This morning, I rushed to the bus stop, late for class. A man was standing there, smoking a cigarette. He smiled and waved at me as I crossed the street, and I wished him a breathless "good morning". When I sat down, I covered my nose and mouth with my hands to breathe without breathing in the cigarette smoke. I looked up, and the man was looking at me, looking concerned. "The smoke," I explained. "I have athsma." Instantly, the man threw away his cigarette. He came into the bus shelter and sat down, saying, "I don't smoke, either. I quit...about two seconds ago." That gave me pause. I thanked him, but I was suddenly cautioius. What he had said was my first clue that he was after me. The second clue was not long in following. "Are you married?" the man asked.
I was completely discombobulated. (If you don't know what that word means, look it up.) I had heard of things like this happening, but had never thought it would happen to me. Unsure what to say, I finally said, "Is that really important?" I pulled out my Bible and opened it to read, hoping that he would take the hint and leave me alone.
He stammered, "Uh...no...I mean...uh...I just meant to say...well, I don't know what to say," he finally finished. I felt like saying, "Don't say anything, then." Instead, I just started reading my current chapter of the book of Hebrews and tried to ignore him.
No such luck. "The truth is," the stranger said, "I think you're a beautiful woman."
Surprised, and maybe a little flattered, and definitely a lot uncomfortable, I thanked him again and tried to return to my reading. "So are you single?" the stranger asked.
"Um..." I stumbled, trying desperately to think of something to say. I didn't want to tell him I was single and raise false hopes, but I didn't know how to tell him I wasn't interested in any type of romantic relationship. My thoughts whirled frantically through my head, unable to form any coherent idea but discomfort and fear...and just then, to my unspeakable relief, the bus showed up. I made sure not to sit near the stranger.
Later this afternoon, a guy friend of mine greeted me in the hallway and paused to talk to me. We made simple small talk, asking each other how our lives were going. He asked what I was up to, and I told him I had just gotten out of class. He smiled and asked jokingly if I was going to relax the rest of the day. I told him about my few responsibilities, but said I would relax as much as I could. He said, "Have fun with that, kiddo!" and took his leave, grinning. We had both been smiling through the whole conversation, enjoying each other's company. There was nothing awkward, nothing embarrassing, nothing to frighten me or disconnect my thoughts. I wished the conversation could have continued.
As I left the building, and while I stood at the homeward bus stop, I pondered my conversations with and reactions to these two men. On the surface, my reactions seemed unreasonable. One man told me that I was beautiful and that he would give up smoking for me, and I couldn't wait to get away from him. The other just asked me how my life was going and made small talk, and I was disappointed when he left. Why was that, I wondered? Then I had the answer. The first man was a stranger; the second was my friend.
The stranger made it clear by his words, attitude, and actions that he wanted me, that he only cared about me because I was beautiful. What would he care what I was doing this afternoon, except as far as it included him? What would he care if I joined a choir, or went to Irishfest, or had family in Iowa? What would he care if I were a college student, a fast-rising career woman, or a waitress at Country Kitchen? What he said and what he did was sweet, but it was superficial. He was only concerned with my body. He liked it, and he wanted it, and was willing to give up smoking to get it. That's what scared me.
On the other hand, my friend wasn't chasing after me. He made it clear by his words, attitude, and actions that he wanted to know what was going on in my life, that he cared about what I did because he cared about my well-being. What would he care whether or not I was married, except as far as marriage or singleness brought me happiness? What would he care that my hair was blonde and messy (which it was)? What would he care about the color of my eyes, or the shape of my legs? What he said and what he did was insignificant, but it was good. He was concerned with my friendship, not my body. He liked me, myself, and was glad to take a few minutes of his day to spend some time with me. That's what I like about him.
Men, take note!!!
