Sunday 19 May 2002

Pic of the day: "Harry, they are going to make a movie about us!" "Yay!" (Young adult heads for Harry and Ginny are downloaded from Hidden Tower.)

Spare wheel of romance

"An abundance of third wheels." I wish I had come up with a phrase like that, but it was the title of a romantic fanfic over at Hidden Tower. I think the name comes from this particular exchange:

"All this time I thought WE were the ones who were supposed to feel like the third wheels!" Ginny laughed. Harry shot her a look as they arrived at the shop door and he opened it for her. "Wouldn't that be third and fourth wheels?"

The fanfic is set in Harry's seventh and Ginny's sixth year at Hogwarts, which means they are not jailbait by English standards. Not that I think anything prosecutable actually happens, though it is somewhat uncertain with regards to Ron and Hermione. OK. The story is well written, but I am not sure why it is important to have kids that age romantically involved. I guess it happens in real life, sometimes, but I also think your average high school class consists mostly of third wheels. An abundance of third wheels, and the occasional fourth and fifth. Such as, a generation ago, me.

***

Of course, unlike the others, I have continued down that path. I thought about this today as I took a walk in the light rain: It is peculiar how romantically inert I am. I mean, it is one thing that I don't fall in love. This is bound to happen to a few people in any generation. But there is also the side that no one fell in love with me. I don't need to close my eyes and think for a while to remember the women who were interested in me sexually: It happened, but not every decade. But it still exceeds the number who were interested romantically: That number is 0. Zero, null, nix, zip, none. It's not as if I am complaining. Flattering as it might be, it would also be terribly painful. I just boggle at the sheer coincidence of it.

Usually, it seems to me, people are in love a lot, but not always with each other. Especially when they are young, there are all manner of complicated relationships: Girl A pines for boy X who loves girl B who wants boy Y who dreams of girl A. Or more often, there is a crowd of girls all wanting the same few boys, and a crowd of boys all wanting the same few girls. Over time, realism sets in. The ugly girls realize that they can't hope for the handsome boys, and after a while a similar understanding also hits the boys. Though it doesn't stop them from looking. Or so I have heard.

I've liked girls since I was little more than a toddler. And I don't deny that I grew up and liked some of them better than others. I still do. There have even been a very few who I wouldn't mind spending every day with for an indeterminable period of time. I think of those as "best friends". It has been good to have a best friend in my life. But it is a far cry from not being able to live without her. Nor did I stammer and blush when they looked at me. On the flip side, girls did not stammer and blush when I looked at them either; but I admit this may be partly due to me not looking at all.

This is not to say that I never looked at girls. It happened, but possibly not the right ones and possibly not in the right way. I doubt that is it, though. Women may want to project the impression that they are waiting royally for the man to notice their worth and beg their favor; but they don't just resign to fate if that doesn't work within a reasonable time. They show up coincidentally, they have their friends ask his friends about him, and Light knows what else they do up to and including stumbling over his shoes and falling into his lap. A woman in love is as easily averted as an avalanche on the move. No, I think I would have noticed. Or been notified.

Perhaps I just radiate an aura of anti-romance. It need not be quite metaphysical. I could just be the wrinkled clothes I often wear, the car I don't buy, the ambition I don't have, or even my condescending use of the word "human". Who knows? Whatever the reason, I seem to have remained forever the spare wheel (and a square wheel at that) when it comes to romance. I sure am not going to beg them, and they sure are not going to beg me. And so it goes on. It's not as if there's a huge gaping hole in my day anyway, and I hope not in yours either.