If "Mr. Just Glancing Over" would actually speak to me or introduce himself, the spell would be broken. I'd be free of the enchantment. Not because he's a goon or a psycho or because I think the words uttered would confirm some ill thought...It's just that once we made "contact" if you will, the questions would fade, and there wouldn't be the lingering and nagging wonderment that plagues me now.
Yes, I confess. I think it's that mystery that keeps this "thing" going.
I love Jane Eyre. The first time I read Charlotte Bronte's classic Jane Eyre, I was smitten with Mr. Edward Rochester. He was dark, brooding, rude and forthright. He wasn't all that attractive to look at--even to Jane herself--but she was captivated by him nonetheless. His tortured soul was a delicious element, and the mystique surrounding him kept readers mesmerized until the last page.
I am of the opinion that Jane Eyre has ruined real relationships for some of us women. That may sound harsh especially since I'm not even sure it has affected any one else but me. [So please remember this is merely my theory here and not a dissertation with supporting evidence other than my own...] In my own experience, that book put ideas into my head, and I continue to live by those principles. And somehow, I think it has not been the most positive enlightenment.
I've been on a mission to find my own personal Mr. Rochester...you know a man who continues to surprise me like Rochester surprised Jane. There were deep-rooted secrets behind those heavy-lidded eyes of his, a lurking darkness that he was struggling against, a passionate devotion to all things Jane and a powerful persona to boot. He was a MAN!
Of course, the truth was that Mr. Rochester--like every other man, woman and child ever born into this world--was flawed. (GASP!) Yes, FLAWED. Although no more so than any other person, I suppose.
His irrational temper, brooding temperament and violent mood swings were legendary. He was arrogant and proud to be sure. He teased and tormented Jane with what we would term as "games" today, and he was less forthright than he should have been about his past. Of course there was the other matter. [Please skip to the next paragraph if you haven't read the book yet...] I'm guessing that most of us have not locked up our mad spouse in the attic for years, (but in his defense, it was more humane that the asylums would have been I imagine).
He was basically a rake, a scoundrel, a deviant. But to me, he was simply perfect!
A refreshing change from the fairy tale heroes I read about. OK, so he didn't slay dragons or wake the princess with a kiss, but then Mr. Rochester had personality. He wasn't a cardboard figure. I mean does anyone really think that Prince Charming was a level-headed guy you could carry on a deep conversation with? With a name like Prince Charming, he had to have been an ego maniac! What were his parents thinking anyway? [Sorry...a bit of a tangent here...]
No, Mr. Rochester was a real hero. A scarred man with a past that he could not escape and a desire for something fresh and new. It was that uniqueness, the imperfections in his character that made him interesting and made him believable. He was ideally imperfect!
And I've been looking for him ever since. But alas, they've been too wild for me or too far outside the conventional norms. They've been too gentle and kind or too timid and bland to suit. They've been too creative or too practical. They've been too good looking or too non-descript. And thus the search continues on...
The reality is that each one of us is a holder of some mystery--maybe not like Mr. Rochester (but then again, how much mystery should one person have? I mean even Jane must have tired of the intrigue). And as humans, each one of us has unique aspects of our personality that surprise some and captivate others, that offend a few and delight another. In a way, we are all mysterious creatures with lots to offer each other. We're just waiting to be discovered and admired for who we are--flaws and all!
In retrospect, Mr. Rochester tainted my scope of what I thought I wanted. Bronte's vivid portrait of a tortured and passionate man called out to the melancholy woman inside me and made me yearn for a dramatic love of my own. I started pursuing something that didn't exist, something I'd never actually find, but I can't blame it all on Mr. Rochester or Jane Eyre. The true mystery lies in the fact that I don't know what I want myself.
And as for "Mr. Just Glancing Over," who knows? He could be just another passing curiousity as many have been before him or he could be something more. We'll just have to wait out the dramatic intrigue and see...
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