In the summer of 1988, the situation I found myself in with Sara had come to a critical juncture. At the final in early May of the spring semester, I let her walk out the door of the classroom as I sat there and completed my final. I didn't even know her name at that point. I calmly finished my final, turned it in, and told the teacher I was graduating at the end of the summer as I handed her my test.
I took the last of my studio art classes during the summer of 1988. One day in early June of that summer, I stood in an elevator as it stopped on a floor. The door of the elevator opened on the second floor, I looked out and saw Sara looking at a department post on a wall, her back to me. I pointed to her, she turned around, she saw me, waved, and as the door closed I let out a laugh.
A couple of weeks later I saw Sara in my studio art class with two of her friends. I first heard some girls laughing, she stepped out from behind an easel, and said, "Hi-aye!" as she smiled and laughed mischievously. I got excited. I followed her and her friends to the elevator in an animated way and wanted to talk to her. She asked me if I was in her art history class from the spring, I said yes, and she and her friends left at their floor and she told me goodbye. I thought it was cool that I did not panic at the end of the spring semester. I just let her go and hoped for the best. And her she was, I saw her again! Cool! I'd never done anything like that before.
My optimism stayed for a while, but then, as the summer wore on and she didn't show, I soured. Tarashula, a student in my last two studio art classes of my undergrad career, started acting friendly towards me in late July, during the second summer session. I thought I had options.
So in early to mid-August, I went to the big painting studio to work on my portfolio for graduate school. Eva, one of the girls with Sara when I saw Sara in my class the previous June, stood at her easel and worked on her painting. She talked to some girl who was packed up and about to leave the studio.
I set up my easel and began to work on my painting. The girl Eva was talking to left. Eva started coughing in a manner that suggested she wanted me to say something to her. She continued to cough in this manner, and I took it to mean that she wanted me to ask her about Sara. This made me mad. I simulated the sound of beating off with my hands, started packing up my stuff, and started to leave. Eva got my drift. I decided I was done with Sara. I decided to let her go.
Things shook out bad with Tarashula during the last two days of my summer session, but my commitment to letting Sara go did not waver. I saw Sara several times in the fall at the art school as I went about getting teachers to write recommendations for grad school for me. I never said hi to her or spoke to her again.
If I ever again get the impression that someone is trying to tell me in some way that their ability to wield power over me in a romantic love and courtship situation is something that's more important to them than loving me, or understanding me, or trying to meet me halfway in a fragile, delicate negotiation phase of a deal, I will, once again, let that person go. Believe that.
I took the last of my studio art classes during the summer of 1988. One day in early June of that summer, I stood in an elevator as it stopped on a floor. The door of the elevator opened on the second floor, I looked out and saw Sara looking at a department post on a wall, her back to me. I pointed to her, she turned around, she saw me, waved, and as the door closed I let out a laugh.
A couple of weeks later I saw Sara in my studio art class with two of her friends. I first heard some girls laughing, she stepped out from behind an easel, and said, "Hi-aye!" as she smiled and laughed mischievously. I got excited. I followed her and her friends to the elevator in an animated way and wanted to talk to her. She asked me if I was in her art history class from the spring, I said yes, and she and her friends left at their floor and she told me goodbye. I thought it was cool that I did not panic at the end of the spring semester. I just let her go and hoped for the best. And her she was, I saw her again! Cool! I'd never done anything like that before.
My optimism stayed for a while, but then, as the summer wore on and she didn't show, I soured. Tarashula, a student in my last two studio art classes of my undergrad career, started acting friendly towards me in late July, during the second summer session. I thought I had options.
So in early to mid-August, I went to the big painting studio to work on my portfolio for graduate school. Eva, one of the girls with Sara when I saw Sara in my class the previous June, stood at her easel and worked on her painting. She talked to some girl who was packed up and about to leave the studio.
I set up my easel and began to work on my painting. The girl Eva was talking to left. Eva started coughing in a manner that suggested she wanted me to say something to her. She continued to cough in this manner, and I took it to mean that she wanted me to ask her about Sara. This made me mad. I simulated the sound of beating off with my hands, started packing up my stuff, and started to leave. Eva got my drift. I decided I was done with Sara. I decided to let her go.
Things shook out bad with Tarashula during the last two days of my summer session, but my commitment to letting Sara go did not waver. I saw Sara several times in the fall at the art school as I went about getting teachers to write recommendations for grad school for me. I never said hi to her or spoke to her again.
If I ever again get the impression that someone is trying to tell me in some way that their ability to wield power over me in a romantic love and courtship situation is something that's more important to them than loving me, or understanding me, or trying to meet me halfway in a fragile, delicate negotiation phase of a deal, I will, once again, let that person go. Believe that.
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