So…I may have misjudged him. Wallflowering is not always a reliable occupation.
The first time I met you…I wanted to know you. That’s the kind of person you are. You could fool any girl with that charming smile, but what’s underneath…is a little less than charming…or is it the other way around? Are you fooling yourself? What do you think beautiful is? What kind of beautiful do you desire to be?
To me…as I stand here watching you dance your drunkenness away with girl after girl…I’m not sure you like the kind of beautiful your body is telling you to be. I’m not sure your skin fits your soul…I sort of envision it like a sweater that is too tight. At least…that’s what the desperation in your eyes seems to be saying. I see you doing what a guy “should”…but when you looked at me…and we spoke for those 3 seconds…I saw something else. Are you caged?
Your motive is clear…I can tell which girl you’ve chosen for your one night stand based on the way you ignore nearly everything anyone else here says. You twist and turn her about the dance floor with the utmost suavity. You pull her close to let her know how much you need her, and then let her feel just independent enough as she twirls away. As your hands are about to break apart, you pull her back…signaling with your body that you “missed her” and never want to lose her again. Dancing is one of the most manipulative art forms. The only part of you that does not seem to be fully in the move is your eyes (of which she cannot notice having limited experience in the field of American men). I know what you will be doing within the next few hours. And it upsets me.
Why? Because of that look you gave me.
Well…I don’t think it is jealousy I’m feeling. I think it is sadness. I think I feel pain for the image of beauty that your head forces downward until it sticks like goo to your heart. I wonder if it still has the capability of detaching. Such a shame…because I think you may just have had a very beautiful heart. Do you think someone will come around one day with the capability to scrape that goo off?
I really wanted to know you, but it’s almost time to leave, and I don’t have a strong enough shovel.
The other day I was standing on the corner of the street protesting Planned Parenthood. I was given exactly the response I expected…the occasional rude glance, some angry shouts…the encouraging grin or even some pro-life wisdom. I proceeded to stand there doing my thing and praying silently.
I had quite the regular day protesting on that street corner…until Rachel walked by. She passed once without a glance. I noticed her pass by a second time with a quizzical look starting to take shape on her brow. The third time she passed I was starting to worry (what if this girl starts to make a scene…?/Should I run away…?/etc…etc…)
Finally, she approached me and asked, “What’re you doing?” But…she asked it without malice or awe in her tone. She seemed to simply want to know. So…I told her outright, “I’m praying for the women in there and the potential life.” Her only response was an intrigued, “Why?” My hour was almost up, but I decided this conversation might be worth staying a couple extra minutes, and so I answered.
Our debate lasted for 2 hours…but when I say debate…here is what I mean:
Rachel: “I hope you don’t mind if I ask, but if you are pro-life why do you oppose birth control and things? Also…Planned Parenthood provides other important women’s healthcare.”
Me: “That is a very good point. I am not sure how I feel about birth control. I am personally not allowed to use it because my body can’t handle hormones. However, I do not know how I feel on the legality scale. All I know is that they perform abortions in there and I believe that every life has the same rights I do no matter where it is located.”
Rachel: “Fair enough.”…and so on and so forth.
You see, Rachel goes to American University and she (like me) studies Politics. She comes from a good Irish home, and she has seen about as much as the world as I have. She loves to travel and loves to eat at iHop (I am so obsessed with their red velvet pancakes). One of our only prominent differences: she is pro-choice and I am pro-life. It is that simple.
I am still friends with Rachel. She is still someone I chat with from time to time. We used each other to truly learn and experience other viewpoints and to sharpen and tweak our own. We respected each other under the code of common human courtesy and love, and were able to part ways without shouting or hating one other.
We learned as children that hitting and kicking our siblings is not the way we move past stolen toy trucks…but rather sighing past our wounding pride and talking it out was more efficient and less dirty. I was always taught to stand firm but to do so with the respect I would wish from my “opponent” (if that is even the right word). I assume that if vulgarity and ignorance impedes progress in such small matters…larger ones need even more precise care. This, I believe is the only way America will ever get anywhere. So…let’s start talking it out.