I have a friend.
I call him a friend less because I enjoy his company and more because I have known him longer than most anyone else and somehow I find myself in the same place, same time as him more often than possibly either of us would prefer.
See, he has a tendency to talk. And talk and talk and talk. While I consider myself to be a fantastic listener, even I have limits. The truth is I have very little interest in hearing, and even less capability to understand, whatever it is he always wants to say. And with him, it’s always something profound. Why is this like this, why is that like that? As though there is a supreme explanation for everything, and it is our task in that very moment to realize whatever it is. He can’t accept that some things just are. Try telling him so, you won’t get very far. I never have the answers he’s looking for.
Listening to him takes me back to high school honors English classes; trying to make sense of ways of thinking and ways of putting things into words that I just couldn’t make sense of. Being forced to read long, confusing novels. I never liked reading long, confusing novels and I don’t often do what I don’t like doing. In the same way that I pretended to have read the novel, I pretend to listen to him.
As soon as I notice that even he doesn’t know what he’s saying anymore, that’s when I officially stop paying attention. That is when the automatic responses kick in. Whatever I can throw out there to make him feel as though his thoughts are actually worth listening to.
“yeah … that’s true … good point … I think you’re right”
I always started the novel, by the way. And I always began reading with the intention of finishing. Each time a new novel was presented, I tried. I tried to make sense of it. I tried to enjoy it. Sometime before the second chapter, though, my mind would wander. In a very similar way, my mind wanders when I listen to him.
“I could be doing something else right now,” I think. “I could be doing something other than pretending to care what he’s talking about. I could be washing dishes; I could be getting something done. Heck, I could be watching Law and Order. I could be on the couch with a tub of ice cream in one hand, a spoon in the other, wondering who bludgeoned yet another prostitute with an ashtray.” Like I said, my mind wanders. My mind can’t help it. He’s just too exhausting.
Today our paths crossed again. As soon as he thought he had my attention he began. He talked and talked and then he said something. This something stood out from the other somethings. It sounded important. Important enough to grab a hold of my wandering mind and keep it still for a moment. I can’t say for sure what caught my attention. His tone of voice may have changed, maybe he was a little louder. Either way I could tell that if he had written out his monologue this particular something would have been underlined. Or at least italicized. Or possibly on its very own line.
“It’s not fair.”
At last, something I understood! Something I could relate to. Keep in mind I’ve no idea what he was referring to as unfair, but who couldn’t relate to the sentiment. Especially the way he said it. He didn’t toss it out like it so often is. He said it like he absolutely knew it to be true.
I looked at him and I truthfully, solemnly told him, “It may never be fair.” He frowned, but I could see he was pleased with the connection.
I have to remind myself how much it means to him that I at least try to listen. I have to remind myself that he needs someone to talk to - to express his questions, his concerns. He doesn’t necessarily need to know all the answers, he just enjoys the asking. I have to remind myself that even though he makes no sense to me sometimes, what he is saying is significant to him. I have to remind myself that he needs me to listen. I have to remind myself that next year when he turns five and starts kindergarten, surely his ability to express himself will improve.
Right?
3 comments:
Loved the twist ending. I was very sad to hear that you do not listen though, I probably because I relate to your five-year-old friend. I was like "listen damn it, listen!" the whole time.
I couldn't help but feel this was a character in a story, talking in first person. How wonderfully written this is! - Thom
It sounds like you have the same issues with things just being the way they are as well as your friend the four year-old. Your friend is simply the way he is at this moment in time – a person who found his voice and wants to be heard. An English novel is the same. It is the way it is – something with a voice to be heard. Sometimes a novel is as simple as a four-year and should just be taken at face value. Both your friend and a novel will be perceived differently by whoever is trying to understand what is being said. Sometimes what comes out of the mouth of a four-year old is more perceptive than what comes out of an adult. You appear to have humored your English teachers just as you humor your young friend by pretending to understand what is going on or how it is perceived through their eyes. You are present for the beginning, tune out the middle and comment on the ending. Just as you make your friend believe that you are listening and understanding what he is saying, so you have done in the English classes that you go into. At the end of the road, pretending to listen and pretending to understand really don’t get you any further than the point you started at. It’s like me and math. I know that I am not good at it, but I have been required to take it in the past. Going into the class, I knew that I would not be the sharpest or understand things as quickly as someone else. However, I chose to go into the class with an open mind, remembering that no matter what – if I kept my ears open and tried my best, I would leave having learned something new and that is what makes every new experience worth it.
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