the smedley log - suburban scrawl

Lessons from the seventh row

“I’m thinking of a word that has been knocked up and over-used.
You could say it’s lost all meaning from so much abuse.”
-Over the Rhine

First the girl.

She was eternally sunny, like the summer afternoon I made her acquaintance on a rural hillside. She was driven by passion, but still slightly guarded. She noticed things that other people didn’t, and she wrote them down – she said it was just to remember. As opposed to me. I wrote things down partly to remember, but also to exhaust the mental faucet that ran forever in my head (- if they were the demons, writing them down was a sort of exorcism).

She wove craft bracelets and necklaces, she wore pants referred to as “clam diggers” and she re-animated crinkled straw wrappers with a drop of soda while sitting in the seventh row of any given movie theater.

I thought she was a distraction, but she became a friend. One that would weave in and out of my life for the next half of it.

Years later, after college, she remained essentially sunny, though her sense of fashion changed a little. She wore clothes and make-up more evocative of a goth styling, though not quite so much. Picture Gwyneth Paltrow in The Royal Tenenbaums without the mopey mannerisms. She dragged me to local music venues for bands I would never have heard if not for her influence, though I don’t remember her ever pushing anything on me. She loved music interminably and almost infectiously.

A little more than seven years after we first met, she had it in her mind to get married to a man she’d met through work. Within a month or so of the wedding day, we spoke on the phone. Like most of our conversations, it meandered, and lasted longer than the verbal content required. Near the end of it, while talking about her upcoming nuptials and the business of planning for them, she said the words I might have misunderstood, had they come from anyone else’s lips:

“You know I love you.”

I did know. The words entered my conscious mind for the first time ever in connection with her, but not awkwardly; not with any ideas that she was suddenly thinking of scuttling her wedding plans to run off with me. It may have been the first time I’d ever thought of love toward a non-related female in a platonic way.

I knew before she said it, though I hadn’t processed the thought itself. I knew because she’d come along at two different points in my life, years apart, when I needed a friend who’d tolerate me dealing with the aftermath of a couple of my worst personal experiences. And I don’t think she knew of my desperation, my need for friendship and sympathy at those times. I think it was just her nature to offer it, even though there were times in between when I wasn’t much of a friend to her. It was the selfless attribute of not wanting for herself, the kind of thing they try to teach in Sunday School. She seemed to have mastered it; I was just beginning to grasp it.

To this day, she’s one of incredibly few people I’ve ever met who could just throw around a word like “love,” absent any romantic pretense, without flinching or being casual. It’s a habit I tried to pick up, but I’ve found the practice is usually misunderstood.

I wonder sometimes if anyone thinks that way anymore. Obviously, there are people who do, but they don’t seem too common. More often than not, people, even those in romantic relationships, seem threatened by mentions of “love.”

I wonder if that sense of dread sprouts from some reluctance to allow other people to genuinely care, or if it’s a natural response to the way the term itself has been so carelessly used.

So many people use it to justify taking, while a precious few realize it’s more about giving. I wonder, how many people still get that?

I’ll hear a song every once in a while that reminds me of her – sometimes it’s a song I know because of her; or a mannerism I never noticed before her; or just the seventh row of seats in a movie theater; or a crinkled paper wrapper from a straw. Then I’ll smile, remembering that somewhere, someone still gets it.

I’m pretty lucky that I have some friends I can get away with that with – they typically know what I mean and what I don’t.

The most recent is of a friend who called trying to deal with his 19YO cat’s physical decline. The way you’re framing the discussion makes me think I might have used it when he was in the hospital recovering from aortic dissection (I think it was maybe a year or so ago), which might have been why his mom thought I was secretly in love with him and furious at him for not coming out to me (which, duh, I’ve known this friend for over 15 years, and with some guys you might not notice, this one…).

It was most amazing in its ease to me saying it to an ex and realizing not only that I meant it the way I did but that he knew how I meant it – the mental shorthand of people who know each other well enough to get it. We were close to best friends in college, got involved for a little after, probably shouldn’t’ve, bitter ending (etc.), smoothed over years later. A couple of years ago I was told when his brother died and knew I couldn’t drop everything to go (hard to get to W PA when you find out the day of the funeral), but sent something and did get to speak to him on the phone and talked about the little boy who idolized him and tagged along every chance he got. And the dude who was R’s deliberate catch-er for the wedding garter ‘cause he knew it would be the best show. We’d only been in touch intermittently (and still are) but we know it’s more life’s nuttiness then not wanting the best for each other, and in this case, my being horrified at the hand life just dealt him.

I’m not so sure it’s the not knowing, it’s the not knowing that you know or not knowing to say. I have a specific friend that has driven home by example how powerful explicit expression is that I think is the absolute master of that balance, and I know I’ve learned (and wish I had 1/2 the knack that she does) by watching her. She just says all that positive stuff other people think but don’t say and I used to watch this and just marvel. Sounds obvious but is not by a long shot.

“More often than not, people, even those in romantic relationships, seem threatened by mentions of “love.”

I was once in that position…I soon realized that I was afraid because it wasn’t love.

Love is a word that carries a lot with it for me. Some people use it for everything and doesn’t mean anything much for them, some use it so sparingly because they’re too afraid. I use it only when I feel it. That I’ve found is the best way, at least for me.

Beautifully said…nothing better than being loved.

This, along with my almost-late Father’s Day post, kind of made this the weekend of love here at the smedley log.

Oh well, I hope your Father’s Day was a good one Frank.

I did, thank you. I really like that authenticity and ethos in your writing, Howard. Very well done. And this kind of writing is good because it drives introspection, something sadly missing in this instant and continuous gratification world. Thanks for that.

I love the line “she re-animated crinkled straw wrappers with a drop of soda.” It’s such a perfect description of that act.

As you know, I believe deeply in love. For me it is far more than just a romantic expression, but a way of operating and being in the world. I try to infuse love into every interaction I have and am always attempting to make a positive, loving impact upon the world. I wouldn’t have tattooed the word onto my body if it wasn’t something I feel strongly about.

I have lots of friends with I share the phrase, “I love you.” For me, it is a way to communicate the deep appreciation and affection for the many wonderful people in my life.