The Trump Card

Yesterday I ran into "O." It was the first time I'd seen him since we passed each other in the hallway a couple months ago after our sixth month flirtation ending in what I'll call a "one night sit" since I wouldn't go all the way. To refresh everyone's memory, that night I darted out of his room after he fell asleep, left a note saying we should go out on an actual date, and he texted back the next day saying that that was a great idea. Then I never heard from him again despite my occasional text messages asking him what was up and telling him that as a neighbor I needed and deserved the "It's not going to work" talk.

Anyway, when I ran into him a couple months ago I was dressed in a cute outfit. I had been well enough to take a shower that day and I was getting groceries out of my roommate's car. We stopped in the middle of the hallway and he introduced me to his long time friend and said that he would talk to me soon (which he never did). He was open, unreserved, and seemed to know that his lack of communication was his problem and not because of anything I had done.

But when I saw him again yesterday, I was in pj sweats, my hair was in four slept on braids bunched together, and I hadn't showered in a few days (though a wash cloth and deodorant hopefully kept me from smelling). O was getting out of his car as I carried a garbage bag full of recyclables down to the bins which are located right next to his parking space. I did a little half wave, and our conversation went like this:


O: (smiling but scared) Hi.
Me: (smiling but aloof) Hi.
O: How are you feeling?
Me: Good.

Then I proceeded to drop of the recycling. As I came back out of the trash area he was getting something out of his car, so instead of saying bye I just continued on my way to get the mail.

That "how are you feeling" really irritated me. The only change between our first chance meeting and our second is that I had texted him of my brain abnormality, since when we were still friends we had discussed my search for a diagnosis which my doctor thought at that time was probably the rare seizure disorder. The last time I had heard "how are you feeling" in that tone of voice, it was said by an MRI tech as I was getting a scan to rule out MS. When the tech said it I felt the same irritation, though at the same time I felt a bit of fear that what ailed me may be worse than I had imagined. Luckily it wasn't, at least not then, and I left knowing that the tech was trained to treat his patients with fragility.

O, however, is not an MRI tech. He is a guy who tried to sleep with me and never called me again, despite knowing that I live right below him and can hear everything he does. The MRI tech was allowed to ask how I was feeling. The only thing out of O's mouth should be an apology for standing me up. Or it should at least be the first thing.

It's not that I don't want people to be aware of my disorder. When friends don't understand the complexities of it, I'm always open to discuss it with them so they'll get the full picture. And when they ask how I am as if I were fragile it doesn't bother me, because our friendship goes beyond me being ill. It's filled with talk about how our days went, drinks and food consumed with laughter, and a sense of connection that's separate from health.

But potential boyfriends are different from friends. Friends see my fragility but they also see my strength, and it's the strength that they focus on when they interact with me. When I find the right guy he will also see this strength. Not in terms of thinking of me as a warrior or hero, but just an average person dealing with a hard life issue who tries to take it in stride. But to O, I am someone to be pitied and ostracized. In his eyes I lose my sense of humanity, and even my right to be treated respectfully, because I am not well. It's as if "congenital brain abnormality" trumps "being stood up," and because my disorder is so much worse than his actions, he shouldn't be responsible for apologizing for them.

I ended the night being tortured by his karaoke party where I could hear every song sung and every laugh laughed. But the "torture" was cut short when my gay friend picked me up for a night on the town. We met our other friends, we laughed and talked and danced, and when he dropped me off his final words were not "how are you feeling," but "I'll see you again soon."