His And Hers It is a well-known fact that love and hate are not opposing emotions. The opposite of love is not hate, but indifference. If you hate someone, you still feel passionately, strongly about them, as with love. And there is a very thin line between love and hate. The difference is sometimes so tiny that it is almost impossible to decipher what is love and what is hate, and the emotions can become blurred, confused. Her: As I finish my Group Dynamics presentation, I feel really proud of myself. I may not be the most natural public speaker in the world (truth is, I�d rather die than stand up on my own and talk about something I don�t even care about, with more than five or six pairs of eyes on me), and I may not have really understood the topic I was explaining, but I feel I�ve actually done a very good job, for a change, of convincing everyone that I actually know what I�m talking about. The minimal amount of stammering possible for me - as much eye contact as possible, rather than constantly reading from my notes with my head buried in the paper - and beautifully presented slides to draw the audience�s eye away from me. That last one is only really a good thing from my point of view, I�ll probably get marked down for having made my slides too distracting, but who the hell cares? All that matters is, I�m finished with all my presentations for the rest of the semester, and I reckon I�ve managed to do a pretty good job. My mark for the presentation probably won�t be particularyl flattering to my ego but there is no doubt in my mind that I will more than make up for any shortfalls in the essay we have to submit. �Anyone?� The lecturer is scanning the room, looking for an opinion. He likes to see what the other members of my psychology course think of the presentations. Sometimes he even reads our essays out loud and grades them according to the class�s opinion. Needless to say, I�m not exactly fond of the guy. �I thought Karli�s presentation was really good,� Jill announces. �She had great slides, great eye contact, and she made the topic really easy to understand.� That sounded really good, didn�t it? Shame it�s my everloyal best friend doing the talking. �Anyone else, who isn�t biased?� the lecturer asks wearily. I force a laugh, feeling my face flame in embarrassment. I see Craig lazily shift position slightly and catch the lecturer�s eye. Oh God, I think. Why me? �Craig? You have something to contribute?� Please, no! �I feel I have to make a comment about the slides,� he drawls. �Like Jill said, they were really, really great. Honestly.� He meets my eyes, and the glimmer of malice in them tells me his little speech is not looking good from my point of view. There is this air of slightly uneasy insouciance about the way he is slouched in his chair, sort of the calm before the storm. And I know what�s coming. �I mean, I just loved the multitude of colours you used, and those little cartons at the side of some of the slides - they were just adorable.� �But?� I snap, letting him know I�m not fooled by the compliments. I�ve been lulled into a false sense of security several times too many by this bloke, and I�ve gradually realised that he is a dickhead - plain and simple. �They were very distracting, I found. Time after time, they drew me away from what you were saying, and I found myself paying more attention to the slides than to your beautiful face.� There you go - I knew I would get pulled up for the slides, but did it have to be Craig that did it? I don�t know why I hate Craig so much. I mean, I�ve always hated him. When I�m near him, he makes my skin actually crawl with loathing. I�m clearly the only one that feels this way though. The other girls love him - who wouldn�t love a Ricky Martin lookalike? I mean,. I used to find him very attractive, until I realised how competitive he was. You see, me and Craig are the top of the class. In the first year of university, we both scored 97% in the most important exam. After the marks for essays, presentations (luckily, there was only actually one presentation in first year and it only counted for ten percent of the mark), and two mini-projects, were combined with that main exam and the five smaller class tests, Craig had 90% and I had 92%. And that�s when the hatred really started. He loves to rip me to shreds. I�ll be about to hand in an essay and he�ll nick it from me, start reading it and then start picking holes, publicly, in it. And he�ll always find something to slag off about my presentations. It clearly enraged him that I still mamnaged to beat him in second year, scoring 88% to his 85%. And I�m determined to beat him this year. That is, if I don�t kill him first. Him: I�m only trying to help her, give her some constructive criticism. Well, that�s what I tell myself anyway, so that I can pretend that the evil eye I�m receiving