A good friend of mine confessed to me that she had just written a poem revealing her feelings about this guy who was being stupidly wishy-washy with her. She not only wrote the poem, she sent it to him. This surprised me big time. Why? Because fewer than 10 hours before, we had agreed that she would stop contacting Mr. Mixed Signals until he figured out where his head was at. My friend and this guy had been hanging out a lot before she moved and had had some really open conversations with each other. But one day they’d be discussing their dream weddings, the next, he’d give her the “Oh hey Buddy” act. My girl also realized that she was always the one to contact him. Not a good sign.
“This is not what we discussed!” I told her. We had discussed going the safe route. The route that while it ensured no clear answers from the questionable party, it did ensure being able to walk away pride and emotions intact. So when she told me she had gone against our wise agreement and had written a poem for this guy and sent it, well, she threw me off. I wanted to throw my arms over her the way you’d shield your head from falling debris, and project her from the repercussions of her actions.
“Don’t you know the rules?!” I asked her. The rules are that you’re supposed to sleep on any expression of the heart that you’ve revealed in writing and read it over the next morning. By this time you would have arranged your senses that went crooked during the evening and find it wise to either adjust, discard, or put away for safe-keeping.
“I broke all the rules she said. Written and unwritten.”
“Yes you did,” I said. “You stomped all over them.”
But here’s the thing, though part of me was shocked and a bit nervous for my friend, part of me was amused. My friend had put herself out on a limb. She wanted to know the truth and felt that if not romance, that at least she deserved that. And yes, though she had been the one always contacting him for the last number of months, she would contact him again but this time from apposition of power because she didn’t want anything from him as she wrote in the poem, expect that he listen. She wasn’t chasing him, she assured him. She just wanted the peace of knowing that she had said what she needed to said and in doing so, had relieved herself of a burden.
Though I had told her about the rules I didn’t tell her that I had made such a declaration of love myself not too long ago. I wrote poems but didn’t send them. Instead I went straight for it and confessed my love on the phone. Things didn’t work out with that one the way I’d wanted. In fact, they didn’t even get off the ground. But me and brother remained the good friends that we were. Things didn’t get weird. And oddly enough, I even felt empowered. I showed myself that I could reach for what I wanted and if I didn’t get it, I could still look him in the eye, be whole and happy.
Of course my friend wants Mixed Signals to write back. It would be extra nice if he wrote back and confessed his love for her and apologized for not stepping up and being a man. But what’s true for her now is the fact that she did what she could do. She played her part and now she can get on with her studies and commitment to helping other people. “ I was ready and I needed to.” She said about sending the poem. “I feel better now freer.” The fact that she feels free now is independent of whether or not Mr. Wish Wash responds and that’s what matters, despite what the rules say.
