The thing about Virginia

“I think, what I like the most about Virginia is… How unapologetic she is, you know?” I tell him. We are at the post office, waiting for the first arrival to come in. It is a cold winter morning, our necks and chins hidden, buried inside our scarves, our hands deep in our pockets. “She just does not stop to ask for anyone’s approval, and that I love,” I say. “And maybe I do because I would really like to be like that, to be more decisive, more...“

“Unapologetic?”

I sigh.

“Yes,” I let out with a smile.

“And how long have you two known each other?”

“Almost ten years.” The number astounds me. “But it always seems like so not that long...”

“Do you write to each other often?”

“Oh, I know I do. But, Virginia… I suppose Virginia likes to feel powerful — and desired. So she sends me a letter a month.” I nod to myself. “In my case, sometimes I write to her twice a week and I have to stop myself from writing some more. Sometimes I just feel bad for doing it, writing more than she writes to me, but I just want to share everything with her. I want her to know everything. I want… Yeah. I just want to give her all I have.”

“Why are you separated, then?”

I sigh, again.

“Virginia is a very peculiar being. She needs her solitude. She’s actually very zealous of it. She’s a writer, but the kind to think writing comes first in life, then everything else. Actually, make writing the first two things more important in her life… That’s the type of writer she is.” I look at my watch, almost time. “She lives in the countryside; I have to live here in the city because here’s my work. And even though she has the chance to choose her working location, she’d rather be surrounded by trees and nature than by human beings, which I totally understand… I would love to live with her, tho, just the two of us. We’d have a couple of horses, ride in the evening, I would make her dinner and silently watch her write, immersed in her own thoughts, in her own ‘madness’, as she calls it.”

“Don’t you feel lonely?”

I look down the street. In the far distance, the mountain’s peaks are covered in snow and I can’t help but wonder if she took warm clothes with her. She’s such a careless woman, so little interest in her own health and wellbeing…

“I do, yes.” I hide my face with my scarf from the cold breeze. “But, living with Virginia feels like that, too. So, really, living there or being here, I just miss her the same — a great deal, that is. But here, at least, I get to do other things aside from just… adoring her.”

“How can it be the same? At least, there you are together.”

“Ah, yes. She is there, but” — I tap my right temple — “not really. She’s in her mind… You see, she lives her life through her mind. Like, she’s sitting right inside her mind, watching her life through this big silver screen that are her eyes. But she’s there, inside. She has, and definitely needs, to process everything. She does it constantly and it takes most of her time in the day. And once in a very while, she comes back — comes out of the rabbit hole — so alive, so joyful...” My eyes shine. “It becomes utterly impossible not love her, and even more so to want her to love you back.” I look at my left, to the peaky horizon. “And that’s the thing about her — about Virginia. You’re completely aware that she’s just unreachable. It doesn’t matter how intimate you get with her, how much of yourself you give away to her, there’s simply no getting a hold of her. She’s like… A butterfly — a beautiful butterfly that honors you with its presence, flying right into your hand. And you simply stare, in awe, amazed by how lucky you are that this heavenly creature chose you, grazed you with the opportunity to hold it for a moment. But you know — you are certain — that by the smallest movement it can be scared away. And you also know that there’s nothing you can do to prevent it from leaving, mostly because two things can happen if you choose to do so: you might kill it in an attempt to retain it or you might sentence it to a long, dreadful dead away from the flowers and freedom — only because you wanted to keep it. And that’s not fair. Or healthy. So, instead, you just accept this fact — you accept the fact that you cannot do anything to make it want to stay, to make her want to stay, and instead focus on the fact that you have the opportunity to share this time and space with such a being. You love her with all you have — that’s the way Virginia likes it — and wish for her to come to you. There’s nothing you can do about it, you can only wait until she comes.”

“Sounds more like a cat to me.”

“How so?”

“Well, cats come and go whenever they want. Sometimes they get crazy and attack you, other times they come purring and sleep on your lap. But it’s always on their terms, depends always on their mood,” he shares. “They are, as you described Ms. Virginia, very zealous of their solitude and their space. Very particular beings, indeed.”

“It’s true, when you put it that way.”

“But that seems a little selfish, I think,” he concludes. “Cats have no regards for one’s feelings and emotional needs. And that’s just because they don’t know better. But people — people can know better.” He looks at me. “Should know better.”

“I guess so…” is all I muster.

“And I’m not saying this to bum you out. No, you seem like a very intelligent woman, but… I don’t know. If you really love her as much as you do, you should work for a healthy relationship, were both of you are emotionally satisfied.”

“Sounds very utopic, if you ask me,” I think out loud.

“Yes. And very difficult,” he confides. “But we have got to have a direction to aim our efforts at, an idea of how we want things to go.”

“But how do you do that? Wanting someone to fulfill your needs isn’t like demanding?”

“Sort of,” he admits. “However, I see it as just letting the other person know where you stand, what you want.” He pauses. “For what I hear, you have a very clear idea of what your Virginia wants, and you wilfully give it. But, I don’t know why, I feel like you give it without her asking you to.”

“It’s just that… I just know.”

“It’s okay. But is she interested in knowing what you want?”

“I hope so.”

“Well, that’s where I disagree.” He raises his index finger. “You should let her know. Hear her out afterwards, see how she feels. Talk. Share. That’s what we have the ability to communicate for, do we not?”

“But what if she’s like that and that’s it?” So many questions pop into my head.  “What do I do with that?”

“Um… Look,” he says. Finally, we see the mailman coming to the office. “It might sound a little cold-hearted, but you should think about the good, the bad and the ugly of being with her like that, you know? See what carries more weight for you.”

“It does feel a little… Mechanical.”

“It’s called emotional intelligence. I strongly recommend it.”

I think a little to myself.

“And what should I do now?”

“Read her letter, first.”

“Of course, and then?”

“What do you feel you want to do?”

“Wasn’t it about doing what I think best?”

“Yes. But first you need to know how you feel and what that feeling makes you want to do. Then, you think about how good or bad doing that might be. You see?”

“I think I do.” I smile.

“So, what is it going to be?”

“I think I want to go where she is. I’m tired of talking to her when I’m unable to see her beautiful face, unable to react immediately. It’s so much easier face to face…” I decide. “But she just loves and finds it easier to use the written word.”

“Maybe you two should work on meeting halfway, don’t you think?” I smile and nod.

He’s right.

Let’s get that letter.