Chapter 22 in the R. M. Dolin novel “The Dangling Conversation.” 10/25/2023
MANDY
“I think it’s over between me and Henry, we haven’t spoken in weeks, and it doesn’t seem he cares if we do or don’t.
WES
“I fear the same with Nadia. It’s hard isn’t, navigating the space between thinking it might be over and knowing for sure.
MANDY
“I want to ask him, but I’m afraid. It’s unhealthy I know, to be in a relationship and afraid to talk.”
WES
“She sent a letter a week or so ago that shocked me in the way that it seemed so indifferent to whether we stay together or grow apart. I chewed on it for days before writing back, and now I wait for her response. I keep reading and re-reading my letter to make sure it’s okay. You probably don’t get it with all your instant social media stuff, but my generation still believes in the profoundness of letters; they have an emotional intensity you can’t get in a text or message, or even from a phone call or face-to-face. However, with all that intensity lies the likelihood it can explode in unintended ways, and that has me worried.”
MANDY
“You’re right, my generation leans more toward short bursts of expression, I wouldn’t even know how to write a letter to Henry that could in anyway convey what I feel or want to say; need him to say to me in response. I know it’s asking a lot to share something so intimately personal, but we’ve been sharing this park bench for months and in that time, I’ve not only developed a fond connection with you, but I also value how you filter the world and make sense of things that seem so hard for me. If I could hear what you wrote Nadia, feel the way you use words to paint your pain, I could maybe understand how to write Henry.”
WES
“I’ve grown very fond of you as well and have come to treasure our evening chats, so, no, I don’t mind sharing, besides it’ll be helpful to get your perspective. Keep in mind, though, I’m not an English major so let’s stay focused on what I’m saying rather than how I say it.
WES Reading His Letter to NADIA
“My Dearest Nadia,
“I’m sitting in the park watching the sunset on an otherwise spectacular fall day processing your last letter, trying to find my way through the fog of confusion it generates; the many emotions it stirs, foremost of which are utter devastation and debilitating disappointment. I’m uncertain of your intent, but the best way to describe my interpretation is to channel the Chilean poet, Pablo Neruda, who famously wrote, “Tonight I write the saddest words, I loved her and sometimes she loved me.”
“What happened Nadia, when did your heart shift away from us; or have you always held reserved trepidation that only now finds its voice? Perhaps I’m being dramatic, but my heart also shifted; only instead of moving away, it continually cascades toward you. While you question if and how we might evolve, I think of you in forever terms. Am I being foolish?
“What’s both scary and striking in your letter is the sterile indifference it conveys, a resonate, “C’est la vie,” of stoic apathy toward whether we move forward or never see each other again. At the risk of being the greater fool, it throws me into an unsettledness I’m ill-equipped to navigate. If I’ve done something wrong, please speak up. If the me you’ve come to know this past year-and-a-half divergently contrasts with the me you remembered from all those years we were apart, it’s fair but far from final. If there’s something lacking from your expectations, something that can be fixed, we should work on its resolution. What can’t continue is silence building each day into an impenetrable wall of separation.
“Beyond your words lies an even far greater sadness, you don’t yearn for me, and that’s the hardest hurt; at least not in the consuming way I yearn for you. I yearn to be near you anyway I can, I think about you all day long only to then invite you into my dreams at night. I plan everything around a future where you’ll be here, or I’ll be there, but either way, we’ll be together, and it doesn’t seem it’s that way for you. You dodge my phone calls because the reality is you don’t want to talk to me. You ghost me for days and even weeks and then offer nothing but superficial idioms. You refuse to invite me back to France even though when I left, we agreed you would, and I have numerously hinted at my eagerness to return.
“I don’t know if it’s a French thing or a you-thing, but two people in love should yearn to express themselves with both tenderness and passion. Two people building a relationship, regardless of how long they’ve known each other, yearn for connections on any and all possible levels; a short message that says you’re thinking about them, a funny meme that made you laugh, a struggle you want to discuss, or a tenderness you wish you could say in person but begrudgingly settle to express on the phone, or in a small text or email. Two people in love yearn for ways to connect; I yearn to constantly be connected to you, but your desire lacks reciprocation, why is that? Is it lost forever or is there hope it can come back?
“I sometimes wonder if you’re afraid of me, an indelible scar left over from your Ex; a fear of intimacy that’s grounded in your reality of repercussions. Are you afraid of me; afraid to be open, to be honest, to express your wants, desires, and frustrations? Are you reluctant to expose your doubts, hopes, and apprehensions because I might later use those vulnerabilities against you? Are you afraid of love, afraid of being loved; of being in love? Am I anywhere close with any of this or awkwardly floundering in the wrong ocean?
“According to an article read on dating French women; a French woman will never say “I love you,” which I’ve learned to believe is true as you never have; at least not to me. Two people in love are never on the same page, never at the same level of affection, passion, or emotion; I get that, relationships ebb and flow. Perhaps I’m traveling too free and fast down our relationship highway ignoring all the cautionary signs you’ve been trained to heed. Maybe it’s analogous to the difference between how we drive; me recklessly cruising down the road with little regard to limits and dangers, or the consequences of what could go wrong, and you, ever mindful of every potential calamity, cautious to the point of being frozen.
“We’ve been dancing around this same issue for some time, since February by my book, but perhaps even longer in yours. It’s time to put our cards on the table, I need to know what’s in your head, in your heart, and how you see our story playing out. I need to understand what’s driving your behavior to understand what to do differently. If you need limits and boundaries on our relationship, I understand; I just need to know the what’s and why’s, because to me it feels like we’re playing a bizarre French dating game that I fear is on the precipice of not ending well.”
