Introverts like myself have a particularly unique (and not altogether positive) skill when it comes to creating a story about someone we don’t actually know. Does that make sense? Let me explain…
It will come as no surprise, this is about a boy. There was this boy, let’s call him A (A for asshole?). A was someone I’d seen around for years, he was a friend of some friends of mine. We were often in the same places, but had never formally been introduced to one another.
I was quite taken by him. He seemed everything I like in a person. Deep, dangerous, disastrously good looking. There was something about him that put you on edge, like he could unravel your world with a look, and leave you falling into a pit of despair. A scary, but incredibly attractive quality (we love to flirt with danger don’t we?).
So, I began to imagine his character… built on no real facts as I still knew virtually nothing about him. I gave him a personality and ideals that I thought would fit him. And I was somewhat taken by this creation of mine… his looks, but the soul of this creation, was not him, it was what I wanted him to be. Again, does that make sense?
This weekend just past, I had the terrible fortune of getting to spend some time with him… terrible in that alcohol was involved. And, whilst alcohol and I are the best of friends, alcohol never really helps in these situations. I was having drinks at a good friend’s house, my best friend (also gay) in tow, after which we were all going to head to the local gay bar.
I was awkward, and not the adorably cute kind of awkward… it was the say everything wrong, spill your drink, and ruin all credibility kind of awkward. We drank, we laughed, I cried/died internally. My good friend and I noticed my best friend and A getting annoyingly close to each other, lighting a spark inside me that turns me from jovial (but still dying on the inside) to complete and utter dick.
I walked away, hoping my absence would be enough for my best friend to realize he was over-stepping. He was too close to my creation, A. Big mistake on my part… I love and adore my best friend, but sadly, he was not gifted with anything that even resembles brains. He’s a lovable oaf, which I guess is why he far better loved than I. It’s a compliment I swear!
After a little dance, A and Best Friend find us on the dance floor, walking up to his holding each other’s hands. Assholes. Then we dance, I ignore. They Kiss. I can’t ignore anymore. I’m angry, I’m upset. I’m hurt. How could A do this to me? How could my best friend? Don’t they both know how I feel?
No… they don’t. I’d never voiced my affections. Not only that… A, it turns out, is not this person I had thought him to be. My imagination was far too kind. I’m grateful for the events that night. Illusions have been shattered, and I’m better off for it. I knew little about A, and now that I know more, I realize he really isn’t worthy of the affection, the time and attention I had so willingly (and without his knowing) given.
The real A, at least what I got to see of him, was a hollow comparison to the A I had created. A vital lesson learned (hmm, maybe alcohol was doing me a favor here!).
I guess, dear readers, the moral of this story is that we should all be careful when it comes to imagining what others are like, when we don’t know enough about them. We do it all the time with musicians and movie stars, we see little snippets of them on YouTube, usually a beautiful singer doing a song we are very attached to, and we start imagining their personalities and quirks. They’re founded on nothing more than our own, twisted, hope that they are who we want them to be.
I urge caution to everyone and anyone, whom, like I did, has this idea of someone they like in their head. I ask you, to sit now, and think about this idea. Is it built on fact? Do you know enough about the person to know that he or she is how you imagine them?
To my good friend, who I know will be reading this… I know A is a friend of yours. I’m not calling him a bad person. I’m just trying to explain that he isn’t the person I thought him to be. I don’t mean to cause offence.