the subject of Amy, Dave and Liz got along fine. Sex between them continued to be good, and he didn’t mind falling asleep next to her. “I sleep like a brick.” Once he closed his eyes for the night, he was almost instantly in too deep of a sleep to be affected by whoever was resting next to him. Liz spent the night often.
When she wasn’t obsessing over Amy, Liz was docile and agreeable. While she didn’t possess a quick wit or the ability to engage in fascinating conversation, she was okay company for those nights that would have been otherwise lonely. As long as she understood that he would never commit to her, he figured he could keep from breaking her heart, so he reminded her often that he wasn’t in love with her and never would be. His plan did not work. Liz didn’t get the hint, and she continued to push him to give her more. She sought him out constantly, often dropping by without warning. What was he supposed to do? Shut the door in her face? Shove her off when she climbed onto his lap and kissed him?
Two things betrayed him: his body, too easily aroused when an attractive and sexually aggressive woman was insistent upon having him. And his conscience. “I didn’t want to be a dick. I’d already been a jerk on numerous occasions because she would push at me until I had to be. And I don’t want to be that guy, but sometimes you have to be.”
Kindhearted people have a particularly tough time ending relationships, and though David wished Liz would quietly go away, he hoped that would happen without him having to be cruel. He doesn’t remember when Paul Simon’s sensation “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover” first hit the airwaves in late 1975, because he wasn’t born yet. In January 1976, right around the time he was conceived and just before his mother probably sensed the new life stirring within her, the song climbed to the top of the charts. The catchy tune with rhyming suggestions such as “Get on the bus, Gus,” and “Drop off the key, Lee,” listed various ways to dump a lover and “Get yourself free.”
The song makes rejecting someone sound easy, but in reality, it can be just as painful for the dumper with a conscience as it is for the “dumpee.” Dave didn’t want to see Liz’s tears or feel the burden of her broken heart. People have been known to go so far as to fake their own deaths rather than see the pain of rejection in the eyes of their jilted lovers. The more common brush off, however, is used so often it has become a cliché.
“It’s not you, it’s me.”
In theory, the deserted partner is supposed to feel better about themselves when the one severing the ties takes responsibility for the failure of the relationship. Do those five monosyllable words really help rejected people salvage their egos? Perhaps in some cases, but most of the time the brokenhearted recognize a platitude when they hear one and end up feeling insulted and rejected.
In September 2012, as the nights grew cold, and the deciduous trees were afire with autumn hues, Liz insisted on having serious talks with Dave about the direction of their relationship. He bristled, but she read that as a sign that he was afraid to show his feelings. She had so many questions for him. How did he really feel about her?
Backed into a corner, he told her she was attractive and a great gal, and sure, he cared about her. Yeah, they had fun together. “But I’m never going to commit to you,” he added. How many times did they have to have this discussion? Dave was irritated.
Liz, however, plucked out the parts of his response she liked the best and discarded the rest. Dave cared about her! She decided he might be more comfortable relaying his feelings in writing, and she began to send him long texts and emails, all built around a brilliant idea that had occurred to her. What if Dave committed to her for just four weeks? It would be “a fresh start” for them, and maybe it would “move their relationship forward.”
He grimaced when he saw the text she’d sent him outlining her proposal. Why was she suggesting any kind of commitment when she knew he wanted his freedom? “I ignored it the first time,” he says. “Like it didn’t happen.”