Hear/Say

As a career spinster, my collection of platonic boyfriends includes indulgent, lazy online chats, casual lunches, “chill sessions”, and shopping for “cool t shirts” at the local thrift stores. And if the Seattle weather permits, nice walks in the park.

Out of the mouths of these single male friends, there is the keening words seeking lust, or love, or simply– someone to share their days with. The distaste for the local pub scene is apparent, and their endearing awkwardness shouldn’t be so difficult to decode– they are talking to me, after all– yet I am not privy to the shift of private confidence into socially anxious flutterbys or wallflowers plagued with indigestion, so it’s difficult to say. I feel as if they are seeking a quiet, organic love in the inorganic mulch of the party party wild club crew, and that any sign of  unrestrained passion is as terrifying to behold as their mother’s sagging, naked breasts.

This is also a discovery that my single male friends are, in fact, the “sensitive sweethearts”, ideal for boardgames, steady relationships, cuddling in cafes, and reliable text-message conversations that end with pleasant emoticons and promises of earnest, kind responses. They would be there to please with no end; they would love you unconditionally if you let them, and their loyalty is straight and square.  They’re all about, floating around, wandering, pretending to ‘run errands’ or ‘seriously work’ when all that they’re thinking about is the elusive mystery of the female companion. Then there are the girls, who truss themselves up like a New Year’s Turkey, squabbling about inconsiderate men, cock headed ‘douche bags’ who throw them away with the condom, and their smears of mascara are the dramatic platform to once again demand the best for themselves with what they think is Scarlet O’Hara’s fiery, feminine spirit but which really is, in fact, too much whiskey.

And while these fantastic creatures exist amongst each other, side by side, the gap could not be wider. It is as if their worlds were one but parallel; they occupy the same space but the planes of their existence are jilted, so that if one passes the other never raises their head, that their eyes may meet but never lock, that words may be exchanged but never understood. It may come to be dismissed as some platitude along the lines of “we always want what we can’t have!” but I feel it is more then that simple sin of desire. Perhaps we are attracted to things we don’t have because to have them would make us a fuller, rounded person. The myopic narrowness of a couple obsessed with a single thing leads to a future shaped like a cheap motel corridor, where less doors are open than locked. To combine strengths and compare weaknesses is a kind of strategy; added to the hypnotic romance of realizing who a person is and of what their lives consist yields a richer venture than reliable matchmakers and complimentary personality surveys.