They met on the playground. He liked her shiny brown hair and the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. She liked how smart he was and how he made her laugh. The more they played together, the more they learned how similar they were. They liked to sit in the sun and read good books. They liked to walk through the forest holding hands. They liked to sit under a tree and eat strawberries and crackers spread with peanut butter.
In the beginning, the boy told the girl lots of things about himself. He told her things he’d never told anyone else. The more he told her, the more she liked him. He was easy to be around. He made her feel comfortable. He made her feel like she could be who she was, and he would still like her.
The more he talked, the more she wanted to know. Learning about him was like reading a good book. The more she read, the more she could hardly wait to get to the end. But as she got closer to the last few chapters, something kept preventing her from reading the final pages. Someone kept interrupting her. Someone would not let her keep reading.
That someone was the boy.
The more the girl tried to read, the less he wanted her to read.
The girl became frustrated with not being allowed to finish the book. Why had she been allowed to read so much, only to be told that she wouldn’t be allowed to read the rest? She put the book down for awhile. She hoped that if she gave him time to get comfortable with the idea, that maybe he’d let her finish reading the rest of the book.
__________
One chilly autumn afternoon, they were sitting under a tree, huddled under the same blanket, and the boy told her about his vest. Under his flannel shirt, he wore a kevlar vest. He had always worn the vest to protect his heart. He couldn’t tell her how long he’d worn the vest. He couldn’t tell her of the injuries to his heart. He just told her that he wore a vest, he wasn’t taking it off, and that was all.
She noticed that some days, the vest was zipped all the way to the collar. Those days he wouldn’t let her see any more of him. Those days it seemed his shoulders curved forward from the pressure of the tightly zipped vest. His shoulders slouched over his chest to further protect his heart. Some days the zipper was pulled down, maybe just an inch or so, allowing him to stand straighter and breathe easier.
One day, not long after he’d told her about the vest, they took a long walk in the forest, holding hands, and talking about everything they could think of, except his vest. She glanced at his chest and noticed that the zipper was halfway down. She could see the top of his heart. He didn’t realize that the vest was unzipped as far as it was. On this day, she felt the closest she’d ever felt to him. He even told her it was the best day he’d ever had. He didn’t want that day to end. She wondered, if the day hadn’t ended, would she have been able to unzip the vest the rest of the way.
But that day closed, and on the next day, she noticed that the zipper had been pulled up all the way.
Time went on, and the girl became frustrated and angry with the boy for not unzipping the vest. She tried to tell him that he could trust her. He couldn’t hear her.
She tried to shout at him that he could trust her. He turned his back to her, and clutched the zipper pull with his fingers, so as to make sure that the vest stayed tightly zipped.
The girl went away for awhile. Her heart hurt. She couldn’t think of anything to do to get the boy to unzip the vest. She believed that if he would take off the vest, she could see the bruises on his heart, and together they could heal the bruises. By keeping his vest tightly closed, the sun and air couldn’t get in, and healing couldn’t begin.
Most importantly, her love couldn’t get in.
But the girl couldn’t give up on the boy. She just knew, deep down to her toes, that if he could take off the vest, show her all of him, let her read the rest of his book, that everything would be fine. He would be free to be all of himself with her. He wouldn’t have to keep things from her. She wouldn’t get angry with him. She would stop saying things to try to get him to take off the vest.
She tried to write stories to tell him how good things could be. She painted pictures of happy endings. She tried to make him laugh so that he could be comfortable with her and unzip his vest. She even tried to get him angry. She thought if she could get him mad enough, he’d unzip his vest in a rage, show her his heart and let her see his injuries. Then she could prove to him that she loved him, that he could trust her, and that they could heal his bruised heart together.
But he wouldn’t unzip the vest. He was afraid he’d never see her again if he showed her the bruises.
The vest prevented her from getting close enough to him. When she couldn’t get close to him, she got scared. She was afraid he didn’t love her. She just knew that if he loved her, he’d let her in.
She slowly realized that she couldn’t do anything to get him to unzip the vest. Making him angry made him cinch the vest even tighter. Begging him to let her read the rest of his book only made him turn his shoulders to her. She had to give him room to figure out what to do.
She made sure he knew that she cared for him.
He was in charge of his own vest. Only he could decide when to take it off.
All she could do was love him. So, she loved him and she hoped that one day, he’d let down his guard and unzip the vest.
I wish I could give her a word of hope. All I can say is: she shouldn’t hold her breath about the vest. Emails can’t pull that zipper down. And while he’s protecting his heart and keeping her out, she needs to get on with her life. She needs to find someone who’ll share his heart as willingly as she shares her own.
Do you suppose she’s playing out old patterns? Trying for love from an impossible love source?
Pat,
Yes, DAMMIT, that’s exactly what she is doing – she’s playing out old patterns because she doesn’t know what a new pattern looks like. And she certainly doesn’t know what a new pattern feels like.
In the meantime, she fools herself by thinking that if she loves the boy enough, he’ll finally take the vest off.
She’s a fool – a fool in love with the wrong boy.
But what if…
How does she get beyond wondering if he’ll ever take the damn vest off. Truth is, he’d probably take the vest off for the right girl.
She’s not the right girl.
Truly beautiful! You take my breath away! You have such a talent!
Kate,
Thanks for that. Perhaps it’s true what they say about writing from the heart.
I’ve noticed that unconditional love means accepting the other person exactly the way they are, without expecting them to change.
This could also be a treatise on codependency. Or not having expectations. Both make you crazy.
But to bring yourself some peace, just love. Yourself first, then others.
PS: You were missed!
Donna,
How do you decide when you are funneling all that love in the wrong direction? (With a narcissist, it’s pretty obvious.)
Is it okay to decide that while it’s good to love, it’s also good to be loved back? Is that wrong?
Am I supposed to be content with loving myself first, and then loving others, and whether it comes back my way from others (obviously I mean one particular other here) or not, it really doesn’t matter? If that’s the case, I’ve definitely got a lot of work to do, to get comfortable with that scenario.
Is this as good as it gets?
How do I know?
Being loved back is what it’s all about! The kind of love you’re talking about is reciprocal.
I think your current situation is like being a parent of a brand new baby. That sweet, little squishy thing is cute all right, but there’s definitely no reciprocity – until the baby learns to smile. Up until then, it’s really tough for both parents because they get nothing back.
New parents can hang in there waiting six to eight weeks for the baby to respond. How long have YOU been waiting?
too long …
I think you know that it’s one-way love when you don’t get your needs met.
My spiritual life and personal growth are very important to me. So when I’m writing about unconditional love, it isn’t a place I touch often, but wish I could. I think if I were a spiritual master, it wouldn’t matter if the love came back to me from another particular person, because I would be the love. I certainly realize that isn’t where a huge majority of people on the planet would choose to live, however. :)
I believe that a loving healthy relationship means both partners get their needs met in whatever way they both decide works for them. I think that is part of being loved back, cuz you get to decide and discuss. If it doesn’t work the way you want, you can decide to exit.
My slight experience with self-love has shown me that when I feel good about myself, then the world looks mighty fine.
Donna,
I read this comment a couple days ago, and finally posted it this morning. I’ve been letting it simmer in my brain.
You said so much in this one comment – things I’m working on and things I hope to achieve. And this ties in beautifully with a post I’m working on.
I’m blessed to know you. You are a ‘porthole’ for me in the finest, metaphorical sense of the word.
Yeah, girl…when we met it was definitely a God job! Well, that and my brazen personality. :)
And just remember, I may be a porthole, but you are the SHIP!