The Weird and the Strange XIV: Ellie Stuart

{Disclaimer: The name Ellie Stuart is arbitrary.  I do not know a person named Ellie Stuart, and any similarities to anyone named Ellie Stuart are coincidental. This story Ellie Stuart is a work of creative nonfiction.}

Ellie Stuart smiled at me from behind a hand.  She wanted to be my friend, but she didn’t want to me to see that desire.  She didn’t want anyone else to see that smile either, in the event that it failed to accomplish what she hoped it would.  This thought didn’t hit me in the moment, that came later.  Even while in the moment, I didn’t take it as an insult.  I considered it odd, and I didn’t know what to do with it, so I just pretended like it didn’t happen.

The smile, and the brief, tentative conversation that followed, led me to believe that Ellie Stuart was a woman that had been hurt a lot in life. She is a beautiful woman, so I figured that her pain was relative to the pain that the rest of us have experienced we’ve been crushed, and ridiculed, and bullied.  She obviously didn’t react as well to these moments of pain as some of us.  She obviously never developed that shell that most of us have developed against rejection.

It’s been my experience that beautiful women don’t face rejection in the manner the rest of us do.  This may be a generalization, as it may not be true in some cases, but I’ve found that beautiful women don’t often have to experience the brutality most humans to have to offer one another.  This may be something we all vie for in some ways, but it has a way of leaving a person unprepared for the smallest slights one offers another.

I could only guess at the nature of pain Ellie Stuart received, but I guessed that it had something to do with an incident that informed that her beauty no longer wielded the power it once had.  This can be traumatic to the beautiful, because the beautiful accidentally begin to rely on their beauty in life.  They don’t develop that necessary degree of intelligence needed to support them, because it’s largely unnecessary for them to do so.  They probably have also never enjoyed the necessary degree of support that most get from others, because the average and ugly assume that beautiful people don’t need their support.

People usually envy those that have an advantage in life, and they like to see them pulled down.  Maybe this is why she didn’t want anyone else to see her smile, and her desire to be my friend.  Maybe this is why she barely wanted me to see her desire, so she could claim it was an incidental look that I mistook for something else.  She is beautiful.  People should want to be her friend, but I could tell that a bunch of people hadn’t, and I could tell that broke her heart.  Maybe it didn’t make sense to her.  Maybe they told her that her beauty has begun to wane a little with age.  Maybe they took joy in that pronouncement.  Maybe they ripped the magic carpet out from beneath her, and Ellie, like most beautiful people, didn’t have a backup plan.

There was a time, in the progression of our friendship, when I thought it might be possible for me to possess her heart.  I thought that we were really hitting it off, and it surprised me.  I had never had a woman this beautiful paying this much attention to me before, and I couldn’t think of anything else but what I considered a natural progression.  At a furthered point in the progression, I began to believe that the only reason she wasn’t in my arms on a nightly basis was because I was afraid of acting.  I figured that I if I could just muster up the courage to do something more than I had, the picture would become paint by numbers after that.

I was wrong, but she didn’t rejected me.  She may have enjoyed our friendship so much that she didn’t want to damage it.  That’s what previous women have told me, and that’s what I assumed must have been the case here, with her.

These other women were bold however.  They told me no, and then they listed off the reasons why.  Ellie Stuart pretended that she didn’t hear my proposal.  She began speaking of something else.  I was relieved.  I had worked so hard on my delivery, and mustering up the courage to deliver it, and counting down the hours that we were off work to that delivery that when she pretended she didn’t hear me I was relieved and proud that I had, at least mustered up the courage to ask her out.

The accomplishment was what I focused on in the immediate aftermath, and the idea that the next delivery wouldn’t be near as nerve-wracking.  It wasn’t, and I spoke up the next time, and she pretended that she didn’t hear me again.

I should’ve seen the second rejection for what it was, a girl desperately trying to maintain a friendship without rejecting that friend.  Perhaps I was blinded by the breasts, the contours, the Farah Fawcett throwback hairdo, the blonde hair, the way she would laugh at anything I said, and the reputation I may have attained by dating her.

I focused on the fact that I was still nervous and still a little unsure of myself.  I also thought that I may have confused her by not being more direct.  I had asked her if she wanted to do something very particular, when I should’ve just asked her out.  I also considered the possibility that she may not have not have heard me again.

