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"Christ!" Children Cried.

Written on Aug 4, 09 9:48 pm | Musings/Thoughts 1 comments | 0 | 0
How is it that in every movie and every book the protagonist always manages to know exactly what to do or say to soothe the mournful and the brokenhearted? The moment is always so poignant, so utterly beautiful and fragile, that it seems like sadness is a beauty all on its own and the reader or watcher feels a pang of empathy as he witnesses the scene. It makes me wonder if those authors and script writers have ever witnessed a young girl break down. Say what you will about relationships but don’t be so heartless as to ignore the fact that the end of them can cause a huge emotional upheaval not many are prepared to face. Now let's make this scene more realistic. Let's say that said break up occurs in, oh, Serbish and that the “mournful and brokenhearted” in this case is actually your nineteen year old friend and that you have the unfortunate luck of walking into the room as the fight between her and her boyfriend breaks out. You’re left there in a state of shock and, if you happen to have a grim sense of humor, you might think, “Oh, I guess this is how deers feel when they’re about to be run over by a massive *bleep*ing truck.” It is at this moment of time that you take up your cross and accept the fact that you will have to console and take care of your friend. I’m sure this makes me sound like an unfeeling monster, but that’s only because the large majority of you are male and you don’t know how emotionally draining breakups can be – not only for the girl in the relationship but also for the lucky friend who finds herself taking care of the broken mess that’s left.

The thing about crying is that it’s not a very pretty thing. My Serbish friend is one of the most gorgeous girls I’ve ever met and she’s currently a mess. “I don’t know how they do it in movies” is the only thought that’s running through my head as I listen to Kris plead to her boyfriend on the phone. I’m on the other bed, sitting and just watching her. Crying is such a personal thing that whenever I see someone do it I always have two immediate reactions: empathy and panic. Empathy because it’s simply heart wrenching to see another human being, much less a good friend, in such a deep state of unhappiness and panic because I have absolutely no *bleep*ing idea about what to do to soothe or ease her pain.

I’m so uncomfortable with the situation, especially because I don’t know what they’re fighting about or what’s actually occurring at the moment that I begin to make up situations. Serbish sounds nothing like Spanish, French, or English – the three languages that I am fluent in. Unfortunately, I know next to nothing about the Slavic languages. Therefore, the fight that's occuring becomes a rather morbid and grim game. Kris is crying and sighing while speaking rapid Serbish while I come up with different scenarios. This fight is rather sudden because I saw her boyfriend last Friday and I know that they both had a great time in Europa Park. Throughout the conversation, I hear certain phrases repeated again and again and I can only conjure that the phrases are something like “But I love you!” and “I swear!” as well as the “Please listen to me.” I think of the last phrase because, while I don’t understand a word Kris is actually saying, I can recognize the pained look she wears on her face. It’s a look I’ve seen on many of my friends’ faces, male and female, when they have something to say and no one wants to listen or, worse, believe them. She also occasionally raises her tone and looks rather angry. I have flashbacks of growing up in Colombia and watching telenovelas as I passed my time before being forced to begin my homework. I think of the usual plotlines and wonder if there is another woman who has thrown a horrendous wrench in the works. Then I wonder if the boyfriend has fallen for the ugly girl somehow.

The phone conversation has finally ended and I’m still sitting on the other bed in the room. I’ve been getting up and giving Kris tissues while throwing away her used ones throughout the duration of the conversation but now I know that it’s my turn to do something. I sit down next to her and awkwardly embrace her. I do so slowly so she can shrug me off if she wants to because I know that some people prefer to be left alone to wallow in their sadness while others prefer to be held and told platitude after platitude. I know I personally prefer to be held and hugged so tightly that I can barely breathe while I sob my eyes out. The aforementioned action rarely occurs but when it does, that’s how I like others to handle it. In fact, I often take care of these things because I’ll go and cling to the person first so that they know they’re allowed to touch me. As I’m hugging Kris and patting her back, I realize that I’m at another disadvantage. I’m a mere 5’1” and, like the large majority of the human population, my arms in equal proportion to my body. Kris on the other hand is this gorgeous and statuesque girl who is at least 5’9”. My watch on my left hand feels as if it were made of lead and I feel as if I were the titan Atlas and the world he held was, in fact, my watch. My wrist feels awkward and cumbersome as I continue to rub Kris’ back. I’m not quite sure if she wants to talk about it now or if she wants me to blabber on and attempt to say stupid jokes to cheer her up. Due to this, I pick the safest choice and remain silent.

At this point, I’m both emotionally and physically tired but I know that I have the duty of taking care of her until she’s functioning once again. I’m sure this wasn’t what Freud envisioned when he discussed the warfare constantly occurring between every person’s Id, Ego, and Superego. However, now my Id, my desire to head off into the land of slumberland and enjoy a brief reprieve from the world, is battling my ego and superego who are working together in this case and reminding me that I cannot be so heartless as to go to sleep while my friend is in a state of such emotional unhappiness. The Id argues that two hours have passed, that it’s now midnight and that there are classes to attend tomorrow and extremely important papers to finish. Those arguments, as appealing as they are, are not enough to convince me to forsake my friend. And so, the night continues as the trains continue to whistle and break, reminding you that even when your walls are crumbling and your world is crashing down, the world continues to revolve and others continue to go about their lives in their merry and not-so merry ways (and, if you’re living in Switzerland, you’ll realize that time certainly doesn’t stop for you and that everything will continue to run on time and that all forms of transportation will indeed head off to their destinations at 1:09 in the morning even if your world crashed at 10).

I don’t know if everything I did helped her out. Hell, I don’t know if I even did a single “right thing.” I do know that I’ll never write a book with a poignant and almost picturesque crying scene and that I’ll probably never instinctively know the “Move/Sentence” that will soothe a person in emotional pain. However, I know that I tried my hardest to take care of her in my own way and that I certainly gave it my all.
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    Rome since Aug 2006 | Aug 5, 09
    The reason why they always have the perfect lines to say in the stories is because the writer has created them that way. They have planned it out. When you see someone for whom you care, distraught and in shock, you have make an immediate reaction to help them, one that summons little though. Authors plan out their stories and pick their words carefully. Real-time problem solvers do not have that luxury, and that is one of the beauties of literature and fiction. Things make sense. They boil down to a meaning that we can understand. Life is not that simple. We are the result of random interactions and mechanisms. living a realm of entropy so great that we may never find a proper definition for ourselves. Value and purpose are masked from us, because we ultimately have to make our own, and that is little comfort to the person who struggles through a typical life at this very moment.
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