The Dance

She eyed the name, mouse hovering, ready to click. She wanted to say hello. To ask about his day, to hear of his exploits. She wanted him to ask about her day so she could tell him everything she had seen.

She never knew which version of him she was going to get, though. Some days, he was a ball of energy and spunk. He could make her laugh so hard she cried. His humor and wit were mesmerizing to her. They bantered like an old couple and flirted via mild insults, like little kids. Other days, his depression seeped through the text. His pain, palpable. Each response took an eternity and added little to the conversation. Honestly, she didn’t care which version she got. She just hated that he could be suffering so much. She would happily talk to any manifestation of him. Any response was contact and she thrived on it. Plus, she figured, having someone show interest and compassion was important on the bad days.

She had found an equal, she felt. Someone who understood her sense of humor and could challenge her intelligence, making her truly consider the world around her. She loved the intricate tango that played out when they talked. The give and take of their discussions. The well-intentioned insults that their mutual sense of humor lent itself to so well.

Yes, she had found someone who got her in a way no one had in years. Unfortunately, she found him at a time when he was only himself some of the time. There was nothing she could do but continue to be there. To keep the lines of communication open. To wait for him to return to himself full-time. And to hope that some day he would notice that she was there for him. Even if nothing ever happened, she loved that he considered her a friend – someone to confide in. That consolation did not stop her from hoping that the future held more for them. After all, it wasn’t everyday that you met someone who could make you laugh and think in the way he did. Someone who could challenge your beliefs in a way that was more inspirational than insulting. In a few short months, she had become quite attached to their conversations, whether upbeat or more cynical.

Her mouse rested on his name as she contemplated what to do. She sat and stared, trying to make up her mind. She wanted to say hello, if only for selfish reasons. She had become reliant on his presence in her life. She wanted him there on the good and bad days. But this wasn’t just about her, and sometimes she thought she might be trying just a little bit too hard. She moved the mouse away, closed the window, and turned back to her notes. Maybe she would say hello later. Or maybe not. She had just started to focus on her work again when she heard a familiar click. She glanced up and grinned. The text box that held an integral part of her world had appeared. ‘Hello’ it said. ‘Hello, yourself’, she replied. And so their dance began again.


12:00am  19.8.10