Why do Marie's friends talk too much?

A couple days ago, I got back from a week visiting Marie. It was a pleasant visit. We didn't do a lot, but we hung out and talked. And fucked, of course. I might write about other parts of the visit in a while.

But among other things, we visited with some of her friends. One evening we had dinner with a family she's close to, and another day we had lunch with a different friend. And I noticed something during both meals.

How to steamroller over anyone that can't keep up.

Each time, the friend was the kind of person who dominates a conversation, steamrollering over anyone who can't keep up. (In the case of the family, it was specifically the wife-and-mother who did this, but then she's the one who is Marie's particular friend.) Now — just to be completely clear — this was no problem for me. I'm perfectly capable of talking a lot too. (If you've read a few of the other posts in this blog, you've probably already figured that out.) I grew up around Father, who had to be the center of attention in any social setting, regardless who was present or how many there were. So I grew up having to compete for the floor. (Yes, that's really how we described the dynamic at home, even if it meant just chatting about our days over the dinner table.) When someone else talks a lot, I can usually calibrate myself to their output and keep pace. So in one case last week I ended up talking a lot about medical care child-rearing; in the other case I talked a lot about history and philosophy. In both cases I was able to hold up my end of the conversation in the face of relentless pontification by the other person. So far, so good, This was all fine. In that respect, there was no problem.

But Marie said almost nothing during either meal, at least in comparison to her friend and to me. And this silence began to worry me. Certainly when Marie and I are alone and I find myself doing all the talking, I regard it as a danger-sign. That used to happen fairly often forty years ago, when she and I were undergraduates, and I generally learned afterwards that I had been ignoring her — that her very silence meant something was wrong and I should have been paying attention. This means that today when I hear her falling silent, it usually shows up for me as a very loud silence. Ever since we got back together six years ago, I have been very aware of this dynamic, and I have worked hard to spend less time blathering around her than I used to. (Really this is something I've been working on in general for a long time. It's not just about Marie.) Also I try hard to listen. It's not a topic where I can ever claim a permanent victory, once for all. But I plug away at it steadily.

Last week however, at these two meals, I kept talking anyway because I was responding to the steady stream of opinions from her friends. I figured that somehow, in one way or another, I was on display to them; and that it was my job, in the moment, to keep up my end of the conversation so that I would show-off well and look like a credit to Marie. But I was very aware of Marie's silence all the same, and I asked her about it later.

Why do your friends — and yes, I very much include myself in this list — talk so much more than you do? Or why do you allow yourself to be steamrollered in the conversation? Are they like that when I'm not here? If so, why do you choose friends who steamroller you?

Marie had to think for several minutes before she could answer that. At length she said something like this.

It's not quite true that all my friends steamroller me. There are some you haven't met. Of the ones we've eaten with this week, one will listen attentively if I tell her I have something important to discuss, and the other isn't really a close friend. We just spend time together because ... oh, I don't know ... reasons.

But yes, you've got a point. And I think it's like this. For me, it's a lot easier to relate to someone who does all the talking, because then I know what they expect of me. All I have to do is sit and listen, and they'll be happy. I've done my part for the relationship. You remember the night that you and I met, you were telling long stories while I lay on the floor and gazed up adoringly at you. And that worked for us for a while. [I might question the verb "worked" but sure, ... whatever, I guess.] So I think that's why.

OK, I guess that was an explanation. I didn't really know what else to say. She didn't seem to think it was a problem, except that I knew it had been a problem between us way back when. And I admit I did wonder a little bit about the words "easier" and "I know what they expect of me." It made the whole thing sound a little Hermione-Granger-ish, like all the world is an extension of school, and it's our job to please other people the way we try to please teachers. I guess that I (of all people!) have no right to complain about seeing the whole world as an extension of school, and I know I've mentioned before how far Marie reminds me of Hermione Granger. (Honestly, if not for the huge age gap between them, and the multiple differences driven by that age gap — Marie is sixty and Hermione is a teenager — the similarities would be scary!) 

I still don't know what to say about it. I guess she's happy and I don't need to say anything because it's none of my business. Does that sound right to you too?