TU versus VOUS

From chapter 8 of the R.M. Dolin novel, “The Dangling Conversation.”

Chapter 8: Tu versus Vous

KYLE: “It is a big deal, especially given it leads to awkward misunderstandings. So, I ask you again, is he a “Tu,” or a “Vous?” It might seem a silly play on words, and you can even argue it’s a difference without distinction, but I assure you, the French are quite precise with words, which is why you and I need to establish where this Henry fella falls in the spectrum. I maintain, as I have all along, things need to be at the “Vous” level until you’ve sorted stuff out; at least until you unpack your apartment boxes. This rushing toward “Tu” has me worried.

“Let’s go over it again just so we’re clear, “Vous” is French for “you” in a formal setting or when dealing with unfamiliar people. “Tu”, is a more tender way of addressing those close to you, for example, the French use “Vous”, when addressing their boss in a meeting or a policeman at a traffic stop, and “Tu”, when talking to siblings or sweethearts. They both mean “you,” but clearly, context matters in announcing how you feel toward someone.

“Since reconnecting with Nadia, I visit Paris as often as I can; my goal is every six weeks for a one week stay. Even with that level of frequency, we struggle to find our place on the Vous-versus-Tu spectrum. While I am romantically back in her life, indicating a “Tu” kind of relationship, we’re not as demonstrably open as I’d like, which suggests in some bizarre way she’s relegating me to “Vous” status. As you might imagine, this leaves me pretty precarious. The best way to distill this down is to say I’m a “Tu” in the privacy of our relationship, but for reasons that take a while to understand and are difficult to describe, I’m a “Vous” to her outside world. In retrospect, this probably portends the disastrous complications that inevitably follow.

“The long and short of it is Nadia hides me from her world, partly because she isn’t ready to admit to herself, or anyone that might see us, she’s involved in a new relationship when the ink isn’t completely dry on her divorce. But it’s more than that, things that don’t make much sense and are even a bit insulting. I don’t blame her, and she explains as best she can, but knowing and understanding are not the same and I’m still uncertain which bothers me more. They’re both offensive to the point that dissecting their difference doesn’t much matter. But I can’t be angry, she’s doing the best she can to navigate a delicate and highly convoluted phase of her life that’s being driven by a lot of unfortunate tension and raw emotions that have nothing to do with me but which I can nonetheless seriously disrupt.

“I’ll give you an example, and keep in mind this is just one of many and maybe not the best; we’ll be walking down a street in Versailles holding hands while having a pleasant conversation when all the sudden, she’ll pull up in an abrupt stop, forcefully toss my hand aside, then shove me forward with a panicked push so powerful I’m catapulted down the sidewalk. In the process of performing these aggressive maneuvers, she’ll shout “don’t turn around!”

You can imagine how anyone near us reacts; first she’s yelling in English on a French sidewalk so loud her eyes bulge in utter terror, then she frantically looks for a place to hide while scanning other pedestrians and passing cars for whomever she needs to avoid. I can tell you on more than one occasion French men are on the verge of intervening, so I learn to hold my head down and just keep walking. Of course, after the panic passes, she’s super apologetic. Her explanation is she either just saw her Ex, or someone who’d tell her Ex she’s with someone.

“I’ll wager, given your history of dealing with a crazy narcissistic Ex, you find her reaction reasonable, which I suppose is why I tolerate it. I tell her if she needs me to have a “conversation” with her Ex, I’m more than willing; and just so you know, when an old school cowboy like me says he’s going to have a conversation, there’s not a whole lot of talking going on. Well for reasons I’ll explain later, that’s exactly the wrong suggestion; sort of like tossing gasoline on a fire because it only causes her more stress and panicked anxiety. The thing is, while her Ex is a catalyst, he’s not the main thing terrorizing her, and it takes me a while to unravel that, which accounts for why I get things so wrong for so long.

