Losing Friends in the Time of the Virus
Jul. 24th, 2020 02:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mallorys_camera“So! What are your plans for the weekend?” Max asked me on the phone yesterday.
Instead of feeling terribly lucky to have a son who is either (a) conscientious enough to call his elderly, boring mother on a regular basis or (b) sincerely interested in his mother’s life and thoughts, I found myself going all sad-eyed clown.
(I suppose there is also an option (c): a little of both.)
Do people actually have weekend plans anymore?
Well, yes. Some do.
And none of them are me.
Max, for example, will be driving up to the Fletcher compound in the low Sierras with Madeleine and Brian for three exciting days of vision quests and ranch work.
BB, recently returned from a week of reading Don Quixote and tromping around the scenic Wyoming highlands, will be reuniting with Flavia—first at the Jersey shore, then at the Catskills cabin.
C will be driving down from Albany to visit L.
I will be tromping and gardening, reading, generating revenue, cooking (chana masala), maybe writing (if I can work up the discipline), but not really doing any of the things that in the great BV (Before Virus) qualified as weekend activities.
Weekend activities involve socializing.
I could be proactive, I suppose.
I could set up up Zoom sessions with close personal friends who live in California, Michigan, Toronto, and other parts of the great Elsewhere.
I’m tempted to scream here, But that’s no substitute for real interaction! Except, of course, how would I know? I’ve never done it.
###
Thing is that despite having lived in the quaint and scenic Hudson Valley for nearly a decade, I don’t have what I would describe as a real support network here.
In the great BV, I had a wide-ish circle of congenial but casual acquaintances, and they (mostly) satisfied my need for contact.
I’m actually pretty good at that kind of networking. I love small talk! I can chatter to people forever about shopping for the perfect picture frame at Michael’s or whether chana marsala is better than lentil masala, or why Keira Knightly is an entirely unsatisfactory Catherine Earnshaw; I can listen to them chatter, too. I actually enjoy it!
But I draw my emotional fortitude from deep one-on-one connections. Exclusive bonds. I suppose it’s a holdover from the overly intense dyad I was forced into growing up when it was just me and my insane mother.
I’ve made a handful of those exclusive bonds here. (Apart from that, there are also the—very good!—friendships I’ve made through LJ and DW, which fall into a completely different category ‘cause, you know: We’re all mutant telepaths c.f. John Wyndham’s The Chrysalids.)
Then, toward the beginning of the pandemic, one of those exclusive bonds disappeared.
Poof!
After I got off the phone with Max yesterday, I found myself mulling over the end of that friendship.
The friendship died, but there really is no narrative to go along with the death.
###
Lois Lane is the client coordinator at Literacy Connections.
(I suppose I should say “was” the client coordinator at Literary Connections since Literacy Connections is funded mostly through grants from the state of New York, and given the quadzillions the state of New York has had to shell out on coronavirus containment over the past six months, I doubt that any nonprofit, no matter how worthy, is gonna see any state money again for the next 15 years.)
We met because I’ve been doing volunteer ESL tutoring and teaching at Literacy Connections for the past five years.
From the moment we met, I was drawn to her. Lois Lane knew how to banter! A skill I prize highly. And we had many interests in common, and occasionally, our casual conversations would overrun the hour mark, which indicated, to me at least, that we had a rapport.
So I made overtures: Wanna hang out some time?
Which she always refused.
This didn’t put me off particularly. By then, I’d learned enough about her background to understand that it was a miracle she’d survived it.
Some of the background, we shared in common—the parental abuse, the drugs. In my case, the drugs were a brief flirtation. Lois Lane had gone steady and had the tattoos running up and down her arms to prove it. Whatever, we had that vocabulary of shared experience even if it was different in degree.
We were both prodigious readers; we both loved art; we could walk around ruined or exhausted landscapes together for hours, recreate what had once been there as a gauzy overlay of imagination that we alone could see. We shared the songs we composed about our cats, and the mythologies we made up to go with the songs.
It was pretty obvious to me that we had the potential to be close friends, but just as obvious that she was frightened to death of that intimacy for whatever reasons, so I wasn’t gonna push.
One day, I had to drop off some Literacy Connections materials at her house, and she absolutely astonished me by saying, “Oh, I never worry when you come over because I know you don’t care if my house is dirty!”
