Jerome A. White
6/22/07
“Shana, it’s just a cartoon. It was just my way of venting.” I’m sure I could have chosen my wording better, but her strong disapproval caught me off guard. I rolled over onto my left side and switched the phone over to my right ear. “Don’t you think you could have found a more mature way to handle the situation, like talking to her?” “Of course I tried talking to her. And that’s why I’m so frustrated. Listen, it wasn’t a personal attack. Her name is not even mentioned in the cartoon, nor is any likeness of her shown. The cartoon is just a metaphor for my heartache.” I couldn’t figure out why in the world Shana was so upset. This girl I’ve never even met in person was mad at me over a cartoon she’d never even seen, that was inspired by a woman she didn’t even know. How did this even happen? “You know why this upsets me, right?” she challenged me. “Ummm, yeah,” I stammered, rolling back onto my right side and switching my phone ear once again. “You’re worried that someday we might meet and become friends, and then if we have a fight, I might make a cartoon about you.” “Yes.” I sighed. At least I finally got something right, but the hole I had dug didn’t seem to be getting any less deep. Several weeks prior, Natalie had tried to play matchmaker for Shana and me. Living over two thousand miles apart, an actual romance seemed unlikely, but I enjoyed our initial talks. For that first week, we called each other every night, and quickly formed a bond of friendship. Perhaps too quickly. Her soothing voice and playful laugh allowed me to feel comfortable. Perhaps too comfortable. All flirtations aside, I felt I had gained a genuine friend with whom I could share my interests and stories and struggles. Well, I guess this particular story was a bad idea. Conventional wisdom says you should not discuss your ex with your current love interest. But… but my recent heartbreak was suffered at the hands of a friend, not a lover, and Shana and I were not officially courting yet. No matter, it was still a bad idea. I should have known better to even mention the very existence of my most recent cartoon, and now I found myself backpedaling. “Shana, think of all the great songs, novels, and paintings that would have never been shared with the world if people didn’t feel free to artistically convey their pain. Sometimes talking isn’t enough to relieve those feelings, and other means of alleviating hurt need to be utilized.” Shana would not be swayed. I lay in my bed, hoping I would at least learn from this experience when to keep my mouth shut. My attempts to defend my stance became shorter, and the pauses in our conversation became longer. “I’ve got to go,” Shana suddenly blurted. “Okay, well, goodni….” Click. I let out an exhausted sigh, lay down the phone on the nightstand, and rolled over onto my back. Was I really so wrong to make an animated cartoon symbolizing the pain of a wounded heart? I didn’t think so, but I had to admit that I could somewhat understand Shana’s concerns. I didn’t agree with her, but I should have anticipated her disapproving reaction. I rolled out of bed and trudged over to the computer. With a few keystrokes and mouse clicks, I removed the cartoon from my website. It had only been posted for less than an hour. Shana and I don’t talk very often anymore. When we do, the tone is cordial, but the warmth and joking and playful banter and flirtation are gone. She’s a good woman, and I believe I’ve learned something from her. If I ever decide to animate a cartoon, paint a picture, compose a poem, or write a story about her, I’ll at least have the decency to change her name. |