After licking my wounds and rationalizing the rejection, I decided the only course was further, and more direct, pursuit.  If I didn’t receive a definite rejection, I feared, I may never sleep again.  I prepared my verbal invitation, and I asked her out again, and again, until the tally reached about eight or nine times.  She never rejected me, but she never said yes, and she was beautiful.  I don’t know if it was societal conditioning, or some insecure, obsessive side of me that needed either complete success or complete failure, but I couldn’t sleep at night thinking there was still a chance.

I have an ego.  I think I’m a pretty good guy, and I don’t mind pursuing that which I think might be a good thing, but I do have my limits.  After the eighth or ninth rejection, I began to see her poor hearing for what it was, and I gave up.

I have summarized these rejections for the purpose of flow, but let me assure you that the eighth or ninth rejection was as agonizing as the fourth or fifth.  By the fourth or fifth, I began running out of rationalizations, and I began to see the roundabout rejections for what they were.  When I finally began to realize that Ellie Stuart wanted to enjoy the fruits of friendship without all of the entanglements of a relationship, I gave up.

After I gave up, Ellie Stuart began calling on me.  She began trying to set up outings between us, but her initial proposals conflicted with ventures I had already set up with others.  For whatever reason, I liked telling her that I couldn’t.  I enjoyed hearing the rejection in her response.

By about my sixth or seventh attempt, she had stopped pretending that she couldn’t hear me, and she started having conflicts.  She couldn’t meet up with me on Friday, because she was going fishing with her dad.  She couldn’t meet up with me on that Saturday, because she had some event that sounded so made up I can’t remember what she said.  What I’m doing this weekend, conflicts with whatever you’ve dreamed up.  Conflicts.  So, when she began calling on me, I had conflicts.  The first one was true, but I made up the ones that followed.

In the intervening days that occurred between me giving up and her calling on me, I began to gauge this woman by charts.  My initial charts focused on her finer, more superficial points.  On those charts, Ellie Stuart was off the chart beautiful.  In the charts that followed, those that gauged her beyond the points drove my impulsive desires to see her after work, I began focusing on her mindset, her stability, and her comprehensive score.  These charts provided no points for breasts, hairdo, or hair color.  These charts focused on the aftermath.

The aftermath involves those moments after the nipples have made an appearance, after organs revealed, and all tension has been released.  It involves the ‘what have I done?’ principle of the single life, when a person realizes that they will now have to spend a period of excruciating time paying for their impulsive actions.

imagesMost males that have experienced a degree of regret of the aftermath, know that a woman’s superficial quadratic functions can lead to a line, and that line has a linear function: to get her to go out with you.  When a male graphs a woman’s quadratic functions, he arrives at what mathematicians call a parabola.  Her quadratic functions may include points on a graph that include the size of her breasts, the way she styles and colors her hair, and the way she laughs at their jokes.  When a guy begins to mentally chart these points, determining how they bisect one another on that graph, it can lead to a parabola that resembles a smile.  In the aftermath, however, when the tension has been released, the points on the graph focus less on the biological aspects of the woman and more on the cerebral.  On this graph, a graph that was largely ignored in the impulsive pursuit, he locates a series of points that can be found in her fruitloopery index.  The revelation of these points, and the manner in which they bisect on her axis and vertex, can lead to a parabola that resembles a frown, or a flat line of confusion, depending on their functions on the graph.

I already asked this girl out eight or nine times, so it cannot be said that I took the time to chart her quadratic before I made so many attempts to enter it, but as they say some things have a way of working themselves out and others don’t.  Her non-rejection rejections opened my eyes to those points that I impulsively ignored in my impulsive pursuit of her.

After she began calling on me, it would’ve been easy for me to call my conflict, when I had one, and inform them that I had another conflict “That just sprang up” to go out with her, and the other party would not have been the least bit perturbed by it.  I didn’t do that, because some part of me enjoyed rejecting her.

She tried a couple more times.  Though the final tally of her attempts fell far below mine, I still enjoyed the retribution of never saying yes to her and never saying no.  The pain was evident in her responses, but I couldn’t help it.  I was over it.  I had already deemed her to be a person that I was never meant to partner with, and it felt good to tell her this without providing her a solid rejection.


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