And I thought: When have I ever been at your house before?
Another time, after she canceled a planned outing at the very last minute, I said, “Lois, you have my number. If you want to hang out some time, use it—“
And she sighed and said, “Another close friend of mine said that exact same thing to me just this week—“
And I thought: Another close friend? Wait! Are you implying… ?
She lives with a man who is totally besotted with her. He’s an extremely nice man, attractive, bright though not particularly well educated. That lack of education, though, was not enough to account for the fact that she never wanted to have sex with him.
I had my own theories about that one, but I wasn’t gonna share.
She’d started therapy! Let her figure that one out on her own.
###
We started communicating more and more. Mostly on FB messenger.
When lockdown started, she began initiating these chats every morning.
Then one day in April, she messaged me, I am feeling bummed because I met someone I really like and I extended the hand of friendship . . . and I can tell this person is freaked out by me like, i'm "too much"
Hmmmm, I messaged back. What makes you feel that way?
i just can tell by the interactions that i have with her like i never pursue anyone for friendship but i pursued her and . . .
But HOW can you tell? I persisted.
You just can? it's like a connection in the eyes and the pull of the gut?
There have to be specific cues, I said.
We used to do daily messaging and now it’s weekly. And the messages used to be long but now they’re curt. and response time used to be quicker now it is like a week.
Well, you know, I said. These are weird times. Some people respond to them by withdrawing into themselves. I wouldn’t necessarily personalize it. Did you meet her before or after the pandemic started?
way before. like 2 years. but past 6 months friendship building. we had a date to go hiking.
And then I asked Lois Lane the question maybe I shouldn’t have asked: Do you want to be friends with her or do you maybe have a kind of crush on her?
It was a crush. Well. Friendship, too. But mostly crush.
After 7 yrs of no spark, she's the one, Lois typed. i have no idea why
Well, you know, when you fall a little in love with someone and they don't fall a little in love back, it's always awkward, I said.
Yes i know you are right, said Lois. but my idea of love (with her) is more the victorian type. a lot of clutching. not necessarily sweaty fucking with a strap on. altho i suppose that could be interesting
We went on and on in this mode for another hour or so. Lois Lane’s feverish fantasies! She was really eager to unburden herself.
And that was the last time but one that we communicated!
She stopped messaging me first thing in the mornings.
I invited her to go tromping on the Walkway. She accepted but bailed an hour before we were supposed to meet up.
And I thought, What the hell?
###
Frankly, I feel miffed and a bit used.
Did she think I was going to judge her ‘cause she likes girls?
I don't judge people! Well. Not unless they're serial killers, or mean to cats, or the 45th President of the United States.
And besides: I’d been perfectly open with her that my past liaisons have included women as well as men.
Why would she think I was judging her?
That was insulting.
I did tell her that even if her feelings vis-à-vis l'objet du désir were reciprocated, I thought it would be problematic to act on them while she was living with Billy. Very unfair, was how I put it.
Was she pissed that I'd said that? I'd say it again! I like Billy.
Maybe, as she’d been telling me all along, she really is too broken to accept the investiture of friendship.
Anyway, I don’t find myself sad over what I assume is the termination of our friendship.
Maybe in the great BV, I would have felt sad.
But these days, everything is just various degrees of perplexing.
Instead of feeling terribly lucky to have a son who is either (a) conscientious enough to call his elderly, boring mother on a regular basis or (b) sincerely interested in his mother’s life and thoughts, I found myself going all sad-eyed clown.
(I suppose there is also an option (c): a little of both.)
Do people actually have weekend plans anymore?
Well, yes. Some do.
And none of them are me.
Max, for example, will be driving up to the Fletcher compound in the low Sierras with Madeleine and Brian for three exciting days of vision quests and ranch work.
BB, recently returned from a week of reading Don Quixote and tromping around the scenic Wyoming highlands, will be reuniting with Flavia—first at the Jersey shore, then at the Catskills cabin.
C will be driving down from Albany to visit L.
I will be tromping and gardening, reading, generating revenue, cooking (chana masala), maybe writing (if I can work up the discipline), but not really doing any of the things that in the great BV (Before Virus) qualified as weekend activities.
Weekend activities involve socializing.
I could be proactive, I suppose.
