Heartsore

I spoke at the post below of how the loss of a friendship can reduce me to rubble.

In a year spent in this Valley of the Sunshine of Life I have gathered perhaps three or four friendships I feel confident in. Perhaps I'm too selective; many potential friendships wither on the vine.

But some implode. And when they do, it hurts in a way nothing else quite does.

Shall we call her Mandela Warner? Mandy for short. I mentioned Mandy in an earlier post, without naming her. Words like "brilliant" and "luminous" were used. She's quite beautiful, and has a quirky sense of humour. I think she's a genius.

I had the opportunity and privilege of watching her light up the stage. I was ... I think "awed" might not be too strong a word. And a little envious. This woman is taking a career path that I was never bold enough to follow. There is no doubt we will see her in films within two years. I cannot convey to you the effect that interacting with her at any level had on me.

I can't.

I know because I've tried, and everyone seems to think I've got some sort of mid-life-crisis hard-on for a woman half my age. And I sure as hell wish that were the case. Pure lust is easy to deal with. Not so this strange ... whatever it is.

Mandy is a particularly accomplished writer and actor, and recently had a play produced at a local community theatre.

Now to refer to Winterfly's stage as "community theatre" is not to do it justice. It's a very professional facility, and the main source of theatrical entertainment for thousands. So getting a play onstage there is a significant acheivement.

Mme Metro and I attended opening night. How was the play, you ask? Well ... and there's the rub. If I am to be honest, and O Avid Fan can I be anything else? To my friends and Avid Fans, the truth always ... the word I'd use is "uneven."

The play began as a very funny farce. The word some people in the audience used was "relentless". The jokes were thick and fast, and some wished there'd been a bit more dramatic space between them. The characters were well-drawn, the cast was generally excellent, and the premise intriguing.

The second act ascended through farce into surrealism. The ending felt abrupt to me--as though having gotten the characters into an untenable situation, Mandy had had to find them a way out, deus ex machina.

However, let me be clear: I saw nothing in the play that was not admirable in some sense. And I never once questioned the value of the work, nor its right to be staged. It was brave and it was bold. Moreover, I caught glints of rich subtext. I'm not sure it was intended, but there were a couple of unifying threads that travelled brilliantly through the play.

So I enjoyed it. Remember that.

O Avid Fan, I am sometimes very stupid: Upon arriving home, I wrote to Mandy, including my opinion of the play. What I should have written was "I enjoyed the play. Congratulations on your achievement." Instead, I gave feedback. Honest and facilitative ... I thought.

I'll spare myself the embarrasment of quoting the drivel I wrote. What the hell was I thinking?

In the clear light a few days later the message sounded haughty, supercillious, and downright rude. But most of all, it was just totally inappropriate and wrong for the occasion.

After three days of cold silence I wrote an apology. It's now been over two weeks. Ladies and gentlemen, I think I've £µ©λed this one up for good and all.

I never thought this would become anything more than a pleasant friendship, but it's considerably less now. Worse yet, I have no idea why it matters; why a little bit of something good seems to have gone from my life.

Still. It hurts.

Update: Mme Metro, who has graciously and for the most part patiently nursed me through this with only minimal complaint, has pointed out that a 20-something who finds a near-fortysomething acting friendly toward her might be thinking "stalker". I could hope for such a simple misunderstanding.