Listening Tree

I recently saw a cartoon strip entitled 'phone sex for women'.
It was a picture of a man in a business suit, holding a phone to his mouth, with a speech bubble above his head that said: "Ooo yeah baby, I'm going to listen to you... I'm going to listen to you reeeal good, I'm going to listen to you allll night long'.

Yup, women love to talk. Some love JUST to talk. But most women actually love to express, communicate, share, connect, care, be cared about. Be listened to. Be heard. Be understood. Be seen. Every woman I know is the same. It's neolithic, it's biblical, it's simian. It probably served some function evolutionarily, and now it serves to keep us whole.

We have our girlfriends to talk to, and they are incredible, a few hours chatting to a girlfriend can rid you of nearly any plague. But still, we SO want this quality in our mate, in our men.

We KNOW it's not natural for them, we KNOW they are expressing their love in different, sometimes imperceptible ways... but just to be listened to, heard, understood, to recieve a simple 'a huh, i know', is better than the flowers and dinners rolled into one. Somehow through the labrynth of neurofibrillarly tangles in our brains, listening translates to love. Simple as that.

For all I know, 'the men' are listening and do understand. But if they are and do, they can do a bloody good job of hiding it.

I am the third and youngest child and so as my family vote always held the least stock, I became a louder child, more demanding, more opinionated. To add to which, I was just born noisy. My very first report card from school when i was five, described me simply as 'chirpy'. I will never forget my dad erupting into laughter when he read that line (yes i do remember that far back).

At the time I didn't know why. I thought maybe 'chirpy' in itself was a funny thing to be, like a bird. At some point of maturity I realised dad was laughing, because I'd been so goddamn 'chirpy' .. noisy, bubbly, singy, chatty and basically all forms of loud, that it frequently drove dad to his attic to eat his tea. And he was laughing in camraderie with my teacher, knowing that now, it was his turn.
Needless to say, my natural setting is to chirp.

And I want to be chirped back at. Chirrup. Chirrup. Chirrup. Tell me things, what did you read, who did you see, how was your tea? Talk to me, what's on t.v.? Did you read about x, y and z? Did I tell you about me? Can you see, what i see?

I know a man, socially, who every women who knows him has a small crush on. He's handsome and talented and dresses well and is likeable in all sorts of ways, but then there is this. When he see's you, no matter how removed or tenuous our relationship, no matter how long it's been since we last chatted, he comes over and stands close but not too close, he smiles with his eyes and looks right into your eyes and says 'hello clare! how are you, it's been ages (as if he's even potentially missed your company), and the he will say 'how is the...' and hark back to something you spoke about last time. Something you had forgotten even mentioning. Because he was LISTENING to you. Then, he ducks his chin slightly, and tilts his head slightly so his ear is closer to you, and looks up at you from under slighly furrowed brows, and LISTENS to you intently. Looking right into your very soul...
Where was I.

I always, always, feel like the biggest blundering luddite when talking to him, like a child in a dance recital pushed out onto centre stage suddenly wondering what they are doing in the spotlight, because NOTHING i have to say can be worthy of such intent. It's quite delightful. His mother should be very proud.

Last night I was out having a fucking awesome time at a friends gig, great crowd, happy party vibe, and I see a guy who is smiling and hugging his friends and chatty and dancing and having a really unabashed good time. He seemed so light and fun and I thought absently how i wished i was his friend. Everyone who came over to him, his face lit up and he threw his arms around them and they danced and talked and grinned. We left the bar to go to another great party and i am sitting there around the bonfire, singing along to the guitar that's being played, and he, the guy from the bar walks in, and over to where i'm sitting, and asks my friend on guitar (turns out they know each other) for cash to pay the taxi because it doesn't have eftpos. Well, my friend doesn't have cash, but i do, and i offer it to him, for which he is suprised and greatful. When he returns with my change he sits down next to me and says, i noticed you at the bar. I saw you going to leave and i wanted to stop you. So i asked around where everyone was going to and thought you would be here. So I came here to find you. And there he was, come to find me.

I like to think in a way, when i thought that i'd like to know him, he had listened to my thoughts across the sea of heads and din of chinking glasses and laughter, heard my silent wish, and so come to tell me that he, too, would like to know me back.