If there is such a thing as a Yo-Yo diet, does something like a Yo-Yo boyfriend exist? I continued on that path of thought, when I realized that a seesaw is a better metaphor.
When it’s good, there is a balance, an account of trust between the two riders, and a sort of glee in both being able to dash upwards and also to let someone else experience the same rush.
Then at a certain point when you’re up in the air, naively trying to touch the clouds and the feel the warmth of the sun, you look down to see that the other person isn’t really paying attention anymore. They are conversing with others and are leaning back in an unshared fit of laughter. The wind feels colder against your skin, you kick your feet, but know that that won’t actually help.
Then the other rider wittingly slips off to do something else. You land with a thud. Sometimes you bounce off a tire, sometimes off the ground; sometimes you only murmur your discontent, sometimes you yell.
It’s the yelling that makes the other rider saunter back, apologize, and once again climb on. But you’re still not content. You still feel the shock of the jolt, through your spine, on your tush, and you wonder why you invited this person back to ride. You remember at one point that this was fun, shrug your shoulders, try again.
Now you’re at the bottom, the other rider grinning gleefully from above you, waving, trying to make you understand what it’s like to be up there. You give a half smile and hear the faint tinkle of bells. They grow closer and you look away to see that it’s the ice cream truck pulling up. You strain to see what it offers; is that a chocolate fudge popsicle? You swing one leg over to be able to bend over and see more clearly and you slip off. Your partner slams to the ground, with you on your knees on the other end watching him – he gives you an incredulous look of dismay.
“What the hell happened?”
“I got caught up with the ice cream truck. I think they have chocolate.”
“You should have been paying attention to the seesaw.”
Making a Pfft noise, you say, “Fine of you to say that.”
He stands and rolls his eyes. “I’ve already apologized.”
You stand and wipe the dirt off your knees. “Okay, okay. How about we go get some chocolate ice cream?”
“I don’t want any ice cream. Besides, I don’t like chocolate.”
You look longingly at the truck, back toward his eyes and then to the seesaw. “Let’s try this again then shall we?”
“I don’t think I want to anymore.”
You roll your eyes now and lift up your side of the seesaw and throw your leg back over, “So I’m on it, it’s up to you.”
He huffs and walks back over, stomping like a willful child, and looks over to a table full of his friends, huffs and sits in his seat. He cocks his head at you, eyes dead of any emotion.
You jump upward and are caught in the air. You realize that the idea of the seesaw is nice in theory. It is actually very nice in theory. Then you look down to the scowling face… but it would be nicer if both people were in agreement.
At a certain point you come to the realization that you’re an adult and that you have to, at some point, slide off your side of the seesaw and put your feet on the ground. Then you have to stand and walk away from the game. In an effort of remembering the past you might want to extend you hand in friendship, but know that the other person won’t even be looking your way.