I could set up up Zoom sessions with close personal friends who live in California, Michigan, Toronto, and other parts of the great Elsewhere.
I’m tempted to scream here, But that’s no substitute for real interaction! Except, of course, how would I know? I’ve never done it.
###
Thing is that despite having lived in the quaint and scenic Hudson Valley for nearly a decade, I don’t have what I would describe as a real support network here.
In the great BV, I had a wide-ish circle of congenial but casual acquaintances, and they (mostly) satisfied my need for contact.
I’m actually pretty good at that kind of networking. I love small talk! I can chatter to people forever about shopping for the perfect picture frame at Michael’s or whether chana marsala is better than lentil masala, or why Keira Knightly is an entirely unsatisfactory Catherine Earnshaw; I can listen to them chatter, too. I actually enjoy it!
But I draw my emotional fortitude from deep one-on-one connections. Exclusive bonds. I suppose it’s a holdover from the overly intense dyad I was forced into growing up when it was just me and my insane mother.
I’ve made a handful of those exclusive bonds here. (Apart from that, there are also the—very good!—friendships I’ve made through LJ and DW, which fall into a completely different category ‘cause, you know: We’re all mutant telepaths c.f. John Wyndham’s The Chrysalids.)
Then, toward the beginning of the pandemic, one of those exclusive bonds disappeared.
Poof!
After I got off the phone with Max yesterday, I found myself mulling over the end of that friendship.
The friendship died, but there really is no narrative to go along with the death.
###
Lois Lane is the client coordinator at Literacy Connections.
(I suppose I should say “was” the client coordinator at Literary Connections since Literacy Connections is funded mostly through grants from the state of New York, and given the quadzillions the state of New York has had to shell out on coronavirus containment over the past six months, I doubt that any nonprofit, no matter how worthy, is gonna see any state money again for the next 15 years.)
We met because I’ve been doing volunteer ESL tutoring and teaching at Literacy Connections for the past five years.
From the moment we met, I was drawn to her. Lois Lane knew how to banter! A skill I prize highly. And we had many interests in common, and occasionally, our casual conversations would overrun the hour mark, which indicated, to me at least, that we had a rapport.
So I made overtures: Wanna hang out some time?
Which she always refused.
This didn’t put me off particularly. By then, I’d learned enough about her background to understand that it was a miracle she’d survived it.
Some of the background, we shared in common—the parental abuse, the drugs. In my case, the drugs were a brief flirtation. Lois Lane had gone steady and had the tattoos running up and down her arms to prove it. Whatever, we had that vocabulary of shared experience even if it was different in degree.
We were both prodigious readers; we both loved art; we could walk around ruined or exhausted landscapes together for hours, recreate what had once been there as a gauzy overlay of imagination that we alone could see. We shared the songs we composed about our cats, and the mythologies we made up to go with the songs.
It was pretty obvious to me that we had the potential to be close friends, but just as obvious that she was frightened to death of that intimacy for whatever reasons, so I wasn’t gonna push.
One day, I had to drop off some Literacy Connections materials at her house, and she absolutely astonished me by saying, “Oh, I never worry when you come over because I know you don’t care if my house is dirty!”
And I thought: When have I ever been at your house before?
Another time, after she canceled a planned outing at the very last minute, I said, “Lois, you have my number. If you want to hang out some time, use it—“
And she sighed and said, “Another close friend of mine said that exact same thing to me just this week—“
And I thought: Another close friend? Wait! Are you implying… ?
She lives with a man who is totally besotted with her. He’s an extremely nice man, attractive, bright though not particularly well educated. That lack of education, though, was not enough to account for the fact that she never wanted to have sex with him.
I had my own theories about that one, but I wasn’t gonna share.
She’d started therapy! Let her figure that one out on her own.
###
We started communicating more and more. Mostly on FB messenger.
When lockdown started, she began initiating these chats every morning.
Then one day in April, she messaged me, I am feeling bummed because I met someone I really like and I extended the hand of friendship . . . and I can tell this person is freaked out by me like, i'm "too much"
Hmmmm, I messaged back. What makes you feel that way?
i just can tell by the interactions that i have with her like i never pursue anyone for friendship but i pursued her and . . .
But HOW can you tell? I persisted.
You just can? it's like a connection in the eyes and the pull of the gut?
There have to be specific cues, I said.
