Farol Verde

I finally decided to put to use the two free AMC theatre tickets that have been hanging on my wall since November. They went toward a viewing of Green Lantern, one of the summer superhero movies on my list but predominantly the only one for which I could find a viewing buddy. As far as superhero movies are concerned, what it lacked in character development, dialogue, and continuity, it possessed in imaginative set pieces. As usual. But that's not the point of this post.

The mythos of the Green Lantern franchise is that the universe is built upon the conflict of two powerful energies: Will and Fear (think light side and dark side of the force). Those that succumb to fear are quite literally consumed by it, and the journey/wandering/stroll of our protagonist requires him to overcome such basic human fears as jumping off a towering skyscraper and facing a giant Androssian monster. While I'd love to go on about how many times I've found myself in the same situations, I'll focus a little more on something more general.

I've written about fear a lot in this blog: the fear of making eye contact, speaking out of line, being thought stupid or threatening, etc. My good friend in Germany related a story to me in which he made sustained eye contact with a guy at a bus stop, which then led to a mutual smile and a sort of rapport. Of course, I countered with the theory that, unlike Germany, America is as paranoid, if not more so, than I am. Therefore, sustained eye contact with a stranger on the street would be nicht gut. Yet he advised me to try it. Three seconds. Four, even. An eternity for me. But he presented it as a challenge. Damn it!

So, for the past week I've started to force a full second of eye contact. I've started talking to people with whom I don't normally associate, including the Adonis-type at work who may or may not have been flirting with me in February. And you know what? I get smiles out of it! People respond pleasantly. I mean, it takes quite a bit of reading to determine whether it's an appropriate time to talk to somebody, but an impromptu chat with a stranger is actually very empowering. You sustain eye contact with somebody, and suddenly, you're on their level. You no longer have to worry that your head is going to swell up like a giant tumor and your eyes glow yellow out of fear (see the movie), because in the end, to misquote Hamlet, words are just that: Words, words, words. There really is no need to look further than necessary into them.

I'm going to keep practicing eye contact. It's getting easier as I continue my adventure to see the Historical Landmarks of California and have to ask directions and information from complete strangers. Still, as of yet, these have been older, humble types, not as intimidating as the younger, firebrand sorts that breed so much insecurity in me. I'll take it one step at a time, a question here, an observation there, maybe even a compliment, troublesome though they may be. It takes time to learn how to conjure a racetrack out of pure energy, so if I keep viewing this as a journey or challenge, I just might be more enthusiastic to overcome it.

Familiar

There is a familiar deer in a familiar forest eating familiar grass under a familiar blue sky. It dines with familiar squirrels and listens to familiar birds. It hears a familiar twig snap and recognizes the familiar smell of danger. And so it bolts, in a way familiar to us.

In the past few years, dating has become a cervine lifestyle: The moment I hear that familiar twig snap, I don't care if it's a mountain lion or a careless rabbit, I'm ready to get the hell out of there. It wasn't always this way. In fact, there was a time when I used to lie down and present my vulnerable underbelly to the mountain lions and say, "Here, this portion would be rather tasty, don't you think?" Unfortunately, when the mountain lions decided I didn't taste very good after all, I learned that self subjugation hurts worse than being disemboweled. Now, I'm not so much fleeing for fear of pain as for fear of shame.

I've broken things off with the Gentleman about five times now, but we're still dating. I attribute this to the fact that I haven't actually mentioned it to him. The past two weeks, the twigs have been snapping left and right, but I just can't tell if it's a mountain lion or a rabbit trying to mess with me. I madly want to know: Is he watching me? Is he interested? Why isn't he responding to me? Why doesn't he ask me about such and such? What is he doing messing around online at four in the morning when I sent him a text message question at two this afternoon? Shit, I'm out of here. Oh... There was a family feud... and he figured I was asleep by the time it was done... and he didn't get up until late. Okay, that's kind of considerate. Rabbit in lion's clothing.

Next time: Waiting late for a call to hang out. No call. Send passive-aggressive text about call. No answer. Find answer next morning: babysitting nephews. Respond. Nothing until later.

It's this crazy pinball track from fight to flight to collapse, and it's reawakening a side of me that I really hoped had been dragged away by the mountain lions. Now, every time there is no immediate response, I instantly develop a new scenario in which he is a combination of all of my exes: their journeys that I hinder, their secrets, their affairs, their lies, their patronizations. The psychosis takes less than five minutes to start and an hour to explode into this absurd, self-loathing, woe-is-me, screw-dating mentality, which, once the rabbit pulls off the lion's mask, leaves me ashamed again, yet insufficiently so to prevent another lapse the next time.

So basically, I am a familiar deer in a familiar meadow, waiting for the familiar snap of a familiar twig, but where it is snapping and where to run, remain unfamiliar. The more I run, the more exhausted I become. But what is the alternative? How does one face the lion's mask and still be happy after it's revealed to be a rabbit? Furthermore, how does one enjoy the meadow when there may be a lion nearby? This isn't one of nature's unavoidables; there are methods of defense, but what are they... in the world outside of simile?

Update
Now that he got back to me and very casually brushed me off on our evening plans without a "Sorry" or a "Wish you could be here," but a promise that he would send pictures from his imminent week-long trip, the decision is made. I'm not running; I'm kicking his ass out of the meadow. Positive attitudes aside, I think I have a right to be angry, and in response to the stereotype that people with Asperger's can't take social cues, I'm a hell of a lot more observant than he is. And here I am shaming myself for being pessimistic. You know what? It's better to be single and alone than involved and alone on a Saturday night. Central finger... salute!