Marissa and I were on the rocks. She was always mad at me for one thing or another: first it was that I “never spent any time with her,” then that I was “way too into electric scooters.” I couldn’t do anything right. And last week, she was all, “You’re trying to cheat on me with Candace. She’s my sister. Stop.” She’s very high-maintenance.
But I do love Marissa, I guess, even though she’s hella dramatic and Candace has been super clear that we’re just friends, so the other day, I decided to surprise her. I went to her favorite cafe, some girly place in Dupont. I got there early, I brought roses and a chocolate box and even ordered her a coffee so it would be ready when she got there. Then I texted her to meet us at our “usual study spot,” with a winky face to show I meant her usual study spot, where I had never been but she goes to all the time.
Somehow, though, even with the winky face, she misunderstood me (am I too smart for her?) and ended up on Lau 2, where I always go to work with my buddies. It was so ironic: I mean, I go to do this huge gesture for her, and she’s just thinking of where I like to go. We’re such romantics, sometimes it’s honestly too much.
As I sat there in that cafe, I couldn’t help thinking of a book my mother read to me when I was very young, maybe 15 or so: “The Gift of the Magi,” this old story where a woman cuts off her hair to buy her husband a watch chai and he sells his watch to buy something for her hair (was it a bow? I don’t know). At the time, I remember thinking that the characters in the book were kind of dumb. I mean, why didn’t they just ask someone for money? Like their dad, maybe, or someone they knew. I have this friend, Hazim, and he’s not technically a prince but he totally would have hooked them up. Anyways I just thought the moral was that love makes you stupid. Or maybe that you shouldn’t buy a watch that needs a chain.
But as my bouquet of roses slowly wilted and Marissa’s coffee grew cold, I suddenly understood. Sometimes there isn’t anyone to call for help. Sometimes your dad’s on a plane with no service and Hazim’s mad at you because Candace is “his girlfriend” and you “won’t stop hitting on her.” Sometimes you’re on your own, and you just have to take what’s coming to you. And “sometimes” is probably a lot of the time for poor people with no friends.
Looking back on that day, I’m glad it happened. I learned some valuable lessons. For example, I’m an empath now. I think about the people in that story and I feel something, kind of in my chest, I don’t know what to call it exactly. It almost hurts? But it also feels good. Marissa likes it. She says I’m “slightly less sociopathic” now. And I don’t just keep all this bottled up: I bring my insights around with me. The other day in a seminar, I shared my story and my teacher was so impressed she said I didn’t even have to come back to class.
Yes, I’m glad it happened. But God, it was a tough way to learn a lesson. Those 16 minutes before Marissa’s Uber got here is time that she and I will never get back.
