a man and his onus
Dictionary.com defines the word onus as "a difficult or disagreeable responsibility or necessity; a burden or obligation." Well, that's not exactly what it means to me.
A while back my friends and I started using the SAT word onus in every day conversation, particularly when discussing relationships. We decided that the onus was more than just disagreeable responsibly; it's the proverbial ball in one's court. A common question we'll ask one another at the beginning of a new relationship, or even a potential relationship, is "Who has the onus?" Meaning, who has control. When the onus is on you, you make the next move. It's a very powerful thing.
Follow? I've never tried to write this down before, so I hope it makes sense. Anyway, as time has gone on my friends and I began viewing the onus as a tangible thing. A noun. Like, in my relationship with X I have the onus and I'm holding on tight to it. Or, she has the onus and there's no way I can get it back. We love the onus like a fat kid loves cake, or like 50 Cent loves cliche metaphors. You always want to be the one with the onus.
Now, who controls the onus is only really important in dysfunctional relationships. And in the beginning of most relationships. There are two schools of thoughts about what happens to the onus in a healthy relationship. I happen to think that the onus disappears entirely and you and your and partner live life onus-less. Others believe that you share the onus- sometimes you have it, other times your partner has it. Either way. I guess it's like the difference between Catholics and Protestants-- different beliefs, but generally the same idea. Not Jews, though. Jews would say that the onus never existed. But that's besides the point.
Today I'm going to share with you a long story about me and my relationship with a particular woman. And our onus. I'm going to give you a whole lot of back story which I'm only sharing because I want you to understand why this onus was so important. So here we go.
The back story.
There was this girl-- let's call her Marie (because her name begins with M, and I'm not that clever so this will have to do.) Okay, now before Marie was Marie she was simply known as Psychology Girl. Not because she had a psychiatric disorder (sadly), but because she was the hottest girl in my freshman year psychology class, and as I have already proven in this paragraph I'm not all too good with nicknames.
Anyway, Psychology Girl was gorgeous. She kind of looked like Tea Leoni in "Spanglish" but much, much hotter. She had long blonde hair and really blue eyes and one of these perfect faces-- just an absolute knockout from head to toe. As luck would have it I ended up sitting on the opposite side of the classroom from her, which was fine since I had a girlfriend and she was way out of my league. Everything was okay. I was perfectly content with our relationship, which consisted solely of me glancing over at her once every 4-5 minutes and her having no idea who I was. Some might say it was the best relationship I've ever had.
After freshman year I would see Psychology Girl sporadically around campus. It wasn't that big of a deal-- I had since moved on: Film Girl, Brit Lit Girl and The World Since 1945 Girl helped me forget her.
Flash forward to second semester junior year when I was forced to take a boring required mass comm class. The first day of class I walked into the room and there she was: Psychology Girl. I took a seat nearby, which I could only describe as sheer genius. As it turned out, this required class was one of those "partner up and work on your assignment" classes. Jackpot.
So Marie and I got to know one another. She was great. Smart. Quick. Fun. We had the same sick sense of humor. And, as luck would have it, she lived two doors down from me in the same apartment complex (umm... I may have noticed this once or twice before we started talking). Eventually, after partnering up a few times and talking a lot in class, we evolved from "let's work together" friends to "hey, wanna watch a movie after class" friends. And she did. She started hanging out at my place, where my roommates would proceed to check her out and wait for her to leave so they could remind me that she was out of my league and there was no way she was actually interested in me. I blame them completely for nothing happening that semester with Marie.
Yes, that's right. Nothing happened. As the semester went on we became better friends, and as we became better friends we let each other in on what was going on in our lives. She was getting over a serious 3 year relationship where an actual proposal was involved. I was several months removed from my 2-year relationship, but had recently begun having to deal with my ex dating somebody new. We would talk about these things with one another and it brought us closer. What she didn't know, though, was that the whole time she was talking I would just be staring into her eyes and wondering "Hmm... so does what she's saying mean that I shouldn't try to kiss her right now or that I should?" It was a very confusing time. Over the course of those 3 or 4 months there were a couple of instances where I thought she was giving me the go ahead, but since she considered me a friend (and since my roommates convinced me there was no way in hell she was interested) I never made the move.
By the time we got back from summer break we were both in relationships. And then September 11th happened. That has nothing to do with the story, I just thought you should be reminded.
After graduation Marie and I kept in touch. We'd talk on the phone once every three or four months to catch up. For the most part, I was usually single and wondering if the window of opportunity had completely closed, while she was in a very serious relationship with a guy who absolutely hated me. HATED me. Here's why: I can be kind of funny sometimes. Okay. Well, Marie was a HUGE fan. Thought I was hilarious. Loved everything I said. The boyfriend on the other hand, well, he didn't get it. Just completely lost on him. To break it down into simpler terms, I was Robbie Williams, Marie was England, and her boyfriend was the United States. Post-"Millennium." Take that.
During our intermittent phone calls, Marie and I always talked about music. We were always writing down each other's recommendations and always talking about the mix CDs we were working for one another (which we were both completely lying about.) Well, one night I get a call from Marie to tell me that she and her boyfriend had broken up. That day! I took it as a good sign that she called me that same day, and decided it was finally time to go full speed ahead with the Mix.
By the way, this mix CD stuff isn't relevant to the onus. I just feel like sharing.
Okay, so here we go. I finish the mix. Coincidentally, I had scheduled a trip to Baltimore to visit a few friends, so I decide to just bring it down and hand it to her when I see her. In my daydreams, when I hand her the CD she'd become so overcome with emotion that she'd make love to me right then and there. And then her roommate would get in on it. And then some freaky stuff would go down... sorry. Where was I? Oh yeah, the mix. Well, the plan was to hand it to her when I got there. Of course, while I was planning everything out Marie and her boyfriend decide to get back together Wonderful.
