What You Heard
“Hmm?” I tilt my head, pretending not to have heard.
The question. The statement. The necessary inquisition.
But I heard you. And I heard what was underneath.
So I give the easy answers; the ones you want to hear. It’s not like you wanted the real one. The real one would require follow-up conversation, a depth you don’t want to submerge. I get it. It’s inconvenient to know the truth, or even the whole story. It’s a weight on your soul that can only tip the scale once you allow yourself to dive in.
Do you want to know if it hurts hearing stories that sound like his? Do you remember what he used to sound like?
Do you want to know why I’ll defend her story? Do you remember the story I told you?
Do you want to know why I don’t like that word? Do you remember when I tried to explain?
Do you want to know why I’m still angry? Do you see the parallels?
Do you want to know … any of it?
No. That’s the honest answer.
You don’t.
And I don’t want to tell you.
Can we stop pretending we do?
No. That’s improper. It’s impolite not to ask, to show your cards. To pretend you remember the answers from before, so you can ask the follow-up.
No. That’s rude. It’s impolite to bring that up; we’re just trying to have a nice time. To ruin it with thoughts and opinions would damper the day.
So you heard what you wanted, because I said what you wanted to hear. But really, you heard nothing at all.