“You’re Not Her Type.”
I have the oddest conversations at church.
And, no, this will not explain the cheerleader comment from earlier.
So, I’ve mentioned this cute girl at church that I totally have a crush on, but won’t date, right? The ex-girlfriend of one of my best friends. Well, more like ex-fiance. And, yeah, that is why I haven’t asked her out and don’t plan on it, either. Well, and the other thing.
I met this girl, we’ll call her “K”, through my friend, who we’ll call “J”. When I started coming to church again, she invited me to join the prayer team. After a bit of hesitation, since I really don’t think the average person wants to hear what I pray about, I accepted and joined up. Note that I still haven’t joined the church, since I’m not much of a joiner, but, still, the prayer thing I could handle. Things were all nice and smooth-sailing for most of the year in that area. I got to know some folks at church, got to know K a little better and, eventually, thought of her as a friend in her own right. Then, J and K’s relationship ground down into dust and I was left with a very attractive, artistic, spiritual friend. Naturally, an instant crush developed. A crush that I would not follow up on, because it would be too weird for me and my buddy, J.
Instead, I enjoyed having a female friend who I wouldn’t date, even though my therapist and parents and strangers on the street were encouraging me to ask her out. I talked to her on the phone a couple of times, saw her at church and that was about it. Then, there was a “little incident” that confirmed why I should never ask her out. No, I didn’t hear that she’d definately say “no”. It was something else altogether. K asked me to bring a volunteer sign-up sheet to the prayer meeting before church, because she was going out of town on short notice. Of course, I did it without any real thought to it. That night, I sat with J in church. Afterward, as we were walking out, he asked one of K’s other friends from the prayer team if she’d seen K. Withough thinking, and before this lady could answer, I blurt out that K’s out of town. Oh, my, the look I got from J. Eyes wide in horror, mouth agape in shock. It was as if I’d hit him. I immediately cringe and start explaining at high velocity how I knew where she was and the limits of my knowlege. But, by then, it was too late.
The next night, I saw J and got him aside for a moment of privacy. I told him again how I’d known what was up with K. Then, I admitted that I was attracted to her, but would never ask her out because of how it would affect my relationship with him. Besides, I knew it wouldn’t last and, well, chicks my come and go, but friends you can count on are few and far between, so they come first. Always. He tried to tell me that even if I did ask her out, it would be cool with him, but I knew he was lying. To himself more than to me.
Fast forward a couple weeks and throw in the knowlege that K is seeing someone else from church. This, incidentally, is where it gets really strange. Now, it’s the Saturday after Thanksgiving and J’s entire family is in church with us. I get to meet everyone, some for the second or third time. J and I are sitting in the row behind his family. Don’t ask why, because I don’t know. Anyway, as the band starts playing the “happy-clappy” praise and worship music that starts the service, J asks me if I know where K is tonight. I quickly tell him that I have no idea, holding my hands up in the universal gesture of surrender. He kind of chuckles nervously, knowing that his, well, let’s call it “intensity” has shown again. I shake my head and tell him that’s why I never asked K out. I knew he’d freak about it.
“Yeah,” J says. “I’d have a hard time talking to you after that.”
“Yep, that’s why I didn’t do it.”
“Besides, you’re not K’s type.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s the other reason,” I say, and laugh a little, but inside I’m thinking What do you mean I’m not her type? I could learn to be her type! And, at the same time, my wounded pride is thinking Hey, you’re not her type either, remember, buddy? Besides, she’s not really my type, either. But, I knew he was right, and then, before I could think about it any more, or say something stupid, we both started singing along with the band.
Later, though, I started thinking about that conversation again.
See, I don’t think I am anyone’s “type”. I’m not sure I even want to be a type at all. Hell, I have enough trouble just trying to figure out how to be me. See, when I got involved with the Harpy, my identity got all tangled up in her’s. Who I was became a reflection of who we were. Or, at least, who I thought we were. Turns out, I was wrong about that. I never really knew her at all. (Isn’t that a line from a Phil Collins song?)
So, take a look at me now. There are days I feel like an empty space where a person used to be. Not always, though. Just when it gets really quiet. You know, about two or three in the morning, when it’s so quiet you can hear God breathe. It’s then, when I feel so alone, when even the dog is sleeping in another room, that I see all my flaws magnified. The lens of night blurs my self-image and I loose track of everything except the mistakes and the bad choices. All I hear are the lies about how I’m no good and never will be. And, I start to believe them. In the clear light of day, I know those lies aren’t true, but, alone in the dark, the boogeyman in my soul looms large like a distorted shadow the wall of my psyche.
So, who wants a guy who’s stumbling toward middle-age, has a good job and prospects for more and better, is well read, can cook reasonably well, is kind to animals and adored by small children? Is that a “type”? What type of guy is it who’s stuck somewhere between the clove-cigarette haze of a coffee house and being the “hero in a grey flannel suit“? How about a guy who works with computers but writes a little fiction and poetry on the side? Or makes digital art for fun? Do the tattoos fit in there somewhere? Or the fascination with Japanese culture? Is it the detailed knowlege of criminal history and exploits that unbalance me? Or my collection of foreign language phrasebooks? I don’t know, really. I don’t see myself as all that different or interesting, but my friends tell me otherwise. I try not to judge myself too harshly. I’ve come this far pretty well on my own, as my therapist reminds me. Daddy never got me a job. I’ve always made my own way. That’s got to count for something, right? So, who really is interested enough in me to look closely at the ways I’m broken that I don’t show in this blog?
Who’s type am I?
