a conversation

A few days ago, my friend Mandy and I met up at the overlook of Cincinnati here on campus, and we sat down on the bench, and I looked her in the eyes, and I said, “Here’s the honest-to-God truth: I like you.” From the beginning of our friendship, I knew there was the potential that I would begin liking her. She is the kind of girl I am attracted to: her physical beauty, quirky personality, and devotion to God are all characteristics I am drawn to. I tried not to start liking her—because she is leaving Cincinnati and because our hopes and dreams in life are different—and so I built a wall around my heart. But she tore down those walls, and I was inexorably drawn to her. I tried to cut myself off from her, fearing my attraction was akin to a moth drawn to a flame, a fly drawn to a Venus fly-trap, akin to a mouse drawn to the cheese in the mousetrap. I feared her beauty was fatally gorgeous, but I could not bring myself to put distance between us. So I tried to convince myself that I didn’t like her, but as we spent more time together—going to coffee shops and restaurants and shopping villas—I realized I could not deny it: I liked her. I promised myself I would never tell her—I knew she didn’t like me, knew that even if she did, dating (because of outside circumstances) would be like drinking the kool-aid at the sight of Haley’s Comet. So it remained a secret, though she suspected that I liked her. She said she wanted me to be honest and tell her if I liked her. I was torn between telling her and not telling her, but eventually I decided to tell her. Why? Because she wanted me to, and because I believe a girl deserves to know when her beauty—inward and outward—captivates even the most shallow of God’s creatures.

 

So I told her, and she told me she was glad to know, but that she wasn’t in the quest of a relationship. I knew this going in; I was not expecting her to say that she was attracted to me and wanted to date. I had no fantasies. In reality, I expect the worst: that she would run for the hills, that our friendship would shatter. None of that happened, and for that I am thankful: she is one of my best friends.

 

In the past, I would have perceived this as rejection. Countless times I have been told by girls—to my face—that I am not adequate, that I am not good enough, that I do not have what it takes. In the past, I would have been heartbroken. But I am not. And I don’t know why. Perhaps it is because I know we couldn’t date even if we wanted to; or maybe it’s because of the knowledge that our dreams and desires in life are vastly different: she wants to be a missionary in South America, and I want to settle down and have a family. I’m not sure. What I do know is that Mandy is one of the greatest girls I have ever known, and getting to know her has been the highlight of the semester. I feared her beauty was fatally gorgeous; no, her beauty was fatally enlightening: after a series of relationships ending in abandonment, betrayal, and back-stabbing, I perceived women as heartless and untrustworthy. Mandy has taught me that there are wonderful girls out there, and she has resurrected hope within me.