Essay on heartbreak: The one where you learn a ping pong metaphor
Yesterday you went without crying – almost. Somehow something came back, when you placed your pillows like someone was hugging you, cuddling you. And yes, that was sad and it was lonely, but not the reason why you actually started crying. You remembered that the night gown you had on was a piece of clothing you wore when you last saw her. A piece of clothing she kissed you in. And there you were, lying in the same bed sheets and wearing the same night gown and then you just took it off and cried a little. Michael Stuhlbarg’s voice in the background consoling you but hurting at the same time. You could hear him say:
Right now there’s sorrow, pain – don’t kill it. And with it the joy you’ve felt.
You took out your phone and watched a video of the last time she was with you and your flatmates. You laughed a bit, but it didn’t make the hot lines of tears on your temples go away. The laughter didn’t dry them.
That sounds so exhausting, Thea. Aren’t you tired of playing this game always?, your old friend asked you on the phone earlier that day.
Is it a game really?
Well, that’s what it looks like to me. Like ping pong.
So what do I do?
You could put down the racket?
That hit you.
I will not give up or back down,
you said a little bit angered.
You’re not giving up, you don’t back down –
you stop the playing and force your playmate to a genuine reaction.
You’re still there. But you don’t pick up the ball.
And sooner or later she will have to do that or leave the arena.
The meaning behind this metaphor struck you deeply.
Or maybe you try a topspin?
A topspin?
A topspin, isn’t that this sick shot
that always strikes your enemy out of nowhere
from the left downside and you just can’t catch it?
(Pause)
Call her?
She won’t pick up.
Do you know where she lives?
I do.
So, ring her doorbell.
Yeah sure, and if she’s not alone I will break down.
At least you know what you’re up to then.
Bring your ping pong racket and
when she opens the door and she has company,
you just let the racket drop. Like a mic drop.
(Small eyeroll but with a smile)
Anyways, that would cross her borders.
Is she respecting yours?
End of story. There was that inch of honesty that was reserved for good friendship and good friendship only. While Mr. Pearlman was visiting Elio in Rome, you slipped into a dream where you met her friends and begged them not to tell her how much you’re crying at the moment.
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