EPTI am not much affected by love at first sight, and I suppose that applies to most people outside the realm of decorated narrative. When I see a pretty girl on the streets, I understand as long as the circumstances do not permit, I will probably never get to know her beyond the fleeting moment and visual impression. I found this girl attractive since the beginning, but did not consider or reserve any interest in pursuing something more.
One day she was confronted with some personal issues and was faced with some difficult decisions. She messaged me on MSN for some thoughts. We did not regularly communicate outside of meeting around (university) class times, so I paid extra attention. The next day, I made an uncharacteristic and visible move to sit beside her in class and try to help out what was bothering her. After class was over, we met up in the hallway and were able to discuss the situation. Near the end of our conversation, she began to cry, holding back tears as best she could.
I will not forget that moment. I, being the thoughtful friend she needed, wanted desperately to comfort her. My thoughts were to follow what I learned in the movies: put my arms around her and let her cry into my shoulder. This conflicted with my own fear of overstepping the line. I did not want to violate her comfort zone and make her feel uncomfortable with excessive gestures of consolation. I was not sure what exactly she thought of me. This was compounded by my own touchy-feely standards. I had grown to be a cold, distant empathizer, and a gesture of warm embrace would not come out naturally. Instead I stood there offering words of encouragement and support. I still wonder how that moment may have come out differently.
Two and a half months later, the school term was over. On the day of our final exam, I asked her to stay until the end (in a half-joking tone). I knew her tendency to finish quickly and leave a bit early, while I employed a steadier pacing. She sat right beside me, so I noticed her handing in her papers 20 minutes before the end. I finished around 10 minutes later, and to my disappointment she had left. I mustered up my resolve to give her a call to say goodbye, that I had wanted to have lunch one time before we parted. Understand that I am rather socially and communicatively shy, so actually making this call was not a routine manoeuvre. Indeed it was the first time I phoned her.
After that, our next school term would be in eight months. Eight months was a long time. If I lived to be eighty years old eight months is 1% of my lifespan. I have so far endured five of those eight, forced to work at a job I passionately reprehend. It is a thirty minute drive each way (I greatly dislike driving), in a smallish office with people I share no common interests with. I hardly talk to them, and I go home to an empty house each day. For dinner I went out with my parents, who do not get along very well for as long as I am aware of. I was reminded why I enjoyed the time I lived on campus without them, so I could avoid their constant bickering. It felt like something was missing.
I was growing more troubled each week. I lacked meaningful interaction and communication with others. I did not have a rich resource of friends I could casually call up. I preferred to keep few but much closer friendships, and at this time most were unavailable. I had never become a proficient telephone user. During my earlier childhood, my close friends would do the calling and I happily answered. As we slowly drifted apart to different education paths, calls stopped coming. I was not used to dialling up someone to initiate a conversation. With no invitations to hang out, I grew desolate. Eventually I was driven to post on TL, both as a way to unload my mental burden and improve my writing abilities.
And a day did not pass where I lost thought of this girl. I thought that what I needed was more involvement in social gatherings, but I found that the times I did go out, they were unfulfilling. I now realize my principle diagnosis is focusing too much on this girl. I needed some closure on our relationship. Perhaps my wishes would come true and she reciprocated my feelings, or otherwise a rejection would finally allow me to bury my undying wonderment.
My recent experiences have left me a broken man. What started as practising an evil laugh for the fun of it has evolved into a nearly irrepressible urge to unleash a maniacal cackle. I had some hopes, optimism and desire compressed into a small round fragment. As time went on, the layers have been shaved off, slowly but consistently. I was losing what little was left of my cheer. Each time I looked in the mirror I saw a fine hot specimen, worthy of adoration yet languishing in the prime of life. My ball of hope had been crushed, almost nearly gone. I tried to salvage whatever was left, and then realized along with my reservations I kept in that ball, my inhibitions were broken down as well.
I was sitting in the library. I took a moment to collect my resolve. I picked my words carefully, as I always do. The extent of conscious deliberation was abnormal by most people’s standards but necessary for what I had to do. I dialled her number and hoped she would pick up.
