A League of Your Own

  

Are you crying? Oh, no wait. That's me.

Dear Whole Foods,

Before today, I considered you a good friend. I enjoyed spending time with you. I sought out your companionship over that of other stores. You taught me new things about my eating habits. Mostly, I just thought you were cool.

One day, I woke up and I realized something as sudden and unstoppable as a sneeze. My epiphany? I had fallen in love. When I had to shop elsewhere, I felt the nausea of guilt and betrayal; walking the aisles of these inferior stores was joyless. I knew there was only one store I ever wanted to shop at again.

Realizing my feelings had grown, I took action. I laid it on the line in an attempt to foster something deeper and more meaningful. I applied for a job so I could be with you every day.

Over the past year I made several attempts to woo you, all the while still being a good friend, never letting your indecisiveness affect my feelings. At first you were coquettish, informing me my sporadic advances were "under review." Occasionally you would deal me a harsh blow, as when I was told I was "not selected" for an interview as a part-time cashier (a cashier!). But I never gave up. I felt if you would just let your guard down and be brave in the face of commitment, I could show you how important you are to me.

When you called me last week, it was one of the happiest days in recent memory. It reminded me of a Hollywood movie in which the love interest realizes the person they’d been looking for has been in front of them all along. I‘d waited patiently, stood by while you made mistakes. Through your errors, you’d learned what devotion really was. At long last, you would take a chance on me. I vowed to seize the opportunity. Together at last!

This morning was our interview (our first date!) and I bore my soul. Perhaps I should not have. A gradual admission of my desires may have served me better. Instead, I confessed to my enduring hopes. I admitted my wish for us to be together. I even used the L-word.

The rendezvous was not without awkwardness, but this is to be expected after so much anticipation. Still, I left with a good feeling. I had been frank and forthright. I had made a strong case for myself. Of course, I was disappointed that you did not embrace me right then and there, opting instead to keep me at arms’ length while you considered the situation, but I honestly felt optimistic about our future together.

Only a short time later, the telephone rang. It was you. You sounded good, happy. However you told me, in a remorseless tone, that you had decided not to continue seeing me. You were interested in someone else that “better suited [your] needs at this time,” whatever that means. You were brief, and to the point, and I give you credit for not leaving me waiting. Still, the knife had been quick to cut. Before I even knew what hit me, it was over. I shed actual tears as I sat there, going over the possibilities of what went wrong.

Had I come on too strong? Perhaps my repeated overtures ground down your perception of my self-worth? Maybe you prefer a hunt, and I was too much of a possum? At any rate, I did know this—the innocence was gone, evaporated. What once was a harmless flirtation between friends, (one of whom suggests they might make a good couple, the other laughs, blushing), became something dangerous and volatile. I do not blame you for your feelings, but the rosy days of our past will remain there.

So what of our friendship now? We didn't discuss it. I suppose you think we can just go back to the way things were, as though none of this mattered. Maybe you can, but it will be some time before I can look at you without anger. Each time I see a new employee that you have willingly chosen, I will know them as my rival.

Faulkner wrote, "Between grief and nothing, I choose grief," for at least in grief there is closure. Knowing I am not worthy of you, I am given a much-needed respite from the ceaseless ache that is wishing. That said, something was crushed today, irreversibly damaged. I know I am complicit in these dealings and their aftermath. After all, it was I who asked for them, and I who did not live up to their expectations. But I hope you will share some of the blame too, for it was you who decided, after so much time, to risk my feelings in this way. Did you not feel hesitation, knowing what was at stake? Was it not obvious that your feelings were disproportionate to mine, and could only result in rejection? My question to you is thus: why now? Could you not have spared me the ugly reality of the truth, allowing me to continue in the near-bliss of our friendship? Perhaps, were it between grief and nothing, I would acquiesce to Faulkner's wisdom. Yet it was not nothing, for I had dreams.