Last
October, a novel came into my hands that reaffirmed what I already
knew: that answers can change to questions asked again. Again as in
some months, even years on, from when the subject was first broached.
If you ask again and again and the answer's always the same then you
know not to ask again don't you, but if you just accept the first
given answer and let the matter drop, then surely as the asker you're
doing the answerer a disservice, unless your position as the asker
too has somewhat changed. Your feelings are no longer the same or
your situation has altered and therefore whatever it was you were
originally offering is not available, not on those same terms, which
means if you asked again the question put would be different and the
answer just as uncertain.
Answerers,
if the question's unexpected, can be too hasty in their response,
give their initial reaction to a proposal when it might not be what
they actually meant, as by doing so they lessen the time they might
spend deciding with their stomach a-flutter, their mind in knots, as
well as the time the asker is kept waiting.
Whereas no
response is either a open door or a door the asker will choose to
close because it's unfair. Their life in limbo, always hopeful that
one day their appeal will be accepted, until the day they become
aware of their own stagnancy and realise they've been taken advantage
of, forever kept in reserve.
Some
answerers, however, do give the question the time it deserves. They
might pause whilst delivering their response, have a affectation that
buys them thirty seconds such as removing spectacles, if they have
them, and cleaning the lenses, or pinching the bridge of their nose
as if a headache beckons, which in turn enables their brain to
formulate a reply which would be right at the time of asking. But
that's not to say that the answer given would be the same if the same
question was asked in an altogether different moment.
Then,
there's how it's asked – with what words and in what tone, which
should be considered if the question is being asked again and if you
believe the answerer, if it's the same answerer, remembers the
situation in which the original was proposed. Though if it has been
forgotten, then it could work in the asker's favour, but it's
dangerous to assume that's the case because in such circumstances the
answerer may recall yet imply, for their own purposes, otherwise.
Nothing
asked twice or thrice is ever the same, though it can take on a
robotic quality as if the asker knows, before it's even been asked,
what answer to expect since it's been asked that many times, so that
if a different answer happened to be given they might on that one-off
occasion miss it.
There are
some answerers, however, who refuse to entertain the same question
however it's asked, believing that to do so shows a weakness in their
character, even if at the repeat performance they felt differently.
And there are askers too whom on being rejected once wouldn't dare to
enquire again, even if the opportunity was undoubtedly there or their
feelings remain unaltered.
Everything
has to, in a way, be perfect for it to come together. The question
needs to be put favourably to receive a favourable response, and for
that the mood needs to be spot-on, and that's not something you can
ever, truly, be an accurate judge of. For it's not just the mood of
the answerer the asker has to be ascertain along with their own, but
also that of the environment where the question will be placed, and
will be forever fixed in both their minds if the question popped or
answer given is poorly managed in their opinion.
The moment
has to be right, for when it's not (for either party) then it either
passes with no action taken or someone winds up dejected, which may
in future prevent them effectuating the same scenario again or
behaving differently. It's always risky even if each are sure of how
they'll ask should the chance arise or how they'll respond should
they be asked, because anything might occur to throw that pre-thought
off course.
People
change, as do the answers given.
Picture credit: Cartomancy, 2004, Frances Broomfield