Before I head down to B'more I mail her the mix anyway.
Well, to make a really really long story just really long: something happened that weekend. Maybe it was the CD, maybe it was seeing each other for the first time since graduation, or maybe it was my new long curly locks... who knows? That weekend Marie and I kissed for the first time. A few days later she broke up with her boyfriend again. Shortly after that Marie and I were talking on the phone 3 times a day and planning trips back and forth from New York to Baltimore. It was unbelievable. And let me just say this- you couldn't imagine a better feeling than seeing the look on my roommate's face-- the same roommate from college-- the morning that Marie walked out of my bedroom with one of my T-shirts on. There was nothing better.
About a month into our little relationship, after 2 NY visits for Marie, it was time for me to visit her for the weekend. This was a big one. Instead of Marie coming up with her friends and technically staying somewhere else, I was heading down to stay with her. One on one. No friends, no NY distractions... just us.
Well, the best word I could use to describe that weekend was "uneven." Yes, there were moments where everything was great and we had a good time, but unfortunately there were also moments where we both realized that we just weren't right for each other and it wasn't going to work. However, since she was beautiful and since I had had a crush on her for years, I wasn't about to let a little thing like "not right for each other" get in the way.
So I proposed.
No, of course not. Just wanted to make sure you were still paying attention. When I left that Sunday we decided to take a step back. Things had been crazy and intense for the month leading up to that weekend, so we both realized that maybe we should calm down a bit. WE BOTH did. I swear. Come on, we've come this far, why would I start lying to you now?
Okay, here's where things get bad. A couple of days later I give her a call and leave a message. No big deal. She doesn't call me back. I don't think anything of it, so the next day I send her a text. She doesn't text me back. Hmm, strange. So I give her another call. No answer.
Now this is where I make the big mistake. Instead of realizing, okay, this is her taking a break and I should just let things be, I decide that something's wrong and she's in trouble. She's lost her phone. She's been in a horrible car accident. She's been diagnosed with lung cancer and is receiving chemotherapy and as a result is too weak to call. She's contracted the bird flu (I was ahead of my time). I decide that something HAS to be wrong because there's no other reason she wouldn't call me back. So I pull my first ever Mikey from Swingers and I call her again. She finally picks up. I blame my big brother instinct, tell her I thought something was wrong, and ask if everything's okay. She says yes. She then tells me that she's in the middle of something and asks if she can call me back. I say yes. And that was it. The last time I spoke to Marie.
It was all over. And in the separation, Marie got full custody of the onus.
After my embarrassing unreturned phone calls, Marie had the onus so far over my head I couldn't even see it with binoculars. As the weeks went by I cared less and less about my relationship with Marie ending-- hey, we weren't right for each other, remember?-- but I cared more and more about having absolutely no onus whatsoever. Months passed, and I started coming to grips with the fact that I may never see the onus again.
You know, there's one good thing about not having the onus: When you don't have the onus you have nothing to lose. Since I was onus-less, what was to stop me from calling her drunk the next time I went to Baltimore? My dignity?? Please! The answer was nothing, so call her I did. Of course she didn't answer, but the onus sent me a postcard. That was nice of it.
Now we're in 2005. I'm in another relationship, and to be honest I was at the point where I wouldn't have even been able to pick Marie's onus out of a police lineup. Well. One night, almost a year after the whole Marie thing started, I'm laying in bed with my girlfriend when I receive a phone call. I grab my phone to see who's calling, and there it. Marie. She leaves a message.
"Hi Bob, it's Marie. God, it's been so long. Anyway, I'm in New York... we're at some bar, we'll be out all night. Soo... if you're not doing anything I was hoping we could meet up. Call me back. Bye."
You know how you can hit 7 to delete a message and 9 to save it? What do you think I did?
I HAD THE ONUS! After all that time the onus was finally mine. God, it was such a good feeling. I called all my friends to tell them about it. I felt like Jack Bauer at the end of Season 1 when he was reunited with his daughter. The onus was home again. I decided that no matter what, I was going to protect that onus and take good care of it. It was my onus forever.
Well... almost. The other night, New Years Eve... I *surprise* got extremely intoxicated. Probably my drunkest night of '05. When I awoke the next morning I was happy to discover that I made it home alive, that I still had my wallet and cell phone on me, and that there were no dead homeless dudes in my bathtub- Hey, it was already a better start than '04! Then I flipped open my phone to check my outgoing texts. And there it was.
To: Marie
Happy new years!
Time: 12:55
And, to make matters worse, for some unknown reason I deleted all the texts in my Inbox before I went to sleep too. So. Not only did I lose the onus within the first hour of '06, now I have absolutely no idea where it is. I could have it. Marie could have it. God knows. I have no choice but to put the onus to rest and hope it turns up some day unscathed. I just hope that the next time I'm in a situation where I have an onus I don't lose it over something as lame as "Happy new years!" UGH! It's not even grammatically correct!!!
Anyway, that's my story. I thought about writing about the onus some time ago, but couldn't. I have no idea whether Marie reads this site or not. If she did, I would have lost the onus just by talking about it. Nothing to worry about now, I guess.
I'm not sure if there's a lesson to be learned here. If you have an onus, be careful with it. If you don't have an onus, don't sweat it. Chances are your time will come. Me? In 2006 I'm going to try to worry a little less about onuses. Unless of course Marie calls me back. Because I'm sorry, I'm going to have to hit 9 again. You understand.
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b at 12:35 AM
