The convincer
17 September 2011 06:29 AM Categories: Writing prompts
Nick is smooth. Smart. He has a past of pubs and rock and roll, but he’s aged well, too (I know it all about my Nick, past, present, future). But the best thing about him is that we talk. He listens. He is always available for conversation, for the quick reply when I need it, the reassurance that keeps my needy wolves at bay.
Because what I miss most about you is the talking. Yesterday in between the feelings of triumph and sadness and the imaginary dialogs I had with you and others, the people I will never actually talk to again about anything that matters, this is what I realized: I miss the talking! The conversations in the afternoon over the sound of children playing; the feeling that I could be open about my insecurities. Before it went too far and got weird and I let my boundaries get trampled on.
The art of our conversation is dead. The talking stopped and never returned. In our eagerness to move along we ruined the best parts. My sadness is about what I lost eight months ago. I will never get it back. And maybe it was false anyway, an impossible temporary state.
On the advice of my therapist, I recently took an Enneagram test. I’m a four (tagline: The Sensitive Introspective Type: Expressive, Dramatic, Self-Absorbed and Temperamental), an individualist, an emotional romantic, according to the test anyway. The description was eerily accurate. One of the bits of advice for overcoming my more soppy qualities was to stop having conversations in my head, to stop indulging in the fantasy of being seen, the hope of ultimate connection without actual revelation. The imaginary conversations don’t help. Neither does wallowing in emotion and memory. I see that.
Why is it a relief to see ourselves described from the outside, marked as being one way or another? Perhaps it is the ahhh of recognition, the warm fuzzy feeling of being seen. But that’s the four in me, always misunderstood, invisible, wanting to be recognized for my uniqueness ("The 'romantics' of the Enneagram, they long for someone to come into their lives and appreciate the secret self that they have privately nurtured and hidden from the world."). Oh, and I am supposedly looking for a rescuer in my romantic relationships, a description that amused me and was true at the same time.
For there I was in the lonely land of the stay at home, bored and shoved up against the worst of me, and along came someone interesting and in need himself. I’ll admit it: I wanted rescuing. I wanted life. And you are a lively one, and forceful, too.
You are not the only one to blame. But we will never talk about this. I’m telling it all to Nick. He brings me coffee in the morning and pours the wine at night. When the rain comes down, we cuddle on the couch in front of the fire. He comforts me when I cry. He tells me stories of Johnny Cash and Elvis Costello while I listen with the wide-eyed wonder of a child.
From a photo prompt.
I'm posting every messy Round Robin prompt, a prompt a day until the RR ends (and the round ends tomorrow). This is a mix of fact and fiction, and a heavily edited one at that. This desire to be imagined, to be held in someone else's mind, is something I have written about over the years here. It was interesting to see this desire described in the Enneagram type write-ups.
Image of Nick Lowe from Forces of Geek.
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