“A crazy Ex is a logical driver, right? We’ve all got one somewhere in our past, and on the surface, this dude’s completely bat-shit crazy and aggressively mean, which is why he and I need to have a conversation. But it isn’t only that, it’s way more convoluted and filled with nuances that seem more straight forward than they actually are, which is why I don’t blame her even though this behavior applies to any time we’re out in public. I sometimes get to feeling like a kept man or someone sneaking around with a married woman, which just so you know, violates my golden rule, namely, “never mess around with a married woman;” nothing good’s gonna to come from that. Mark that down as the gospel according to Kyle.

“The way this whole being found out deal messes with her head is horrible for sure, but what gets her way more agitated, and honestly just plain terrified; not in the physical way women fear men, no, this is on a much deeper level, it’s a fear of what would happen if her Ex finds out she’s with another man and accuses her of being scandalously unfit to parent. Like I said, it takes a long time to appreciate how deeply this impacts her and how much different the French are about such things. And it gets worse; she fears her crazy-ass Ex would use her relationship with me to turn their kids against her. A lot of women either don’t care or have figured out some sort of strategy for dealing with this but not Nadia, she’s so afraid of the consequences I worry she’ll opt to be alone rather than risk getting caught with me.

“I completely get her panicked riddled anxiety but to be honest don’t see it as a big deal, probably because it has no consequence for me; if anything, only opportunity. There is of course the opportunity to have a conversation with her Ex, which I’m sorta looking forward to, but also an opportunity to become more integrated in her life. But neither happen and I eventually get good with the work-around, I mean I’m not violating my golden rule and to be honest, there’s an element of excitement and intrigue in being a “kept man.” I even convince myself that her willingness to see me given the extreme risk is a sign her and I have a super strong bond, the foundation of a lasting relationship. Still the same, it’s a damn strange thing to be violently and unexpectedly shoved down the sidewalk by the woman you love.

“Nadia constantly reassures herself this silliness will soon end; that it’s just a sidebar along her journey to obtaining freedom and a new lease on life. She even outlines a process whereby we can come out in the open that starts with her Ex finding someone new. Her rationality makes perfect sense; once he’s involved with someone new, he can’t stand in judgment or use our relationship against her. However, from there her process becomes more murky and convoluted because she lays out a string of criteria involving her children with no clear metrics. Her kids aren’t any different from other children of divorce, they don’t see the build-up to their parent’s separation, only the impact. They didn’t see the years of verbal abuse and emotional torment Nadia endured before deciding she’d had enough; all they know is their mom busted up a happy family. To say they’re angry is describing their relationship with Nadia on a good day, so an essential and necessary part of her process is helping her kids work through their anger to the point they stop blaming her for the death of their family.

“I totally get how her process makes sense to her and certainly don’t want to be the catalyst for her life blowing up over something as silly as being seen on a sidewalk with someone new. It does seem though that the further along we go, the more rigid her constraints become and the more distant the day she’s free from fear drifts into the far-off horizon. I get I can’t be a priority right now and am content to just spend time with her with no pressure or expectation. I decide what we need is time together away from her world. The French have multiple periods throughout the year when long holidays are possible and during one holiday her Ex is taking the kids to Germany for three weeks, so I invite Nadia to visit me in New Mexico. She says she’ll only come if I introduce her to family and friends as my fiancée; says we’re too old to be referring to each other as boyfriend and girlfriend.

“I’m pleased as punch she thinks of us in those terms and will be proud to call her my fiancée, but then she backs out without reasonable explanation. She claims New Mexico’s too violent and can’t risk having something happen leaving her kids without a mom, which as far as I’m concerned is utter bullshit; a sign something’s not right. I struggle to accept her decision because I can’t see how we go from being fiancées to wherever it is we’ve now become. Knowing and understanding are as elusively diametric as seeing and accepting. After our trip to New Mexico fiasco, I notice she no longer talks about the day she’ll be available to live her life in freedom, of when we can love each other unafraid of all its risks and consequences.

