I used to think that Jonathan, this attractive, intelligent guy who worked at my bookstore, was a soulless monster. Because he didn't treat me as though I was in any way worth a damn, I swore up and down to anyone who would listen that he was, in fact, my nemesis, even though I realize that nemeses don't really exist outside of fiction.
My own self-esteem and general mood was pretty bad at the point when I met Jonathan in 2000, for I'd just lost the job with CNN and was in the middle of my long, depressing period as a temp-deemed-unemployable by McGraw-Hill. At the bookstore, I was out of my element as a cafe worker. I was living with my mother and stepfather in a situation that was not going well. I'd just broken up with a guy who I found out was using a fake name during our ever-so-brief relationship. (I don't recommend finding out someone's real name post-coitus while in the bathroom of their family house, looking at the subscription sticker on a magazine and exiting to ask, "Um, who is Scott?") A friend I really liked had just announced to me that he was leaving the state. And I don't have a high opinion of myself generally. So I was in a bad place.
Jonathan began antagonizing me during his first weekend working at the cafe. He was condescending. Though he was studying aspects of theater and communication in graduate school, he didn't listen to anything I said or pay much mind to my questions on his background. I don't know how I could tell he was gay, but I knew within days of dealing with him. Jonathan, though, was younger and not "out" to co-workers, so he didn't appreciate my inquiries, to say the least. Beyond that, he mocked the way I spoke to people, said at times that I was an obvious flirt doomed to failure because I had no confidence and didn't deserve respect because of the way that I acted. He thought I was a gossip. He didn't trust me and didn't think I was worth the bother of knowing.
He was so mean to me that he even admitted it. It was not my paranoia. Thinly veiled insults passed between us. When we worked together on a shift, there was usually a large amount of silence. (Silence, from me, is HUGE.) Any attempts that I made to bridge that gap, to relate to him as a friend were met with contempt.
At one point, Jonathan and another co-worker played a prank on me, something intentional directed at poking fun at my insecurities. That led to us getting into a lengthy shouting match in the middle of the cafe's dining area in front of a crowd of customers. (OK, I was the one doing most of the shouting.)
Seeing me and Jonathan work together, my co-worker Mike told me that it was fruitless to be nice to Jonathan.
But I wouldn't leave Jonathan be. He was attractive, snobbish and cruel, and I couldn't figure out why he would subject me to fits of either punishment or disregard. It fascinated me then.
Last night, he and I were talking on the phone. Time's changed things. He realized I'm worth some regard. I discovered he's capable of vulnerability and compassion.
I mention all of those bad things because Jonathan was able to answer a question for me regarding my personal relationships, using our early friendship as his example.
"You like a challenge," he said. "You don't want someone as much if they come to you, even if you should."
I asked Jonathan why I'm not as keen on perfectly great guys who like me, preferring instead the uninterested, unrequited and elusive ones, from the hopeless causes to the downright evil. I want to like the right guys, not the wrong ones, and I thought it might have had something to do with the way I was "raised" in Buford. I was calling Jonathan, by the way, from the Circle.
"The meaner I was to you, the more interested you were in getting me to like you," he said. "You kept trying to prove yourself, and you wouldn't go away. I figured that out after a while."
Put bluntly, I like the chase. It's not uncommon nor psychotic, which I'd feared. I thought it had to do with some latent self-destructive tendency. Instead, it turns out I'm just a fan of "Will They or Won't They" sexual tension, as though I learned the fundamentals of romance by watching Sam and Diane on "Cheers." (Wait a minute, that is how I learned the fundamentals of romance.)
"That's why my best relationship was with a guy who was only in the country for two weeks," I said to him, the beyond-obvious realization coming to me. "It was doomed!"
I want to like the right guys. I want to like ones who like me.
But that's an entirely different take on chemistry than what I've studied. I mean, it's possible to change formulas, but how does one start?
I met a nice guy who seems to like me. And I like him. Where's the conflict? Where's the tension? Where are the elements that, when combined, lead to fire? Certainly there's got to be something beyond a first meeting when I was nervous and, worse than that, sorta quiet and seemingly clueless, some place or some way to show some spark. I want the spark. I want the fire. I want to want the hopeless, stupid situations less.
I don't want to like some clueless, ridiculous guy who works at a Fotomat just because I can't have him. I want to be an adult about this, yet I also want things to stay interesting. I don't want my theme song to be "I Want You to Want Me."
I want to like a guy because he's the right guy. Because we have stuff in common. Because we find each other cute, funny and charming. It seems more promising to go about things with that kind of potential.
But I need chemistry lessons.
Jonathan said he didn't know how to do that kind of chemistry himself.
"Honey, if I knew how to do that, I'd be married by now," he said.
Jonathan proved himself to be a true friend last night, which I guess goes to show you that I'm good at working with seemingly lost causes. And Jonathan must be good with them, too, if he's helped me, through adversity and through nurturing, become stronger than I was when I met him.
Mike was wrong. Trying to like Jonathan wasn't fruitless.
As for my problem, though, I want to like the guys who like me. I want the chance to prove myself to them, not just become self-deprecating to all of their compliments. That's not fair to them. Or to me.
I'm a good guy who deserves more than frustration and disappointment. I need to seriously get over whatever's attracting me to the impossible. Instead I want cute, smart guys who like me.
There's a challenge in that. And it should be fun facing it.
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