Desperation

Dear Annie,

A few years ago I begged my then boyfriend to read the work of my favorite author, G.K. Chesterton. He responded with a typical “I don’t read.” 

Not taking “no” for an answer, I stealthily brought the book along on our next car trip (there’s nothing like a captive audience). The little bugger refused to turn down the radio!

About a month later, while pouring over Chesterton’s St. Francis of Assisi, I had an epiphany. Excited in my new found passion, I desperately desired to share my thoughts with someone. I called the earthly person we all rely on most in time of great need, the one person who is always there to listen... laugh... console... 

Mom. 

She patiently endured my excited speech on St. Francis for about 20 minutes. I don't think I heard a peep from the other end of the line. About half way through my enlightened monologue, I simply stopped mid sentence.... I waited... silence. I suddenly realized the futility of my endeavor. My mother had not truly comprehended a word of what I had said. I began to cry. 

I had bought my parents a copy of Chesterton’s masterpiece, Orthodoxy, for Christmas the year before. It gathered dust on their shelf while both of them were “too busy” to read it. To this day I have not gotten one soul to read more than half a chapter of this book.

Alas, I know the pains of having a passion and wishing to share said passion with a friend or family member, only to discover that even those closest to you have little interest. 

I remember in high school all that mattered to me when scrutinizing a potential boyfriend was what type of music he listened to. It didn't matter what political party he claimed, or what religion he was. All I wanted to know was did he like The Smashing Pumpkins? Simon and Garfunkel? Could he croon along to the lyrics of Kurt Cobain...

Aside from my terrible taste in music, I rather miss those days in which silence meant he’s deep. You know how there are people you can talk to for hours and enjoy their company... but then there is that person... the one who you just look at and feel a “connection.” Did you ever watch My So Called Life? Here is a scene from one of my favorite episodes entitled “The Life of Brian”

ANGELA: Hi!

JORDAN: Hey.

ANGELA: So did you hear about that *thing*? That they’re going to like
*exterminate* fourth period lunch?

JORDAN: I didn’t hear that.

ANGELA: Oh, it’s just something some people are *obsessing* about. I mean, sometimes? People let all these stupid things *fill* their minds, you know? To keep from thinking about what’s you know *really* important.

JORDAN: Hm.

ANGELA: Like this *World Happiness* Dance? I mean, it’s so *stupid*. What does that even *mean*? Like if we dance the world is really going to get happier? I mean, really. Come on. I don’t think so.

JORDAN (beat): There’s a dance?

ANGELA: Yeah! You know, there’s, um, like five hundred posters up around school about it.

JORDAN: Oh...Right.

Silence. Angela looks at Jordan, who seems comfortable never talking again for the remainder of his life.

ANGELA: I guess I kinda mean that the *idea* of the dance is kinda...false. I mean, I doubt I’m even going. I’m sure you’re obviously not going. Right?

JORDAN: See, I have this philosophy.

ANGELA (stunned, impressed): You have a philosophy?

JORDAN: If I go somewhere and someone I know is there. Then cool. There’s something... natural about it. But once you start making *plans*, then you have like *obligations*. Which basically blows. So my feeling is? Whatever happens? Happens.

ANGELA (nodding): I have to say. I really respect that.

Jordan hops into his car. Angela looks at him, waits a beat, wondering if he’s going to offer her a ride. He says nothing.

ANGELA (cont’d): Oh, I can’t... I left my Geometry book in my locker, so...

Jordan drives off, leaving Angela with a forced smile plastered to her face.  

Ah... sweet desperation.

Reminds me of high school (and last week).

Love,

Taintedsky