from her is totally unjustified. I suppose the truth is, I�m jealous. I hate it when anybody is better than me at something, and I especially hate the fact that it is Karli Spencer who consistently beats me in tests, exams and presentations. Funnily enough, now that I�ve managed to knock a couple of percent off her great mark, I don�t feel that usual flash of triumph. Maybe it�s because I realise how childish I�m being. Or maybe it�s the fact that she doesn�t do any of this to me. I mean, when I did my presentation last week, millions of people slagged me off, but she just kept her mouth shut. Okay, so the fact that she stared at me with skepticism in her eyes all the way through definitely psyched me out a bit, but that�s nothing compared to the things I do to her. But it�ll be worth it in the end, I�m sure of it. By the end of this year, I�ll be the top of the class. No one will be able to say that Karli is better than me, because I�ll be the best. As I sit here, I realise that everyone has left. I�m the only one here now, sitting here, staring into space. Feeling like crap. I hate feeling this way - so i shake my head to clear my guilty thoughts and grab my things. Fifth floor - no chance I am walking down all those stairs. It�ll have to be the lift. Oh yes, the lift. So often, in films, books and lame TV shows, the lift is the place where people form a common bond. Would it be too much of a coincidence if Karli and Craig ended up in a lift together alone? Of course it would. But will it happen anyway? We�ll have to see, won�t we? Her: I�m in the lift alone, which I hate. I have this recurring nightmare about being trapped in a lift, alone, in the middle of an earthquake. Sometimes, I�m pregnant (believe me, I have no idea how that happened!), and the shock of being trapped sends me into instant labour. But here comes my other, living nightmare. Craig Peterson has just jumped into the lift, squeezing himself between the closing doors. I entertain a brief fantasy where the doors squash him into a pulp, but hey! that�s just a tad farfetched. God couldn�t be that kind to me anyway. �Hey,� he says quietly. He looks embarrassed. So he bloody should, after the fool he made of me, back there. Just the memory of my embarrassment is causing my face to flame bright red. �Hi,� I reply, coldly, punching the ground floor button violently. In silence we travel down the lift shaft, only broken by a �ping� at the third floor. The doors slide smoothly open to reveal a grungey student. �You going up?� she asks, staring at us through spaced out eyes. �No,� I snap, pushing the �close doors� button. �Stupid little cow,� I mutter. The lift begins to move, but moments later, it judders to an abrupt halt. �What - what�s happened?� I whisper, butterflies in my stomach. �I don�t know.� Craig looks worried. He reached over me and presses a couple of buttons. Nothing happens. �Oh shit,� he mutters. �Isn�t there one of those emergency phones in this thing?� I glance around the tiny, dim space, but there isn�t one. �Typical,� I mutter. �So now I�m stuck here, with you.� Him: Okay, don�t panic. This will be over soon. Someone will notice that this lift is not moving, they�ll realise something is wrong and they�ll get us out of here. After all, it always happens in the movies, doesn�t it? Of course, sometimes people die. But I won�t let myself think about that. Whydon�t I instead focus on the fact that I�m trapped in here with a very bitter girl who hates my guts? Add the fact that not only do I hate her, but I also find her the most beautiful girl I�ve ever had the misfortune to meet. God, I feel like shit. About dying . . . I suppose I could start with an apology. That seems like the least I could do. I suppose I�m sort of sick of the rivalry between us. It might be bearable if we were at least friends. And I did start the rivalry after all. And, if I am going to die, I�d rather have made up with Karli first. So that�s what I�ll do. Her: �What are you thinking about?� he asks me, from the opposite wall. I shrug. �I�m thinking how this is like my nightmare, come true.� �Being trapped in a lift with me?� he asks, sounding hurt. I let out a short sharp laugh. �Don�t be such an egotist. Just being trapped in a lift is my worst nightmare.� I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold. �The fact that you�re here is just like adding my real-life nightmare to my normal nightmare.� �Sorry.� He sounds subdued. �For everything, I mean. I�ve been such a bastard to you, haven�t I?� �You could say that.� If he thinks I�m going to even give him an inch, he�s sadly mistaken. �You could also try multiplying that atatement by at least a factor of ten, and then you may be closer to the truth.� �I guess I deserved that.� �You did.� �You�ve never exactly been nice to me, though, have you?