Four little words..."Good night sweet girl."

I watched parts of "The Wizard of Oz" tonight -- mostly the end. And it made me think of a great line from "Beautiful Girls,"

You let her behind the curtain, I know you did. You never let them behind the curtain Will. You never let them see the little old man behind the curtain working the levers of the great and powerful OZ. They are all sisters Willie... they aren't allowed back there... they mustn't see.

It always makes me laugh. And I think, the sterotype, the cliche, is that women are the inigma, that we are impossible to read, impossible to understand. But in this case, Michael Rappaport's character is turning the tables. Men have secrets, men have "things" about them that women should never know the key to.

Is that true? Perhaps. But I think it has more to do with people being people, then men being men, and women being women. I think back to my longest-lasting relationships -- Chris and Bruce. Both right around 18 months. Neither was ever going to go anywhere. So why did I fall in love with one and not the other?

Because one let me behind the curtain and the other didn't. And I'm not sure which is which, only the difference in the way each approached what was supposed to be a "friends with benefits" relationship only.

Bruce and I saw each other a few times a month, usually for lunch (and I use that term loosely). We also saw each other in work-related instances, where we remained absolutely professional, while occasionally giving each other "fuck me" looks. He was loving and supportive, and made me feel like the only person who mattered when we were together. In all our time together, I bought him one present -- a tie that I happened to see when I was shopping with my brother, and knew how perfectly it would match one of his suits. Several months later, he bought me a present -- a pink, silk nightie from Victoria's Secret. And it was such an "Ellie present," that I so appreciated the thought that went into it. But that was it. That was the only time our relationship strayed beyond any sort of line.

Chris, on the other hand, called me every day at work. Sometimes several times. He made me get emotionally attached to him. We took a few trips together, spending a solid 36 to 48 hours together at a stretch. As if we were a real couple. He paid for everything, even when I insisted on picking up dinner or the movies. We were, at times, living the life of a real couple. Except we weren't. He had another life, without me. One he didn't want me in, one that didn't allow for a commitment.

And while I knew this, and we talked about it, his actions were stronger than his words. His phone calls, his constant attention got to me. And I was soon smitten, and then completely gone. Totally in love with him. It was a hard lesson to learn -- but one that I did. I discovered the difference between words and actions -- and the difference between listening to my heart and my head. I learned, too late perhaps, that even though I realized he was calling me too much, that we were "playing" at being a couple, I should have called him on it.

I should have confronted him, made him commit, or not and let him walk away. But I was afraid -- afraid of losing this half of a relationship. Because, wasn't half of a relationship better than none at all? I thought so. Until I felt the crack in my heart and couldn't get through the day without breaking down in tears.

I don't even remember when things started to feel better, or how I got through it. But I did. And he had no idea -- or if he did, he didn't let on, didn't want to deal with it.

And so as I contemplate the whole "friends with benefits" thing -- wanting to find one and hearing the pros and cons from my blogger friends -- I think fondly of both Bruce and Chris. Both so different from each other, and yet, not really. I miss them both, for completely different reasons. Bruce filled a physical need, Chris an emotional one, even if it was false.

And so it brings us back, full circle to "The Wizard of Oz," when the Wizard tells the Tin Man that a "heart is impractical until it can be made to be unbroken."