“One night I straight up ask her if I’m a “Tu” or “Vous?” I regret that, but for whatever reason that last shove in my back on our last walk was the metaphoric last straw that breaks this camel’s back. We get home from our walk and have a glass of wine, then I have another, by the end of supper I’ve drunk enough to become regrettable. It’s unfair for me to ask and I really wish I hadn’t because I honestly believe that up until that moment, she hasn’t given it much thought. Of course, she says I’m a “Tu,” even laughs at my outlandish suggestion but I can see by the way she looks away and the slight hesitation in her voice; she doesn’t fully believe herself. I see it as plain as sunlight in a forest, as clear as her flat line smile that says nothing at all while revealing truths too painful for words. So, rather than press the issue, I chose to accept the lie I want so desperately to believe; convincing myself things will eventually come around if I just wait for her mystical process to work itself to completion.”

ISABELLE: “Henry’s a real shit when it comes to your whole ‘Tu versus Vous’ thing. He’s not tossing me to the curb like Nadia, but he’s just as confused when it comes to figuring out what’s what. For one thing, he has a very unhealthy relationship with his Ex; he denies it, but I swear they talk every damn day. It seems to me if you’re done with someone you should be done. Not that I would, but I bet he wouldn’t appreciate me talking to my Ex all the time. I’d love to learn more about the ‘Tu versus Vous’ status of that post-breakup shit-show, cause things are not adding up if you ask me. The experts I searched up on-line concur he has a rescue complex, which, according to them, makes it almost impossible for Henry to form relationships because rescuers put everyone else’s needs aside as they focus on the object of their attention.

“I can’t be Henry’s priority because he’s all wrapped up tending to the over dramatic needs of his Ex. Oh, and this woman, she’s a classic manipulator, bouncing from one crisis to another with hardly ever an in-between, and every time her world blows up, there he is, swooping in for the rescue. I ask you, is this normal? Don’t answer, I’m being rhetorical. I mean what’s the point anyway, you’ll just say, “Isabelle, why the hell are you with this guy?” Then I’ll say, “cause except for that, everything else is pretty good.” And you’ll come back with, “well, that’s a pretty big ‘except for,’” to which I’ll assert “I know but-,” then there’ll be this big, long back and forth about that, so why even get going, we both know how it ends.

“I’ll tell you how it ends, at some point my rational defenses erode and become less logical till we get to the point where you say, “Isabelle, what the hell are you doing?” And after you’ve pushed me past all my quick and superficial answers, I’ll say, “Because I can fix him.” We both know that’s not true, experts say a rescue complex can’t be fixed, which means even if he manages to pry himself away from that witch, he’ll just move on to his next new someone to rescue. I worry he’s got me in his queue, even though I’m on solid footing; at least as far as I know and certainly see no need to pretend to be pathetic just so he can toss me lifelines.

KYLE: “I can’t say you captured me completely, but bravo for being pretty damn spot on; clearly, I don’t need to come to this park anymore, you’re more than capable of representing my end of the bench. I do get Henry’s whole damsel in distress trigger; it’s how God made us meager men; provide and protect, it’s not just our calling, it’s our duty. I’ll concede he goes too far, but what’s interesting is that my crime is not going far enough. I replay my kept-man moments wondering how I can be better, should I confront her Ex and tell him to quite being a shit? Should I bow out of her life until all her conflicts are resolved so as not to be the source of ongoing stress? Should I hold her more while telling her things will be okay, that a day will come when all the pressures pulling us apart abate? I do my best to support her with kindness and empathy, but I am after all only human and fall far short of whatever the hell is needed.

“There’s a recent episode I’m not particularly proud of, and of all the moments I wish to get back, that’s the one. It’s my last night in France before flying home, it’s late summer with an early fall chill and a pre-rain grayness that somehow freshens feelings that had been successfully lying dormant. Nadia and I are walking around Versailles looking for a restaurant to celebrate our last night together for at least the next six weeks. I’d been dispatched to the market earlier that afternoon to get stuff for tomorrow’s preflight breakfast. I invite Nadia to come but she refuses; says there are too many possibilities for her Ex to find us. Normally this is a non-issue, something I’ve come to expect, but for some reason today it throws a cog in my gears.

