“A haymaker is a wild swinging punch thrown with all of the person’s weight behind it in an attempt to knock out the other person. You usually see haymakers in street fighting or in the movies. Haymakers are also used in boxing as a last resort. They deliver enough force to break a man’s jaw. The term first appeared in 1912, perhaps from the 1880 ‘hit the hay” or ‘go to sleep’.”
Nate and I broke up three times in February.
I blame his quick temper, glass jaw and incredible talent for being irrationally offended by insignificant things.
I like to consider myself a very reasonable person. No one can be wrong all the time…at least, that’s what I used to think. Eighteen months ago, Nate set out on an expedition to prove me wrong, and he has stalwartly stayed the course. And frankly, after a while, being magnanimous wears on you.
Sometimes, I want to be the petty one.
Sometimes, I read some political op-ed piece that get me so worked up that I want to call him and tell him off just because I know what he would think about them…but I don’t. Because we don’t need another reason to argue.
Sometimes, arguing with Nate is like trying to punch down a brick wall with my bare hands. He doesn’t listen. He’s not logical. We aren’t even operating on the same plane. Sometimes I think Nate is so out of touch with planet Earth he could shake hands with Captain Kirk.
Then, sometimes, he gives just a little. Sometimes, I see the smallest crack, the tiniest glimmer of hope in him. Like the time Bush was in office and we were arguing about the price of gas. He told me he had heard that oil companies made record amounts of money the previous year. I explained to him that, while that was technically true, those same oil companies also spent record amounts of money to buy the oil in the first place, and their profit margins were actually just about, if not below, average. Later, I heard him in the kitchen, repeating it to his father. The shocked relief I felt at having finally been heard…even understood, was short-lived, but substantial and refreshing.
But these times felt few and far between.
And when his father started chemo again, they were almost non-existent. Nate became more and more upset, and I held back less and less. We were at each other’s throats and, finally, he told me he was “done.”
I told him “fine.”
“You don’t have anything to say?” he asked.
“I can give a counter-argument to a myriad of different statements, Nate, but ‘We are no longer dating’ isn’t one of them. It doesn’t take two people to break up.”
He said he didn’t want to break up. I said his previous statement would indicate otherwise.
“I just don’t know what to do,” he said.
I told him to join the club.
Sometimes it seems blatantly obvious that Nate and I are just wrong for each other. Other times, I feel like he understands me in a way no one else ever has. I can’t imagine doing this for the rest of my life, but the thought of Nate, somewhere in the world, without me, makes my gut churn.
He’s one of my best friends.
Sometimes I weave back and forth so much that it makes me dizzy. My doubts play over and over again in my mind like the rap music they use to torture prisoners of war.
And I never told him. I should have set him straight for trying to mindfuck me the first time he said the relationship was over. Then, it probably wouldn’t have become a habit.
This is shockingly candid and raw all told with a type of detachment that slips merely by the nature of the topic. As you said Nate wouldn’t normally speak of those things, and yet here you are telling us about them. It feels almost voyeuristic from a zoom lens. I commend you for putting this out there, and it certainly drew me in from the beginning. Excellent job.