Miss Gilliam, I am beginning to wonder if you are pulling back from me a bit. . . .
I read Simon’s latest e-mail in disbelief.
He had to be kidding! Did he not just tell me—after a period of calling me innumerable times, sending me love poems he’d written, and glance-dancing with me in sanctuaries, pool halls, his kitchen, and friends’ homes—that he was uncertain about his timeline but knew he’d be moving all the way across the country soon, to be gone for an undetermined period? Had he not made it clear that he was in no position to get involved in any kind of set (read: committed) relationship? “Of course, you moron,” I wanted to scream. “Of course I’m pulling back! Hello! What is your major malfunction? This is what I have to contend with—from grown men who have good jobs, own their homes, and are decent-looking. Agh!”
Suddenly my mind flashed back to the time when Hank Roberts, my on-again, off-again crush, had looked me up after breaking up with his longtime girlfriend. When he had given me a rather electrifying surprise kiss after dinner, I (albeit reluctantly) pulled back and said, “Uh, Hank. You can’t do that.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because you just broke up with your girlfriend, and you said you are really upset about her.”
I remember his look of genuine confusion as he replied, “What does she have to do with you and me?” In Hank’s mind, his ex-girlfriend and his relationship with her were in a totally different category from Hank and me. He’d been “honest” with me about her, so what was the problem?
Now here I was again, faced with Simon who, having been “honest” that he was probably moving and had no intention of pursuing anything definitive with me, felt disturbed because I was “pulling back.” With Hank, the shocking logic had surfaced right in my foyer, and with his handsome face peering into mine. I had just barely survived. However, with Simon simply on my computer screen—and with a few more years of older women’s wisdom (“You have to teach men everything”) under my belt—I decided that Simon was not a bad guy. Maybe instead of hostility, I should try and help the man understand.
Grabbing my laptop and settling into the crook of the sofa’s arm, I began to type. After a few false starts, this emerged:
Okay, Simon. Please let me explain something. You are right when you sense that I am “pulling back,” but I’d like to take a minute to explain. See, Simon, a woman’s heart is a lot like a garden. There are, in the garden, public areas. This is where almost anyone can traverse (read: decent colleagues, the kind checker at the grocery store, the rare person on the subway who gives up his or her seat, neighbors who want to borrow a tool, parents of friends, little kids in the park, etc.). Then there is the center of her garden. It’s a special place, reserved ultimately for the person who wants to commit to “husband her garden permanently,” so to speak. (I know you’re into etymology, Simon. I guess you know that the word husband actually is an agricultural term.)
Anyhow, the tricky part, of course, is that there’s this in-between place, somewhere between the inner sanctum and the outer ring, and that’s where this gets all confusing. Basically, Simon, the folks I let into this more fluid in-between part are some key family members, longtime girlfriends, a few guys I consider brothers, my boss who I know cares for me, and guys who are interested in exploring the idea of entering into that inner sanctum. The problem, Simon, is that once a guy whom I like—and Simon, I have felt chemistry between us—decides he’s not particularly interested in long-term inner sanctum husbandry, I can’t let him wander all around the middle ground anymore. If I do, then he inevitably crosses lines he doesn’t know he’s crossing, and I inevitably try to pull him into the center. He can’t figure out why I’m all upset (because, after all, he was honest about his lack of intentions), and I keep hoping I’m going to change him. That, Simon, is a recipe for disaster.
So, brother Simon, that’s the scoop. I hope this helps. I do care about you, and I want you in my public areas, so to speak. But in light of everything you’ve said, for now, that’s all I can invite.
I exhaled and reread. Taking a very deep breath, I reread again, and then I hit the very scary “Send” button.
