love you, love you not

”Hello.”

”And hello. Do I know you?”

“I love you.”

“…..”

“I said I love you.”

“Everybody says that.”

“But I do. You know I do.”

“Actually, I don’t. I don’t know that for sure.”

“What? How can you say that? How can you even doubt how much I love you?””

“Well, it’s just what I think. In fact, I know it. You don’t really love me. You just think you do.”

“I mean it. I do. You’re breaking my heart.”

“I doubt it. You’re just overly sensitive. Did you have a bad day?”

“Come on. You’ve got to be kidding. After all we’ve shared…?”

“Time on task is no guarantee of your feelings for me. You might be confused.”

“…”

“Seriously. Think about it. For example, have you ever given me roses?”

“What? You’re asking me if I’ve ever given you roses? When you know how many times I’ve given you bouquets - red, white, yellow, pink, blue… every color of the rainbow. Every birthday, Valentine’s Day, anniversary…”

“Yes, some of those flowers were odd. I don’t recall any roses, though.”

“Well, maybe I didn’t give you roses, but what about all the carnations, the daisies, the freesias, the sunflowers?”

“Roses are the real proof of love, and I’m pretty sure you never gave my any of those.”

“Have it your way. But you’ve got to admit I tried, I really tried.”

“Well, I’m very sorry, but I don’t remember any flowers. And I certainly don’t recall your giving me any roses, which is what I would have preferred if you had asked me.”

“Flowers are supposed to be a surprise. Nobody asks a person: Would you like me to surprise you with a dozen long-stemmed roses?”

“Why not? I would have loved that. Maybe even two dozen.”

“How was I supposed to know? You never told me you liked roses.”

“I must have. I like gardenias, too, and I’m just as sure you didn’t give me any of those, either.”

“I give up. Is there anything I gave you to express my undying love that you did like? Like or remember?”

“Let me think about it. Give me a minute. Maybe I’ll remember something.”

“Think hard.”

“Well, did you give me chocolates? It’s not a very original gift, but maybe you gave me some once?”

“You know I did. I gave you biggest boxes I could find. The most expensive kinds.”

“I’m having trouble remembering that. When was it? Five years ago? Ten? Twenty?”

“You don’t recall? Maybe not, I suppose, since they often went along with the flowers. Don’t you remember the five-pound box I gave you and you left it in the car while you went grocery shopping, then you went for a haircut? It was August. You got back to your car and the chocolates were oozing everywhere, a real mess.”

“That didn’t happen. I never leave things that will melt in my car.”

“You did. You were swearing because of the mess. I was swearing because I paid so much for them and you said they were so ugly and ruined. You tossed them in the garbage. I was livid, although I never told you that.”

“True. There are a lot of things you have never told me.”

“But you know I’m telling the truth right now. I love you madly.”

“That’s a little clichéd.”

“What is?”

“The part about loving me madly. Couldn’t you be just a bit more original?”

“What difference does it make if you don’t remember anything I gave you or said to you? If you don’t believe me, even though it’s perfectly obvious that I’m enamored of you?”

“Enamored? Really? Where did you pick up that word? Some place back in the nineteenth century?”

“Well, you didn’t like ‘madly’, so I thought I’d aim for something a bit more to your taste.”

“Enamored has never been that.”

“Anyway, I’ve done more to prove my undying, imperishable love for you.”

“You took me out to dinner too? That would be another thing you might have done, although I don’t have any recollection that you actually took me anywhere.”

“Every week, mostly on weekends. I would have taken you more often, but my budget was always limited.”

“There are lots of places I don’t like. I wouldn’t have wanted to go out to dinner very often. It’s too expensive and I like my own cooking better than what most restaurants serve.”

“You don’t remember the places we went? One restaurant was Polish. There was a Lebanese one, an Egyptian one, Turkish, Norwegian, even one with pupusas from both Honduras and El Salvador.”

“No, can’t recall any of those.”

“Not the German or the one with the great Welsh pub food? Not the nine different Asian ones, not counting four with excellent Indian cuisine?”

“Nope. I never went to any of those places. I recall a couple of hamburger joints that left a lot to be desired, and a pizza-by-the-slice meal from a local gas station.”

“…”

“Guess you don’t believe me. I really do remember getting three slices of pizza with spinach, feta, and pine nuts at a Cumberland Farms gas station. I even know I had to add some tabasco to spice it up.”

“They don’t have that kind of pizza in gas stations. You get pepperoni, sausage, or plain cheese. You know that.”

“I know what I ordered when you took me there for supper. Not very classy.”

“But…”

“But I still ate all three slices because I was starving.”

“You…”

“I…”

“Do…?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“You never…?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because we…”

“No, we didn’t. Definitely not.”

“Do you see how I love you enormously - is that the right word? - but I can’t reach you? I’ve been trying my darnedest.”

“That’s definitely not a very sophisticated word, darnedest.”

“[no words]”

“Now you’re not talking to me? You’re not going to ask me if I remember the time we went to such-and-such place? Like to see the lighthouses in Maine, to visit The Burned Over District in western New York, or to ride the roller coaster at Roseland amusement park in Canandaigua one July?”

“[don’t know what to say]”

“If you don’t say anything, don’t ask me any more questions, we are probably done here. You say zilch. I have no answers for that. A dialogue of silence. That’s what we are reduced to, what our relationship really is. Silence. What happened to all your Romantic notions, trite as they were?”

“[I am speechless]”

“You had better answer me. Otherwise you’ll be in trouble for trying to ask me about a lot of things I don’t remember. Is this what they call gaslighting?”

“[I have nothing to say]”

“Maybe, since you’ve forgotten how to speak or the cat’s got your tongue, you can use your hands. We can keep it simple or arrange a set of signs.”

“A dialogue of gestures, but not using real sign language? This is way beyond a simple I love you, do you remember…”

“I already told you I don’t remember any of those things you were asking about. In fact, my memories and your memories are like they come from two different planets.”

“Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus.”

“Sheeshhh. I think I prefer the madly in love with you you to this one, who must have read that book that nobody should ever read.”

“I was just hoping to stimulate your imagination.”

“I have my own imagination and know how to stimulate it just fine, thank you.”

“Then you will not listen to me as I pull the petals from a poor posy…”

“Cut the corn!”

“… from a daisy and recite, loves me, loves me not, loves me, loves me…”

“I got it. We still haven’t found closure for this conversation.”

“I’m afraid we don’t have time right now to solve this mystery of whose memory is accurate, but there’s someone waiting for me and I need to leave.”

“Oh, it must be somebody important. Who is it?

“Godot. I got him to switch places with me, so now he’s waiting for me.”

“And who are you?”

“I’m the character who tries to play a role to which the other character is oblivious.”

“You’ve lost me there.”

“We’ve just held what some call diálogo de besugos, fish talk.”

“Um, not clear here.”

“Simple: I talk. You talk. I talk some more. You too.”

“And…?”

“That’s it. Two people talking. Note necessarily about the same thing.”

“Absurd.”

“That’s kind of the point. At some point Absurd becomes True.”

“Hallelujah! It looks like we finally agree.”

“We also have enjoyed having fooled everybody reading this into thinking this was a serious conversation.”

“Yes, we are just actors, acting. Showing you that you, dear readers, are also characters on this stage.”

“[Parting is such sweet sorrow.]”