January 26, 2020: On My Way Back Home

Song: “On My Way Back Home” by Band of Horses from Infinite Arms

The call came in the middle of the night. Further evidence of how difficult he always found it to understand how things feel to other people.

Because to a woman living on her own at 24, a call in the middle of the night with heavy breathing on the other end was either a terrible threat of violence or a terrible threat of a man who thinks his arousal is either/or so funny and/or sexy every woman would be thrilled to know about it.

She was about to hang up his familiar voice finally croaked out a hello.

When she didn’t hang up but instead sighed and replied hello back, he took it as an invitation. In a halting cadence, he unspooled his version of a confession. He told her his current state, his state back then, his regrets, his contritions, he realizations. She listened to it all. Not with enthusiasm but with a reawakened dutifulness. It would occur to her later how quickly and easily she slipped into that role, the one she cast off and was glad to have. Perhaps, she mused, perhaps we always are who we are, who we were, and who we could be all at once. It was just a matter of stimuli and our own awareness helping us dodge the unpleasant impulses and run towards the good ones.

When he concluded his verbal autobiography with a bit of his “newly enlightened manifesto,” she could feel his desire for feedback through the phone. It seemed to literal vibrate the air around her, the space between the them. She could feel the heat and the weight of his need to be affirmed, to be responded to. And this time, she resisted. She said nothing. She lived in the silence and forced him to do the same.

She had no desire to torture him even though she was aware it probably was a form of torture for him. She had no desire to torture but no desire to twist herself into a pretzel to save himself that self-inflicted, almost demanded, fate.

After a few beats, he grunted, sighed, and perhaps sobbed. Her heart felt briefly heavy. She was no one for religious guilt but she was vulnerable to interpersonal guilt. She was undecided if this was a sign of an exemplary empathy or a societally inflicted weakness. She supposed she would never really know. Like her desire to wear a tight dress and see her partner’s eyes light up with appreciation and desire, it was impossible to separate her true interests and wants from the interests and wants society had forced her to buy into. Moreover, she supposed the answer wouldn’t provide much by way of guidance. It was better to be kind than not and if that was a societal construct not a true inner value, well, so be it.

However, after a moment, the heaviness did pass. She did care for him, not like back then, but the kind of feeling you can never shake for someone whom you loved but could never quite match with. She did not wish him pain. But she could no longer allow him to make her responsible for relieving that pain. She had forgiven him his shortcomings long ago. She was not here for the endless restatement of that forgiveness to make him feel briefly better about whatever mistakes he was making in the present.

She pointed out it was late and she had not spoken to him in 10 months. She reminded him that they both had moved on. She requested that if he wanted to say hi now and then, he should do so during a “normal” hour. “Normal” hour was a thing she had gotten from her dad when he admonished her for her friends calling after 9 o’clock at night when she was in high school. She smirked and shook her head at being the age when you start to actually quote your parents unironically.

He tried, half-heartedly, to find another way to affirmation but she repelled him once more. Then she said good night and hung up.

It took her moments to fall back asleep. She knew it was the last time he would use her for his self-esteem and the freedom felt spectacular.