“I didn’t want to go out,” Jane said. “I didn’t want to spend time with those friends that night. I just didn’t want to do it.”
“And?” Mike replied.
“And what? I didn’t want to do it, and it wasn’t enough for her. She wanted a reason, like, ‘Oh, I’m not feeling well tonight,’ or ‘I already have plans.’ But I felt fine and I didn’t have other plans. I just didn’t want to go. But saying I didn’t want to go wasn’t good enough.”
“And when was saying, ‘I don’t want to do it,’ actually good enough?”
They were sitting on a couch in Jane’s house, a half-eaten, quarter-cooked-with bag of chocolate chips resting between them. Jane was covered with a blanket up to her chin with only her arm sticking out to grab some chocolate chips every once in a while. She really wanted a Snuggie to solve the problem of her cold arm because despite the jacket she was wearing her arm was still chilly every time she reached out to snag a chip.
Mike, on the other hand, was fine. He sat there with only a T-shirt and whatever part of the blanket happened to fall over him. Jane always told him how jealous she was that he could go the entire winter with only a long-sleeved shirt.
Jane sighed. “I don’t know. The early 1900s. Definitely the 1800s. But I warn you, all my information comes from historical fiction books. People would send out invitations and you either accepted or declined. And if you declined, you didn’t have to give a reason.”
“Okay, fine, the 1800s. But in your lifetime? Saying ‘I don’t want to’ probably only worked when you were five, if it even worked then.” They both paused for a moment, considering. Mike broke the silence. “Why is that even a good reason?”
“It doesn’t have to be a good reason, Mike. Although I would argue that it’s, in fact, the best reason.”
“What? Why?”
“Well, obviously because you really shouldn’t do things you don’t want to do. You shouldn’t be forced into them. If you do, you’re giving in to peer pressure, which, according to my years in the public school system, is a bad thing.” Jane barely even remembered Mike was home schooled and her comment could be taken as a jab before continuing her argument. “It also shows that someone else’s will is stronger than your own, that your own wishes and desires don’t mean as much as someone else’s, and that other people can walk all over you.”
“I don’t know if inviting you out on the town for a night is walking all over you,” Mike commented archly.
Jane continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “Always putting someone else’s desires before your own is disastrous for your sense of self.”
“I don’t mean all the time,” Mike replied. “And isn’t friendship about compromise?”
“It’s not about the friendship, it’s about not being able to not do something without an explanation. No, not even that. Because you don’t want to. You can still be great friends. You can hang out all the time. But if you say you don’t want to with no other explanation, it’s not enough. And it should be.” Jane realized she was starting to go into rant mode and took a deep breath. “Look, I don’t want to come up with an excuse. I don’t want to lie to my friend. I’m just being honest when I say I don’t want to go. But for some reason, that is unbearably rude and is therefore not allowed.”
“And you think being polite is overrated?”
“Yes! Sometimes it is.”
“You know, it’s a sign of affection if you do something with, or for, someone else. Not being polite, and the less you do for other people, the more you’ll be considered a jackass.”
“You’re missing the point. I’m not talking about doing it on a regular basis. I’m not talking about regularly flaking out on my friends for no reason or being intentionally rude. I’m just saying that I wanted to be honest. I wanted make it clear that I just didn’t want to go, without lying or skirting around the issue. Maybe that’s rude, but we’ve been friends for years. You’d think she’d understand that sometimes I just can’t deal with the niceties of society and not take it personally. I didn’t want to go, and I wanted to tell her that. And the fact that I didn’t want to go was ‘not a reason,’ according to her. But that’s the point! Why do I need a reason? Why do I need an excuse? Why do my time and actions need to be accountable to another person, when my actions, really have nothing to do with them? It’s not an attack on her. It’s just a personal decision.”
Mike paused for a minute, thinking about what Jane had just said. Before he spoke, Jane could tell he had lost interest in this conversation, but was aiming for a new one. There was a curve to his lips and a glint in his eyes that warned her he would say something she wouldn’t like, even if it was just because he didn’t agree with her.
“I hate to go off topic, but actions should always be accountable.” Mike reached for a few more chocolate chips. Then he stood up, shaking the bag. “Bag’s empty. Be back in a minute and we’ll get back into this.”