to mango of all things.

Knock-Knock. “Can I come in?” my business partner, Laura, asks.

I think to myself, “At your own risk” but smile and say, “sure.” It’s
tense in the room, a product of weeks of poor communication between the
two of us.

I’m sitting on the floor, my face red and pitiful from crying. She
stumbles over the piles of clothes and books, and finds the only other
bare spot on the carpet. We sit there in silence for a few minutes. I
know she is trying to figure out how to talk to me about her
frustrations, and I am increasingly more frustrated as I think about
what I assume her frustrations are. I break the silence with, “so…
what’s up?” Silence.

I have a hard time with silence, especially when things need to be
said. I decide to break it by talking about all of the things I need to
do for the race. I do this, not because I expect her to be able to
help, but because I want her to know how stressed out I am.
I conclude with, “I need to start stepping back from the business,” 
This is the way that I’ve been concluding many of our conversations.
However, instead of actually acting on stepping back, I just continue
to do more. This is why I’m frustrated. I’m frustrated because Laura is
not making me step back.

I mean, if someone comes to me as frazzled as I know I am appearing to
be, I immediately think of ways to make them less frazzled. Sometimes
it’s by simply offering a cup of tea, or buying them flowers, or
helping their schedule, or slipping them a benadryl…
kidding about that last one… only done that once… and she was
actually having an allergic reaction-  to mango of all things. So, here
I am, frazzled. Not specifically stating it, nor offering any
suggestions about how to help, but still expecting Laura to de-frazzle me,, dangit!

Silence…. Sigh… you see… Laura and I are very different people.
An example of just how different we are: Figuring out how to paint our
banana stand took months. We actually had to bring a third party in to
mediate the discussion, because we could not find common ground. David,
sitting between the two of us, asks, “Anna. What are your favorite
colors?” I immediately say, “Well, I really like happy colors. Like
white, and orange,
turquoise, oh and yellow. Things that make you, you know, happy when
you
look at them.” David turns to Laura, ” What about you, Laura?” Laura
thinks for a while… “um…  I like black and red and, like, dark
colors… pretty much
the exact opposite of what Anna likes.”

 I’m a serious verbal processor, she’s the most internal processor I
have ever met. I move faster than most people, focusing on the end
goal, while Laura prefers to take her time focusing on the details. I
have never met a stranger, and blurt out all sorts of randomness to
anyone whose around; Laura thinks before she speaks. I think of big
ideas, and leap before I have any idea of where the other side is, or
how big the drop could be; Laura looks before she leaps. These are just
a few of our differences.

In spite of all these differences, I can’t help but like Laura. No, I
freakin’ love Laura. She’s actually one of my favorite people in the
entire world. She’s hilarious, smart, and kind. She’s dedicated and
fiercely loyal. She’s the most honest person I know. She doesn’t even
listen to burned  CDS or drive over the speed limit. She’s become one of my closest friends, and I wouldn’t trade her for anything in the world.

So, as we’re sitting there, she finally begins to talk about her
frustrations with me leaving. We talk- honestly. We listen- honestly. I
can feel the tension dissipating with each word. It turns out that
Laura isn’t a mind-reader, and it’s not her job to force me to step back. At the end, we laugh about random memories and think about how far
we’ve come. She gets up to leave, and, as she walks out, she says, “You
know. This whole honest communication thing is kinda nice.” I smile and say, “yeah.
it definitely is.”