Ramona

Ramona,

I am sitting here in a quandary. No, actually it is a chair in the SNC. But my mind is as baffled as Pat Rupp. The source of my anguish is probably evident. But let's go back in time just for fun...

I don't know the exact moment when the thought came into my mind: "Hey, this person Mona, who I work with and occasionally chat with is really cool. I mean, I feel comfortable around her. I want her to be my friend. I want her to like me.

“I want her to like me, share her secrets and troubles and confide in me. I wish she wasn’t married. But that’s ok, ‘cause I really respect her. It’s better this way. We can be really good friends and never be tainted by problems that plague most male-female relationships. Maybe by getting close to Mona and getting to know how she thinks and feels I can begin to understand women in general (a very bold ambition).

“But she’s so accessible and open. Surely she is an exception. She’s very different from anyone I have met. So warm and human and unpretentious. God, and she’s pretty, too. What a lucky guy she must be married to. He probably loves her to death. (seriously, no pun intended). He should, anyway.

“What’s a guy gotta do to wind up with a girl like this, anyway? Be Gandhi or Mother Theresa in their past life? The good ones are all taken and usually taken for granted. Well, I’d never do this,” I say.

Then, the trouble in Paradise. Her man beats her and she kicks him out or he leaves. She says it’s over, but she doesn’t want it to be. But she does not want to suffer any more. No more tension or anxiety in her own house.

She calls her friends for support. I have longed for the chance to show her that I care, that I am there for her. I feel needed. I also feel guilty deriving pleasure from the closeness she has allowed me to have with her in sharing her problems. She seems so vulnerable.

God, I think she is so attractive. Maybe she…thoughts and daydreams run amok…no, this is wrong. Although we are really good friends now, I have no right to indulge in this kind of thinking. Or have I? What if she’s lonely? What would it hurt if I told her how I feel: I know she’s a kind enough person to forgive me if I am acting inappropriately.

I’ll send her a letter (how original). This approach has never worked before but, hey, I don’t think she’d really mind a nice letter to inform her that she is (A) Loved (B) Beautiful. So, I did it. Gave her the letter. And waited and watched. No response. “I liked your letter,” was all. What did that mean?

The subject seemed shelved. And our friendship was intact. I wasn’t embarrassed. I figured I had just been so off base that it had been laughable. She’d never been attracted to me. I am demented, delusional.

So, off I go on my Quest for Woman, sniffing elsewhere, in the personals, in the supermarket. I can’t stand being alone.

I get involved in an “instant relationship” with someone named Joy. She says she loves me. What can I do? She gives me wonderful hugs and tells me I am all that she wants in a man. We’ve known each other less than a week. I have reservations. I don’t want to hurt this nice girl who is so in love with me (an indeed makes me feel loved).

But if I ever had a chance with Mona…no, forget it.

Then, a phone call, “I wrote you a letter.” Hmm. What could this mean? Hold everything. Let’s just see what it says.

P.S. She hugged me—a dream fulfilled.