Anatomy of a Relationship
Let's say a guy named Roger is attracted to a woman named Elaine. He
asks her out to a movie; she accepts; they have a pretty good time. A
few nights later he asks her out to dinner, and again they enjoy each
other's company. They continue to see each other regularly, and after a
while neither one of them is seeing anybody else.
And then, one evening when they're driving home, a thought occurs to
Elaine, and, without really thinking, she says it aloud: "Do you
realize that, as of tonight, we've been seeing each other for exactly
six months?!"
Suddenly, there is silence in the car. To Elaine, it seems like a very
loud silence. She thinks to herself: Geez, I wonder if it bothers him
that I said that. Maybe he's been feeling confined by our relationship;
maybe he thinks I'm trying to push him into some kind of obligation
that he doesn't want, or isn't sure of.
And Roger is thinking: Gosh. Six months.
And Elaine is thinking: But, hey, I'm not so sure I want this kind of
relationship, either. Sometimes I wish I had a little more space, so
I'd have time to think about whether I really want us to keep going the
way we are, moving steadily toward . . . I mean, where are we going?
Are we just going to keep seeing each other at this level of intimacy?
Are we heading toward marriage? Toward children? Toward a lifetime
together? Am I ready for that level of commitment? Do I really even
know this person?
And Roger is thinking: So that means it was...let's see...February when
we started going out, which was right after I had the car at the
dealer's, which means...lemme check the odometer...Whoa! I am way
overdue for an oil change here!
And Elaine is thinking: He's upset. I can see it on his face. Maybe
I'm reading this completely wrong. Maybe he wants more from our
relationship, more intimacy, more commitment; maybe he has sensed even
before I sensed it -- that I was feeling some reservations. Yes, I bet
that's it. That's why he's so reluctant to say anything about his own
feelings. He's sensitive. He's vulnerable. He's afraid of being
rejected.
And Roger is thinking: And I'm gonna have them look at the transmission
again. I don't care what those morons say, it's still not shifting
right. And they better not try to blame it on the cold weather this
time.. What cold weather? It's 87 degrees out, and this thing is
shifting like a garbage truck, and I paid those incompetent thieves
$600.
And Elaine is thinking: He's angry. And I don't blame him. I'd be
angry, too. God, I feel so guilty, putting him through this, but I
can't help the way I feel. I'm just not sure.
And Roger is thinking: They'll probably say it's only a 90- day
warranty. That's exactly what they're gonna say, the scumballs!
And Elaine is thinking: Maybe I'm just too idealistic, waiting for a
knight to come riding up on his white horse, when I'm sitting right
next to a perfectly wonderful person, a person I enjoy being with, a
person I truly do care about, a person who seems to truly care about
me. A person who is in pain because of my self-centered, schoolgirl
romantic fantasy.
And Roger is thinking: Warranty? They want a warranty? I'll give them
a warranty! I'll take their warranty and stick it right up their...
"Roger," Elaine says aloud.
"What?" says Roger, startled.
"Please don't torture yourself like this," she says, her eyes beginning
to brim with tears. "Maybe I should never have . . Oh God, I feel
so....." (She breaks down, sobbing.)
"What?" says Roger.
"I'm such a fool," Elaine sobs. "I mean, I know there's no knight. I
really know that. It's silly. There's no knight, and there's no horse."
"There's no horse?" says Roger.
"You think I'm a fool, don't you?" Elaine says.
"No!" says Roger, glad to finally know the correct answer.
"It's just that...It's that I...I need some time," Elaine says.
There is a 15-second pause while Roger, thinking as fast as he can,
tries to come up with a safe response. Finally he comes up with one
that he thinks might work.) "Yes," he says.
(Elaine, deeply moved, touches his hand.)
"Oh, Roger, do you really feel that way?" she says.
"What way?" says Roger.
"That way about time," says Elaine.
"Oh," says Roger. "Yes." (Elaine turns to face him and gazes deeply
into
his eyes, causing him to become very nervous about what she might
say next, especially if it involves a horse. At last she speaks.)
"Thank you, Roger," she says.
"Thank you," says Roger. Then he takes her home, and she lies on her
bed, a conflicted, tortured soul, and weeps until dawn, whereas when
Roger gets back to his place, he opens a bag of Doritos, grabs some
beer and pizza from the refrigerator, turns on the TV, and immediately
becomes deeply involved in a rerun of Gilligan's Island. A tiny voice
in the far recesses of his mind tells him that something major was
going on back there in the car, but he is pretty sure there is no way
he would ever understand what, and so he figures it's better if he
doesn't think about it. (This is also Roger's policy regarding world
hunger.)
The next day Elaine will call her closest friend, or perhaps two of
them, and they will talk about this situation for six straight hours.
In painstaking detail, they will analyze everything she said and
everything he said, going over it time and time again, exploring every
word, expression, and gesture for nuances of meaning, considering
every possible ramification. They will continue to discuss this
subject, off and on, for weeks, Maybe months, never reaching any
definite conclusions, but never getting bored with it, either.
Meanwhile, Roger, while playing racquetball one day with a mutual
friend of his and Elaine's, will pause just before serving, frown, and
say: "Norm, did Elaine ever own a horse?"
