The Girl He Used to Know(11)
“Do you think he’s punishing you in some way because of the past?”
“Isn’t he?”
“Could there be another reason? Ten years is a long time. I’m sure there have been lots of developments in his life, the way there have been in yours.”
One by one, I pull the Jonathan facts out of my brain where I’ve committed them to memory. “He’s divorced. No kids. I think he works a lot. He lives in an apartment not far from me.”
“Divorce is a major, and often very stressful, life change. Jonathan may have always seemed invincible to you, but he’s human and he feels pain just like anyone else. Could it be that it’s his current situation that’s influencing his decision whether or not to see you again, and not the past?”
Tina and I have spent hours working on the difficulties I have putting myself in other people’s shoes, and after I watched Jonathan walk away, I spent all day trying to figure it out on my own. My frustration grew because for the life of me, I could not put my finger on it no matter how hard I tried. I just assumed he was mad at me for what I’d done. Then I couldn’t relax and therefore couldn’t sleep, and I’ve been at a deficit ever since. Yet in less than fifteen minutes, Tina has effortlessly unraveled it for me, and I finally understand. All these extra steps are exhausting. I remember feeling stunned when Tina explained that most people can draw these conclusions instantaneously, without any extra analysis at all. How amazing but also heartbreaking, because I’ll never be one of them.
“I just … I wanted so badly to have the chance to show him that I’m different now. That I’m not the same girl I was back then.”
“But that’s something you want. He gets to have a say, too.” Tina scribbles something on the legal pad that rests on her lap. “Do you think Jonathan would have wanted you to change?”
“Doesn’t everyone? How could you not want someone to change after they hurt you?”
“Changing how you deal with something is not the same thing as changing who you are as a person. Jonathan isn’t here so I can’t answer for him, but I’ve spoken to a lot of people in my years of providing therapy. The one thing I hear them say the most is that the other person changed. And not one of them has ever said it like it’s a good thing.”
“What do you think I should do?”
Tina shakes her head. “That’s your homework for next time. I want you to tell me.”
8
Annika
THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN
1991
Jonathan was walking out of Lincoln Hall when Janice and I passed by on our way to class. He smiled and said hi. I did nothing.
“Who was that?” Janice asked.
“Jonathan. Chess club.”
“The guy you beat?”
“Yes.” I didn’t want to talk about Jonathan. The thought of talking to Janice about any guy stirred up too many unpleasant memories. I could think about Jonathan in my head, but I wasn’t ready to talk about him out loud.
Janice elbowed me. “Is there a reason you didn’t mention how good-looking he was?”
“Are you hungry? Do you want to get some lunch? I’m hungry.”
“Oh, Annika. It’s funny that you think I’m going to let you off so easily.”
“I really wish you would.”
“Not a chance.”
“I can’t do it again. I won’t.”
“Not every guy is bad. A lot of them are very good.”
“Well, we both know I’m not capable of spotting the difference on my own.”
“Don’t worry. This time he’ll have to get past me first.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’m sure he doesn’t think of me like that.”
“Where do you want to eat lunch?”
“Actually, I’m signed up for a shift at the clinic. There’s an opossum with a broken arm I want to check on. Poor thing. He’s so cute. You should see his little splint.”
“Then why did you suggest lunch?”
“I just wanted to change the subject.”
“I’m disappointed in myself. I can’t believe I fell for it.”
* * *
The University of Illinois Wildlife Medical Clinic accepted native wild animals in need of care due to illness and injury, or because they’d been orphaned. The goal was to rehabilitate them and release them back into the wild. Veterinary students made up the bulk of the volunteers, but there were a few—like me—whose undying love for animals, and not our future vocations, had led us to the clinic behind the veterinary medicine building on the south side of campus. I had a tendency to gravitate toward the smaller animals, but I also felt a special affinity for the birds. They were majestic creatures, and there was nothing more satisfying than releasing one and watching it soar off high in the sky.
The small animal I cradled in my gloved hands—the aforementioned opossum, who I’d decided should be called Charlie—had a long road ahead of him, but with the right care and attention, he had a good shot at returning to his natural habitat.
Sue, a senior who’d been volunteering at the clinic almost as long as I had, and whom I felt very comfortable with, walked into the room. “Hey, Annika. Ah, look at that little guy.”