Currently Chasing: the unanswer

So the Canadian is a locked box. It’s funny. Usually you can ask people personal questions all day and they don’t seem to mind. My favorite phrase is “can I ask you a personal question?” And I never get turned down. In fact, when I was in high school my favorite thing to ask a boy was “Are you circumcised?” I don’t know why it mattered, and I didn’t really care for the answer. It just felt invigorating to ask a question so personal, and to get an answer.
So for years I’ve always went for shock value when asking questions to get to know someone. Never the standard, what is your favorite color? Always a completely inappropriate question like, “Did you marriage end because of that sore on your dick?”
If I got an answer to my question, then I’d ask another one … and sooner or later I’d realize either I’d asked enough question to know I was clearly not into someone, or I had asked enough to know there will never be enough questions. I’m a journalist after all. It’s my job to figure it all out.
But when I asked the Canadian at what age he lost his virginity, I didn’t expect that question to fall into an off limits category. But I was wrong.
“You don’t need to know that,” he responded, direct and strict.
It caught me off guard. I was speechless. At that point I only had one question left, and this time it was for me. Why did I feel like that was my business? Had I just grown so accustomed to people being as out and open with their information as I was? And was that really normal?
We sat there (in the cold) for a couple minutes while I tried to figure out how to change the subject. I realized then that my Canadian is not really into sharing anything personal unless there is a reason to share. And I respected that. I respected him.
Later on in the week he sends a quick text. It just asks how my day is going. I say it’s going fine and then I ask if he misses me. He doesn’t write back right away, but when he does it just says, ‘find out.’ Truth is he wouldn’t have written in the first place if he wasn’t thinking about me. So why did I feel the need to then ask him to repeat what he thought he was already making clear? Another question he wasn’t going to answer.
So the next time we were alone I took the opportunity to ask him yet another question.
“So how come you won’t tell me you miss me?” I asked.
“I don’t tell girls that,” he said.
“Is it because you don’t miss them, or because you don’t want to tell them you miss them?” I asked.
“It’s just something I don’t do,” he said matter of factly. “I also don’t tell them I love them.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because I believe that if I say that to someone it is because I truly feel it. And if I say it to someone, it is because I feel like I could marry that person,” he said.
I thought about that for a moment.
I tell everyone I love them. I told the guy at the chow hall that I loved him because he brought out syrup for my pancakes.
“I am pretty free with the ‘I love you phrase,’” I told him.
“It’s ok,” he said. “Everyone seems to be.”
Not everyone obviously. Not him. I found out more about him when he didn’t answer my questions than I ever would have if he did. He wasn’t going to be written off as ‘just another guy.’
And at that point, there was no question in my mind; I liked this boy.