We used to do daily messaging and now it’s weekly. And the messages used to be long but now they’re curt. and response time used to be quicker now it is like a week.
Well, you know, I said. These are weird times. Some people respond to them by withdrawing into themselves. I wouldn’t necessarily personalize it. Did you meet her before or after the pandemic started?
way before. like 2 years. but past 6 months friendship building. we had a date to go hiking.
And then I asked Lois Lane the question maybe I shouldn’t have asked: Do you want to be friends with her or do you maybe have a kind of crush on her?
It was a crush. Well. Friendship, too. But mostly crush.
After 7 yrs of no spark, she's the one, Lois typed. i have no idea why
Well, you know, when you fall a little in love with someone and they don't fall a little in love back, it's always awkward, I said.
Yes i know you are right, said Lois. but my idea of love (with her) is more the victorian type. a lot of clutching. not necessarily sweaty fucking with a strap on. altho i suppose that could be interesting
We went on and on in this mode for another hour or so. Lois Lane’s feverish fantasies! She was really eager to unburden herself.
And that was the last time but one that we communicated!
She stopped messaging me first thing in the mornings.
I invited her to go tromping on the Walkway. She accepted but bailed an hour before we were supposed to meet up.
And I thought, What the hell?
###
Frankly, I feel miffed and a bit used.
Did she think I was going to judge her ‘cause she likes girls?
I don't judge people! Well. Not unless they're serial killers, or mean to cats, or the 45th President of the United States.
And besides: I’d been perfectly open with her that my past liaisons have included women as well as men.
Why would she think I was judging her?
That was insulting.
I did tell her that even if her feelings vis-à-vis l'objet du désir were reciprocated, I thought it would be problematic to act on them while she was living with Billy. Very unfair, was how I put it.
Was she pissed that I'd said that? I'd say it again! I like Billy.
Maybe, as she’d been telling me all along, she really is too broken to accept the investiture of friendship.
Anyway, I don’t find myself sad over what I assume is the termination of our friendship.
Maybe in the great BV, I would have felt sad.
But these days, everything is just various degrees of perplexing.
no subject
Date: 2020-07-24 08:18 pm (UTC)A lot of people also get bored of online correspondence after a while.
-
One of my older rowing teammates / friends was remarking to me that she has found it increasingly important to seek out opportunities for social interactions and friendships with younger people as she has gotten older. She gave the example of her husband's golfing group, which has died out (I don't think totally literally?) because it doesn't have any built in mechanisms for newcomers. I thought that was some interesting perspective, with some truth to it. That does mean putting oneself into the position of being the somewhat ridiculous older woman.
-
I've been feeling the weekend stagnation, too. A lot of that has to do with not really going anywhere or doing anything that is a big break from the routine. I should make that kayak camping trip happen, but when it's just me I'm really good at perpetually postponing major plans.
no subject
Date: 2020-07-24 08:58 pm (UTC)And in consequence of this, I think I tend to have friends of many different ages more than is the case with most people my age (late sixties.)
Although, come to think of it, that has always been true. When I was younger, in my 20s, 30s, and 40s, I had many more older friends than other people my age.
And THAT is one of the main reasons why I have no interest in polyamory.
Mine, too. It's not that I have any great commitment to monagamy. It's basically a time management issue. How can you work, take care of your kids, walk your dogs, cook, garden, clean the house and sustain some sort of creative life if you're juggling two (or more!) romantic relationships?
no subject
Date: 2020-07-24 11:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-07-24 11:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-07-24 11:12 pm (UTC)The thing I was thinking was that she was just too embarrassed. I know from personal experience that it's possible, when carried away by the heat of the moment, to go way, way further with confiding things than you actually feel comfortable with. I don't approve of her method of dealing, though, if that's what's at the root of it. The more close you are to someone, the more you have to trust them with yourself. ... But you said she was pretty damaged, and maybe running away (emotionally/contact-wise) is her way of dealing.
no subject
Date: 2020-07-25 12:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-07-25 12:54 am (UTC)Ruth Wilson made an excellent Jane Eyre, and I kinda think she could have pulled off Catherine Earnshaw, too, back in the day. She's a bit old for the part now. Catherine Earnshaw isn't necessarily about looks. She's about intensity.
no subject
Date: 2020-07-25 12:58 am (UTC)