08.23.2004 - 2:59 p.m.

Something I've noticed lately, about the dating patterns of females: We start our dating lives certain that each prospect is Prince Charming, True Love, or a Husband. And by the end of the first date, we are generally willing to walk to the ends of the earth for these people. However, by the time we hit our twenties, Prince Charming has been caught charming the pants off some former friend, True Love seemed to only mean what he said while in bed, and Mr. Husband Material turned out to be a member of the Psychotic Bastard religion. So we go casual, dating several guys at a time, playing by our own rules, not always bothering to call back. The incentive to put up with things has worn out. I mean, if we run across someone worth keeping, fine, but meanwhile? The second we're not amused, we're gone. We've paid up front, thank you.

And it's more than just dating. For instance, I went home to see an old friend this weekend. Her face is getting older, much more beautiful. Not that she was ever less than beautiful--just that before, you were always startled by the age in her eyes, but now the little lines growing about their edges helps blend it in.

The litany is the same. My "How are you" produces a list of medical problems and odd financial snafus and the reasons why she's only hanging by a thread. I am not expected to do anything about any of this; each woe is listed quickly, mixed between conversational nothings, non sequitors, and even occasional good news. I am not given a chance to ask questions, for there are things she never wants me to know. I am just supposed to witness, and then we will move on.

And we can talk for several hours about mutual friends and families, about growth and change, things we didn't know about when we were sixteen. "I think I will always have an element of sketch in my life," she says, and I agree.

After five years of distance, I have to wonder if she's only come back around because she wants someone there who doesn't need her, doesn't require interventions or rides to work or shoulders to cry on. After five years, I don't know what to want from her. I certainly don't need anything I can't get elsewhere. All I know is that there will be no pain, because although I'm willing to try this friendship thing again, I can only give as long as I am receiving.

My current self is no longer capable of love on credit. I am not sure I am proud of that aspect of my being.

-stonebridge

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