it started with a text: “Hey, thanks for being so nice and showing me around. Want to go see a movie sometime?”
Or the response, “Sure. As long as it isn’t a date.”
Most people think it started much later, when they began whispering to me, “Wait, why aren’t you guys dating? Don’t you like him? He totally likes you.”
Or even later, when they’d point out all the things he did to be around me, the effort he put forth seemingly only for my benefit.
For a while, I thought it began over a year later, after I had gone away.
When the news of my engagement spread, it seemed like everyone I’d ever dated got back in touch with me to react.
His response came to me like a game of telephone, a pained whisper from his family, overheard by mine, relayed to me via a lagging Skype connection.
“Oh no, he’s not going to be happy about that.”
For a while, I was royally pissed. Not because of his reaction, which I never directly heard, experienced, or expected. I was pissed because of the entitlement everyone else felt in regards to our imagined relationship.
Unbeknownst to him, people had been waiting with baited breath for Our Story to unfold. When I left, many people took it as the turn in the romantic movie where the love interest rushes back to the airport/apartment/office to declare their love and beg the beleaguered protagonist to stay with them, please.
But it wasn’t. Not at all. And people, these strangers, were pissed. And they asked me—rudely, kindly, shyly—over and over again, “Why didn’t you just wait for him? It would have worked out!”
My father—who was never a huge fan of any guy I dated, especially this guy who pointedly did not date me—eventually got so fed up with it that he responded for me, saying, “It isn’t striking out if you never step up to the fucking plate.”
Honestly, I don’t give a shit about the beginning. All I care about is the moment it ended.
I had just moved a thousand miles for a ton of tiny, terrible reasons. One of which was to gain some distance from this person to whom I had devoted so much—too much—of my time and thoughts.
I had always processed problems much better through narrative, so I began to write and read ferociously. I wrote my problem out on paper and saw it reflected back over and over again through story after story. Late one night I had a (totally clichéd) crystalizing moment. I picked up the phone and called the only person I thought would understand.
“You know, when in stories, there is that person who pines over someone? They’re always the third wheel in the love triangle?”
“Uh…yeah?” My friend was understandably confused, because I probably sounded like a crazy person. But I mistook her confusion as misunderstanding my point, so I continued.
“Like in Harry Potter? How we find out Snape has been pining after Lily for years and years. But he only really knew her and was close to her for a really short period of time. He never really…got close to her, or close enough to understand her and love her fully. I mean, he even went to Dumbledore not because he loved the thing she loved most—her son—but out of his selfish desire to keep idolizing her.”
“…Right.” Thank God for patient, nerdy friends.
“So…he didn’t really love her. He idealized her, and in his mind he was in love with this person that didn’t exist. There was no relationship, because there was no version of Lily that Loved Snape. There were just these one-sided, unrequited, selfish feelings for the benefit of one person.”
“Yup.”
I never spelled it out for my friend, but I’m sure she knew that I went on such a long, weird, Harry Potter tyrade because that was me. I was Snape.
Did the terrible Harry Potter analogy undercut this enough for you?
Good.
But my point remains. This weird, non-relationship was one of the most formative ‘relationships’ of my life because it taught me a really valuable lesson. None of the imagined moments or weird, subtle subtext mattered. The only moments that mattered were the ones where we were straightforward--he said no to my date, I moved away to move on. And that was how ‘Our Story’ ended.
But, it was also where My Story began—the one in which I tried to learn how to be honest and straightforward, and to say what I meant without shrinking away from the conflict it might bring. I told people when I was sad, or mad, or seriously pissed off at them.
Honestly, most of the time it sucked. And I’m still not that great at it, but I like to think I’m able to summon the courage when it counts.
I also have the benefit of hindsight, which allows me to tell you the beginning of a new story. One where I meet a man who tells me, clearly, “I like you. Can I take you out on a date tomorrow?”
And, because I’ve learned how truly important it is for someone I love to be straightforward, I easily reply, “Yes.”
I know that sounds so cheesy, and it kind of is, but I can tell you that not all of our days are easy. But, when problems arise, I know my husband will always be straightforward. And I do my best to approach him with the same level of candor, eternally glad that I don’t have to wade through maddening subtext anymore.