“Reluctantly I go to the market alone to get the damn food, but on the way back stop for a glass of wine at a sidewalk café even though it’s raining. For the record, I don’t drink in the afternoon, but today I make an exception. I sit there having my own little pity party going over how unfair and emasculating all this is and the more I stew the more frustrated I get. Luckily, by the time my wine is finished I’ve reconciled myself back to being good old understanding, falling down the sidewalk, me. I rationalize it’s okay to have these frustrated feelings because it’s not the thoughts or feelings we should worry about, it’s acting on them in regrettable ways. Mark that down as rule one for a successful life; easy to say, hard to follow.

“I get back to Nadia’s apartment just in time for le goûter; a wonderful French tradition of eating late afternoon snacks. In my absence, Nadia’s prepared a fabulous assortment of desserts and cheeses, along with a bottle of my favorite red wine; the one thing I probably don’t need. This is what I mean about our dichotomy, one minute I’m frustrated as hell about how things are when we’re in public and the next it’s all forgotten in the wonderland of just how much I love her. After finishing the wine, we go for a walk in the woods, which is to be followed by our celebration dinner. The walk is fantastic, it always is. In the seclusion of the forest, we hold hands and have pleasant, relaxed conversations about something meaningless, like the impact of electric vehicles on the French utility grid. Just so you know, not all our conversations are about love and the deeper meaning of life, but that doesn’t make them any less profound.

“We come out of the woods just as rain restarts and boom, instantly we’re back on the streets where the peaceful relaxing mood of our forest foray gets washed away like discarded debris floating down a flooded arroyo. Tension and stress ratchet up to inescapable levels as now full focus must be devoted to preemptive detection of her Ex, or anyone who might know her Ex, or anyone who might inadvertently run into her Ex, or her kids, or anyone who knows her kids, or anyone who might attend the same schools as her kids; and of course the la familière of any and all of the afore mentioned demographics.

“Unaware at the time, an anger creeps over me; it’s not so much anger as some new undefined emotion. I don’t fully understand it because it feels like anger, but how can I be when it’s not her fault. I am angry at this man who’s no longer bound to her yet has such a profound strangle hold on her life causing him to be a higher priority than me. Only later do I realize that this newly discovered emotion is jealousy. For most of my life, whenever reasons to be jealous arise, I find logical ways to rationalize their dismissal. I mean obviously I’m sad and anxious over undesirable outcomes but never jealous; I just don’t see the relative economy in it. But here I am, walking beside this woman I love who’s consumed with being discovered, I’m fully expecting to be violently shoved from behind at any moment and this jealous rage I’m not sure what to do with is stewing inside needing to vent.

“I’m ashamed to admit it, but my first taste of this raw emotion does not manifest well. I replay this moment like an old Bogart movie in black and white; we’re crossing a deserted street under a lamppost aglow in early evening fog when I start ranting about the stupidity of constantly having to hide. I demand to know where her Ex lives so I can have that long overdue conversation. From there my descent into hell knows no depth, before long I’m going on about how she has no need to worry to about me and her kid’s cause I have no desire to be involved in helping her raise them. So now I’m jealous of her kids, and like I said, it isn’t my finest moment and I’m deeply remorseful of my disrespectful behavior Nadia doesn’t deserve. I have no excuse other than to say things just momentarily got away from me.

“Nadia absorbs my rage like a heavyweight fighter shaking off a viscous left hook because it’s the same sort of shit she’s endured for years. By the time dinner’s done, after countless apologies, I sense things between us have gone cold; not in an, “I’m pissed at you,” kind of way, but in a, “there’s no coming back,” sort of permanence. When I get to heaven and Saint Peter asks what I have to atone for, my unfortunate behavior that last night in France before saying goodbye to the woman I so love will be the first thing he and I discuss.”

