Thursday, July 12, 2001

Though he was wrong for him, I wasn’t wrong

The things that are closest to us are often the most difficult to reach. Again and again, I listen to the story, the same litany of self-denial and emotional sacrifice for a dubious, faraway reward of affection, hear it echo off the walls of my own history.

"Touch it," I say to him. "Reach across the chaste bed and speak beyond the polite conversation and test the line and cross your personal Rubicon." I give the counsel that I once gave myself and fervently hope for a new result, a favorable outcome, a happy ending.

I repeat it, and I want to believe that will be true, for him, this time. A thousand answers of "no" to questions asked must still be better than a single "yes" to one left unspoken, mustn't they?