Never Say Sever
My girlfriend, "Cecile," sort of dumped me over a year ago. She never told me she was dumping me. She simply stopped answering my calls. When I tracked her down, she fed me cliches like "You're all I want, but I need time," and "It's not you, it's me." I was taken completely by surprise, but gave her the space she wanted. In time, she contacted me, we went on a few dates, and she disappeared again. A few more months went by, and I asked her out. She brushed me off, saying she wasn't interested in dating anyone. Imagine my shock when I stumbled across her ad in the personals earnestly seeking a man. Why can't people be truthful? All I ever wanted was to have her tell me what went wrong and why. I'm still in love with her and miss her on a daily basis. Any suggestions on how I can get closure?—Still Fred Over Heels
"Hi, this is Cecile's voicemail. If this is Fred, I've been kidnapped by Bolivian revolutionaries, and am unlikely to be seen ever again. Anyone else, please leave a message at the tone."
BEEEP!
"Hi, Cecile, this is Fred. Call me and leave me your number in Bolivia!"
The fact that you lack anything even remotely resembling a tunnel doesn't seem to stop you from finding light at the end of it. All of a sudden, you have a girlfriend you can't even wave to unless you're getting a strong signal on the tracking device. This alone should tell you something — and not that you need to trade up to better spy technology. Generally speaking, unless one is pinned under a boulder at the bottom of a ravine, a need to be tracked down is not synonymous with a desire to be found. Granted, your girlfriend could have given you clearer signs that you were no longer welcome in her life — perhaps personalized no-trespassing signs bolted to an eight-foot electrified fence around her home: "Go Away, Fred," "Fred Is Dead," "This Is A Fred-Free Zone," and "Fred-Eating German Shepherd Within." Then again, why go to the trouble for a guy who's sure to respond "Wow, I had no idea she knew another Fred!"?
Too bad you're a man, not a motel, or you'd have a clear checkout policy attached to your back in a cheap plastic frame. That might have compelled her to give you a firm departure date, and maybe even fill out a little comment card explaining how you'd better serve her needs. Your problem now isn't that you want custom closure, but that you've made a bargain with the universe that you aren't moving out of Mopesville until you get it. Unfortunately, getting it requires inspiring an ex-girlfriend with a habit of dumping you by attrition to sail in on a jet stream of empathy and give you a full relationship debriefing. Of course, what really matters isn't why she doesn't want you — just that she doesn't. You might have come to that conclusion a year ago if you'd understood that the truth is, first and foremost, a self-service item. Sweep the facts into a little pile on the floor and stare at them until they look like something. In this case, a woman showed you, time and time again, that she wasn't very interested, reliable or ready for a relationship. Err on the side of cross-examining the facts instead of crossing your fingers, and you're less likely to find yourself scrambling for the number of Air Bolivia in the future.
My Favorite Martyr
I'm home from college this summer. My boyfriend's still there, four hours away, working full time while studying. His phone's disconnected (he couldn't afford it), and he's totally stressed. All I want is for him to visit me and be with me, but he has so many problems! Am I just getting in the way?—Apart Time Love
What does a guy have to do to make you happy, develop stigmata? Here's a guy who studies standing over a french fry vat. If he drops a dime between the car seats, he'll probably dismantle the car. Yet, his martyrdom wouldn't be complete without a girlfriend squeezing him to cut class and work, and blow his entire monthly Top Ramen fund visiting her.
Excuse me, but is there a force field preventing your return to campus? Apparently, the constant echo of "Me, me, me" and "My needs! My needs!" leaves no room for his needs to sneak into your head. Wanna see him? Borrow Daddy's big Lexus and whisk yourself to school in air-conditioned style. Maybe even bake him a casserole — if that doesn't conflict with your pedicure or anything. He'll love you for it, and he's sure to tell you how much he loves you if you'll just let him put down that big cross he's lugging around.
Copyright 2003, Amy Alkon, all rights reserved. Got a problem? Write Amy Alkon, 171 Pier Ave., #280, Santa Monica, CA 90405, or e-mail AdviceAmy@aol.com (www.advice goddess.com).
This article appears in Sep 4-10, 2003.