� he burst out, crossing the short distance between us, and facing me head on. �Hey, you started the whole rivalry thing,� I protest. �That scene today wasn�t exactly a once off, was it?� �No, but . . .� he hesitates. He wants to say something else, but he seems unsure of whether to say it or not. And whatever it is, do I want to hear it? Or do I secretly want the lift to start up again, before he can finish his sentence. Him: �But what?� Karli asks me, her voice soft. Her big hazel eyes look so beautiful in this light, in fact they seem to be giving out the light, brightening up the dim space we�ve found ourselves trapped in. �Well, I guess in a way, this has been an attempt to get you to notice me.� This truth has only just occurred to me now, and I�m just saying it as it comes to me. And it actually sounds okay coming out of my mouth. �Like today, didn�t you hear what I said? That I found myself paying more attention to the slides than to your beautiful face?� She�s missed it again. I guess the fact that I was insulting and complimenting her in the same sentence meant that the insult somehow cancelled out the compliment, and just the insult registered with her. �So?� she asks blankly. �I said you were beautiful.� She�s determined to embarrass me. That�s the third time I�ve had to say it. She�s quiet, she�s going back in her mind to the scene earlier. She�s trying to remember exactly what I said, and yeah, she�s remembered that moment. Maybe she even remembers that after I said it, there was a collective gasp around the room, maybe she hasn�t. I doubt she noticed, she was too angry with me to really notice anything. �So you did,� she says slowly. And she smiles at me. Warmly. The first time she�s aimed a warm smile at me in well over a year. And I think, maybe there�s hope. Her: Bingo! It�s good to know that I�m not just a rival to him. It�s also good to realise that I�m maybe clear about my feelings for him for the first time. And that maybe I�m ready to admit them to myself, rather than keep them bottled up inside me. He likes me, he really does. And this thought really pleases me. I stare at his full lips, the cleft in his chin, those dark brown eyes and I let myself think �Wow, he is so hot!� for the first time since I met him. �So, do you plan to do anything? About us?� I ask him, hoping desperately that the lift will start up again. �Well, that depends on your feelings,� he says, his voice husky, slightly self conscious. �Well, I . . .� Thank God, the lift springs back to life. �Oh, the lift�s started,� I say unnecesasarily. As I turn away from him, I catch the glimmer of disappointment n his face. Don�t worry, I�m not going to blow him off now, I wasn�t setting him up so he would admit to liking me, and I could laugh in his face. I just want to make him sweat it out a little. I reckon he deserves a little torture, doncha think? The doors open on the ground floor and I exit the lift, a happy little smile playing at the corners of my lips. �Karli.� Craig gently touches my arm and I turn to face him. �You didn�t tell me . . .� �. . .How I feel,� I finish. �Do you really need me to tell you?� I just smile at him, it saves me having to say it. �Do you maybe want to do something tonight?� �I can�t believe you have to ask that. How about we meet in the union at eight?� �Yeah, fine.� I can barely speak, I�m so excited. He reaches out and touches my hand, as if hes sealing the deal. �See you then?� he asks, making sure I�m not joking, his eyes dark and hopeful. I nod, and then turn and walk away. Who knows what will happen, but perhaps . . . perhaps it is something that I�d be mad to miss out on. It is a well-known fact that love and hate are not opposing emotions. The opposite of love is not hate, but indifference. If you hate someone, you still feel passionately, strongly about them, as with love. And there is a very thin line between love and hate. The difference is sometimes so tiny that it is almost impossible to decipher what is love and what is hate, and the emotions can become blurred, confused. That was my problem, for a long time I knew that my feelings for Craig were strong, but I was stuck on that thin line, not knowing what way to jump. What I really needed was some time, even as brief as that time in the lift with him, to sort out my feelings, to end my confusion. So, when Craig came into that lift this afternoon, when I realised how alone we were, there was nothing to stop me. On the wall behind me, where I was standing the entire time, was the STOP button. Never knew what the point of it was, but it was there and it was willing. And so, I took my opportunity and I pressed it, nervous in case this plan of mine didn�t resolve my feelings. I had only five minutes before the lift started up again and I could only hope that fate would help me out. I think it did. Don�t you?
Copyright © 2000 Paula M Shackleford |