ISABELLE: “Clearly, she doesn’t deserve your angry shit, but at the same time, your frustration is righteous given this weird dance you two got going. Everything comes with context, isn’t that how you started? Given what’s happened with me and my failed relationships, maybe I do need rescuing. I know you said go slow, the five-month plan and all, but relationships have a rhythm all their own and things happen as they happen, and the thing is, I don’t know how to feel about it. Henry and I didn’t start out with one of those romance novel, love at first sight, kind of relationships, it’s more like we acknowledged one day we should see if there could be something between us. You see I’ve known Henry for many years, social acquaintances, and through all the crap both of us have endured, we’re like satellites; never really connecting, just hovering around in each other’s orbit. Love’s funny that way, sometimes we find it where we already are but never before noticed.

“Here’s a glorious example of our dysfunction, a few weeks ago his Ex’s mom dies, tragic I know but you should have seen the way he drops everything to be at her side; says he needs to support her in this trying time. I mean it’s one thing to drop a dime, maybe send flowers, but he jumps in to help with funeral arrangements and even does her grocery shopping. I guess I had a lamppost moment like you and lost it, accusing him of still being in love. It’s one thing to help here and there but watching the way she not only became his top priority, hell, his only priority, that, well until you mention it, I’m unaware, but that made me jealous.

“Now I’m a whole lot less certain he has a rescue complex cause he’s likely still in love and I don’t know which is worse. My story differs from yours in two distinct ways; first, I didn’t find a way to logically rationalize my feelings, and to be honest, I didn’t even try. Second, I am in no way ashamed or remorseful for calling him out; he deserves it plain and simple and if anything, I was too kind. My angst comes from having too much self-esteem to tolerate this kind of disrespect, while at the same time recognizing Henry’s a good man, maybe the best I’ll ever know. It’d be foolish to toss that away for what could very well be forgivable foolishness.

“Listening to you causes me to question which one of us is wrong. Henry says I’m being unreasonable, that just because he no longer loves his Ex, doesn’t mean he didn’t once, or that how things ended negates all the tenderness that came before. He says it’s not even a question of love or former love, but about human decency, that when you stop loving someone it doesn’t mean you stop caring about them and want to see them hurt and suffering. Okay, fair enough, but again like you and your lamppost moment, a person reaches a point where enough is enough.

“Now that I’ve thought about it, it’s probably not a good example. Henry’s a good man with a kind soul and of course he did what anyone would in that situation. That doesn’t mean I have to like it or not be jealous. But there are so many other instances that don’t fall under this umbrella, right now for example, he’s helping her deal with her mom’s finances, stuff like transferring funds and setting up new accounts. And get this, he even has the audacity to ask me to help since that’s my swim lane. To be clear, he can do this over the phone, but no, he’s there right now helping her fill out forms and giving advice on how to invest newfound wealth. I don’t care that he calls every hour, he’s still there with her and not here with me and that, metaphorically, is a huge-ass shove down the sidewalk.”

KYLE: “’What if?’ The single most over-used and under-appreciated phrase ever uttered. It doesn’t matter if you’re saying it in English or in French, it’s the same damn shit none of us can keep from stepping in. Every moment in our life, every event, and every decision, is processed through a “what if” filter. What if we work harder to be together rather than move on? What if the last time we held each other really was the last time? What if I can accept your terms and conditions? What if I can’t?

“The thing about love, at least as far as I’ve discerned, and I am by no means an expert, is that when you’re in love, I mean really in love, there’s no place to hide, no reason to hide, and most important, no desire to hide. Does that mean Nadia only thinks she loves me; maybe she does, in the vacuum space of just her and I, but in the reality of her world I think the best we can say, the best I can hope for, is that she’s trying but sometimes the barriers are too high to overcome.

“Pages are meant for turning, moments meant for passing, yet they linger like shadows brought to life through a series of lampposts; silent and distance projections on fog covered nights in black and white providing no comfort even though you welcome their presence. I can’t be with Nadia right now, even though I wish it with all my heart. Does it mean the last twenty years is a lie; a lie I allow myself to believe; one that prevents me from moving on. If she really truly doesn’t love me, or for some reason has decided she can’t because of all the crap she has to deal with, I deserve to know that while we were together, she did; or at least tried to, until she didn’t, until she couldn’t pretend anymore that a process can exist where we’re together in the end.”