Fred is attracted to a woman named Martha. He asks her out to a movie; she accepts; they have a pretty good time.
A few nights later he asks her out to dinner, and again they enjoy themselves. They continue to see each other regularly
and after a while neither one of them is seeing anybody else.
One evening when they're driving home, a thought occurs to Martha, and, without really thinking, she says it aloud:
"Do you realize that, as of tonight, we've been seeing each other for exactly six months?" And then, there is silence in
the pickup truck.
To Martha, it seems like a very loud silence. She thinks to herself: I wonder if it bothers him that I said that. Maybe he's
been feeling confined by our relationship; maybe he thinks I'm trying to push him into some kind of obligation that he
doesn't want, or isn't sure of.
Fred is thinking: Gosh. Six months.
Martha is thinking: But, hey, I'm not so sure I want this kind of relationship either. Sometimes I wish I had a little more space,
so I'd have time to think about whether I really want us to keep going the way we are, moving steadily towards, I mean,
where are we going? Are we just going to keep seeing each other at this level of intimacy? Are we heading toward marriage?
Toward children? Toward a lifetime together? Am I ready for that level of commitment? Do I really even know this person?
Fred's thinking: ..."so that means it was...let's see...February when we started going out, which was right after I had my pickup
at the dealer's, which means...lemme check the odometer...Whoa! I am way overdue for another $150 oil change here."
Martha's thinking: He's upset. I can see it on his face. Maybe I'm reading this completely wrong. Maybe he wants more from
our relationship, more intimacy, more commitment; maybe he has sensed - even before I sensed it - that I was feeling some
reservations. Yes, I bet that's it. That's why he's so reluctant to say anything about his own feelings. He's afraid of being rejected.
Fred's thinking: "I'm gonna have them look at the transmission again. I don't care what those morons say, it's still not shifting right.
They better not try to blame it on the cold weather this time. What cold weather? It's 87 degrees out, and this thing is shifting like
a garbage truck, I already paid those incompetent thieves $600.
Martha's thinking: He's angry. And I don't blame him. I'd be angry, too. I feel so guilty, putting him through this, but I can't help
the way I feel. I'm just not sure.
Fred is thinking: They'll probably say it's only a 90-day warranty...scumballs.
Martha is thinking: Maybe I'm just too idealistic, waiting for a knight to come riding up on his white horse, when I'm sitting right
next to a perfectly good person, a person I enjoy being with, a person I truly do care about, a person who seems to truly care
about me. A person who is in pain because of my self-centered, schoolgirl romantic fantasy.
Fred's thinking: Warranty? They want a warranty. I'll give them a warranty. I'll take their warranty and stick it right up their...
"Fred," Martha says aloud.
"What?" says Fred, startled.
"Please don't torture yourself like this," she says, her eyes beginning to brim with tears. "Maybe I should never have...oh dear,
I feel so..."(She breaks down, sobbing.)
"What?" says Fred.
"I'm such a fool," Martha sobs. "I mean, I know there's no knight. I really know that. It's silly. There's no knight, and there's no horse."
"There's no horse?" says Fred.
"You think I'm a fool, don't you?" Martha says.
"No!" says Fred, glad to finally know the correct answer.
"It's just that...it's that I...I need some time," Martha says.
(There is a 15-second pause while Fred, thinking as fast as he can, tries to come up with a safe response. Finally he comes up with
one that he thinks might work.)
"Yes," he says. (Martha, deeply moved, touches his hand.)
"Oh, Fred, do you really feel that way?" she says.
"What way?" says Fred.
"That way about time," says Martha.
"Oh," says Fred. "Yes." (Martha turns to face him and gazes deeply into his eyes, causing him to become very nervous about
what she might say next, especially if it involves a horse. At last, she speaks.)
"Thank you, Fred," she says.
"Thank you," says Fred.
Then he takes her home, and she lies on her bed, a conflicted, tortured soul, and weeps until dawn, whereas when Fred
gets back to his place, he opens a bag of Doritos, turns on the TV, and immediately becomes deeply involved in a rerun
of the 2007 Fiesta Bowl between Boise State and Oklahoma.
A tiny voice in the far recesses of his mind tells him that something major was going on back there in the pickup,
but he is pretty sure there is no way he would ever understand what, and so he figures it's better if he doesn't think about it.
The next day Martha will call her closest friend, then two of them, and they will talk about this situation for six straight hours.
In painstaking detail, they will analyze everything she said and everything he said, going over it time and time again, exploring
every word, expression, and gesture for nuances of meaning, considering every possible ramification.
They will continue to discuss this subject, off and on, for weeks, maybe months, never reaching any definite conclusions,
but never getting bored with it either.
Meanwhile, Fred, while fishing one day with a mutual friend of his and Martha's, pauses just before casting, frowns, and says:
"Norm, did Martha ever own a horse?"
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And that's the difference between men and women.
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__________________
I no longer consider the press as something that decides what issues to cover!
But rather what issues to cover-up
