The Eternal Struggle: an Amorous Story by Lawrence G. Taylor

Author:Lawrence G. Taylor
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lawrence G. Taylor
Published: 2016-12-09T00:00:00+00:00

“I thought so too.”

I said, “It was the first time I received such good news. I had sent a letter outlining the story and a sample to four or five, with just a rejection letter.”

“I think you can also consider writing some short stories about friends and what it means for them to be foreigners in Sweden. Interview a few friends with interesting life stories.”

I said, “That also seems like an excellent project.” I smiled at the idea.

Chapter 10

SUNDAY EVENING. I TRIED several times to reach Maud at nine before succeeding at ten. Waves of frustration entered me after the fourth or fifth attempt, and I could not understand why. I was used to first dates that never went further and usually took it on the chin and quickly directed my lustful desires elsewhere. But it was my way of avoiding disappointment. During the attempts to reach Maud, I was in disbelief. I avoided the dreadful thought that Maud might have had second thoughts and had become disinterested. But that disbelief goaded me also into being persistent. Already, so soon, I held her in high esteem.

I reasoned that those other women I was friendly with were far from being liberated. They seemed satisfied with their traditional roles, although Maud didn’t seem like a “cry baby”—a woman with “a victim perspective”, as I understood it. I blamed women and myself for my unhappiness. I hoped for friendship with Maud, who seemed different. She was active in social matters, and I assumed it was because she was a journalist. And she was engaged in a women’s liberation group, which excited me, although I concerned myself about what it would mean for me and my traditional male habits.

I further considered Maud as straightforward and not someone for games. I became intrigued, though puzzled, by being drawn to her no-beating-about-the-bush disposition. Was it a ghost from my past? After Maud postponed our second date, I had suspected that my lousy performance at her home was a likely cause. But in time, I rejected it and wanted to ease up, dispense altogether with self-blaming.

In frustration, my attempt to reach her on the phone continued.

“Tried to call you a few times, but the phone was busy,” Maud said, finally reaching me.

A glow of relief entered me. “Funny, that’s what I have been doing,” I chuckled.

“Funny indeed.” Maud grinned. “I’ve got to work tomorrow, so I need a good night’s sleep. I was wondering if you could come over on Wednesday.”

A slight pause imposed itself on my part before I said, without conviction or emotion, “Oh, well, no fun being tired.”

The feeling of joy vanished. Things weren’t going my way. Maybe my passion and dream were getting the better of me. It was typical of me to expect much, and so quickly, like a child. The idealist wishes to free me from expectation and comparison by taking a rational approach to life, which entails never counting your chickens before they hatch.

So why was I doing that against my better judgement? My experiences seemed to take a backseat while irrational feelings led the way.

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