I was sifting through my old documents folder again, and thought this little short story was interesting. People who knew me years back knew that I was shy, quiet, and unopinionated, but those who’ve met me in recent years find that almost unbelievable, because I’ve done an about-face. This short story serves almost as a manifesto in personifying this change.

“No More Mr. Nice Guy” (7/7/2001)
She told him about how much he meant to her, how he was such a trusted friend. “I can tell you anything and you’ll always listen. You’re the only person who really understands me” she’d say. And she’d go on and on about how he was the sort of person she hoped to spend her life with, and if only she could find someone like that everything would be fine. His stomach would turn at these saccharine statements of hers. He wondered to himself which was more gut-wrenching, her pathetic television-derived romanticism, his apparent non-datable friend-only status, or his desire for someone so obviously shallow.

This whole affair probably wasn’t much more sophisticated than the teen drama formula. You put two romantic folks really close together for a while, and one of them is bound to fall in love with the other. In his case, he was the first to cave in, and because she was already a “good friend”, he felt he should be more caring and sensitive than guys tend to be, and that was what landed him on the friends-only list. He became the sort of person to get advice from, to whine about other guys to. And after a year being consigned to this status, he decided he’d had enough.

It’s not like he really cared for her; she was someone he couldn’t have, and therein lay the challenge that kept him persistently attached to her, waiting for an opening he knew would not come. His sensitivity and caring and warmth were really little more than acting. And as such, he was sure he could cut her off with one cold swipe.

During one of her typical advice-seeking sessions, he decided to throw in a “you know…” and follow it with some silence. The kind of silent moment that says “I’m about to say something really important and can’t think of the right words and this moment is really awkward and somewhat embarrassing and I’m starting to wish I hadn’t just spoken.” It worked quite nicely, and he pressed on with the “I love you and I think we’re meant to be together” bit, speaking in her own saccharine language.
During the requisite silence that followed, he stared at her, gauging her reaction. First nothing, then a slight movement backward with a thinking expression. “She’s going to give me the ‘you’re like a brother’ crap or the ‘I don’t see you in that way’ thing,” he thought.

And like an automaton, she reacted. In a hushed whisper of a voice, she said, “that’s so nice… but….” It had to be calculated. No one’s deeper recesses can actually be composed of such banal bullshit. No one could be speaking through such a programmed script without doing it on purpose. He wondered what piece of stale wording she would throw up next.

“see…”

Did she think this was a teen flick, and that some Top 40 ballad would swell from behind us at any moment? Couldn’t she make a complete sentence? It had to be calculated. Then the clincher came, and he never saw this one coming:

“…I met this great guy…”–

“Fuck you.”

It was a reflex. Really. He continued, “What you meant to say is that you’ve met another asshole I’ll end up advising you about. And you’ll tell me how the perfect man for you is, in a word, me.” He was acting as much as she, his words as calculated as hers. “Meanwhile, I’m telling you I’m in love with you, and that’s the best you can come up with?”

She wore a blank stare, as if she really didn’t know what he was talking about. It was time for the big exit.

“Keep your doomed relationships to yourself and fuck off.”

With that, he walked off, disappearing before he could hear or see her reaction. And as he walked away, he thought, “People take you for granted.” Perhaps it was muddled up or misplaced, but blowing up was tremendously satisfying. “You’ve got to let them know you’re not just an advice website,” he continued. “It’s not about what I do for others, but what I do.”

Filed under: writing on June 28th, 2005