Every Saturday, we’ll be posting a new illustration by David Lester. The Mecca Normal guitarist is visually documenting people, places and events from his band’s 26-year run, with text by vocalist Jean Smith.
Veronica reduces the situation, over and over again. Maybe it’s a valid challenge for her on some level. It’s probably good for her to face these things. Facing them alone is good. Probably better. Obviously she doesn’t want to become involved with someone who doesn’t want her. She knows that this is good for her to understand, because why would she want to be involved with someone who seeks to avoid her? Yes, that is a good question for her to think about. To repeat.
Veronica tells herself that he doesn’t want her, and she hopes that within herself, she’ll respond appropriately, that when she feels something for him, the thing to do is to not communicate. It will go away. She must push away feelings. But why? Because he doesn’t want her. Right.
Rather than phone or email, the thing to do is to be quiet until the connection fades and then to assess what is left. Does she remember what he looks like? Not really. That must be a good sign. She could look at the photos, but she doesn’t want to risk making it something it isn’t. It’s supposed to be very distant—that’s the idea of the whole thing. To not have a connection. They aren’t together. There is nothing between them. That is the objective: to avoid problems by regarding Veronica as the one who causes problems. Veronica must behave in a way that acknowledges this.
Veronica would like to ask him, since she feels like she is working to make things how he wants them to be, if she’s doing a good job. She would like to know that things are how he wants them, but she doesn’t ask. She thinks ahead and assesses possible responses; she needs to be prepared for him to say he’d prefer no email and no dinner. Just coffee and sex. Maybe that would be better for him. Veronica is afraid of how she will feel about herself, to be that person, but she doesn’t want to be party to him doing things that he really doesn’t want to do, including talking to her or taking her out for dinner. Veronica is not sure if she could be that person, but if talking is an undesirable obligation, shouldn’t they attempt to make things how at least one of them wants it? If he doesn’t want to talk to her, then none of what they talk about, none of what they say, is worth anything anyway.
Veronica doesn’t want to be that person—paid off in fake conversation and dinner—but why would she want to try so hard to be what he wants, when what he wants is to have as little to do with her as possible? It puzzles her, in a way. In another way, she believes it is a good challenge. She knows her value is not wrapped up with how much a man wants her. Is it such a bad thing that he doesn’t want much to do with her? Why would she feel hurt by his desire to not see her or communicate with her? Why would that be a bad thing? She understands that men are basically only doing as much as they have to, and some women require a lot of time, gifts and dinners. Veronica doesn’t want to be paid for sex. If he views taking her out for dinner as a form of payment, then she doesn’t want dinner. She can take herself out for dinner.
Veronica wonders how casual he’d like it to be. How temporary it is. Maybe he’s astonished that she’s willing to see him at all. She must appear to have no self-respect whatsoever. Aren’t women who get gifts from men the ones who have value? Veronica wants her value to be within her, for anyone to see—for her to feel—not something that a man buys for her.
Veronica wonders what will happen when she sees him again. Will she want to hug him when she opens the door? Maybe they’ve gone beyond that, to some place colder. In herself, she reduces it farther and farther. Wondering how little there needs to be for her to lie down with him, hold him and kiss him. Is she behaving as if things were otherwise? Or are they, in those moments at least, having a true exchange? What needs to be there, between them? Beside him, their bodies together, Veronica wonders if he resents having to talk to her, regrets spending time with her. Regrets any time that isn’t sex. If what he wants is sex and only sex, why does he assume that she cannot know that? Does he feel he must get her to believe the situation is otherwise, by saying that he is interested in what she does. Those are the kind of things that can escalate feelings, the feelings he seeks to avoid—to avoid a connection. Why does he say he’s interested in what she does?
Veronica wonders why he talks to her at all. Why? She wonders what would happen if he never spoke and they only had sex. What if they only saw each other once a month? Maybe that’s what he wants. Sex and no talking, once a month. What if he could accomplish what he wants in the length of time it takes to cross a street and he only needs that to happen once in his lifetime and that is how much he wants from her—just that amount of time, once. That would make all of this an awful lot for him to have to endure—talking, sitting across from her, when really, if he could have things his way, he only needed to know her for 14 seconds—and that would have been perfect. How could Veronica have known to reduce herself to that amount? That exact amount? And what is it now, since those 14 seconds passed quite a while ago?
To him, she’s all over his life; he can hardly breathe, sweltering in a state of being absolutely, staggeringly, overwhelmed by her presence, even when she’s not there. He feels helpless—hopeless—at holding her back, keeping her out; she’s coming at him from all sides. Christ. And here’s Veronica thinking it’s casual. Minimal. She’s so far away from being what he really wants and she just doesn’t have a clue. Is that why it feels like her aorta is being gnawed at by gerbils? Or is the pain around her heart from the tomato sauce she had for dinner? A plate of over-cooked noodles on her lap, in front of the TV.
