Those moments of silence after he's finished speaking (or rather, cut himself off before his story gets any more pathetic - Ginsberg really doesn't need to know how that night ended, with him sobbing himself to sleep on the floor of his gutted childhood home) are excruciating. Just as Ginsberg is anticipating Ned will throw him out any second, Ned is anticipating Ginsberg will make his polite excuses and a hasty retreat. But he doesn't.
Ned doesn't quite know what to do, in response to that hand on his shoulder. He understands the impulse behind the gesture, but his reaction to it is not ingrained, has to be processed consciously as an unfamiliar situation. At least now Ginsberg will have a framework for why he responds differently to certain things than the average person.
And it seems that Ginsberg understands that that was what he was aiming for. He wasn't looking for pity, or attention; he just wanted to give Ginsberg an idea where he comes from.
The comment about him not deserving it catches him off-guard. He'd never even brought up the topic of deserving it or not, so how had Ginsberg intuited or guessed or reasoned out that he does think he deserved it? What gave him away? But he rapidly discovers that no, he really can't think about any of that right now. If he does, he's sure he'll lose the battle and start bawling, and he really doesn't want that. So instead, face pale, he shakes his head as if to scatter thoughts of blame and guilt and decades-old self-hatred.
He lets out an uneven sigh and, not sure how else to express his gratitude for Ginsberg's patience, curls forward in his direction, resting his head on Ginsberg's shoulder. Not quite hugging him, but getting into his space, as if he wouldn't mind being hugged. What Ginsberg said about dealing with it by himself strikes a chord and he admits, quietly, "Never actually told anyone all that, before."
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Ned doesn't quite know what to do, in response to that hand on his shoulder. He understands the impulse behind the gesture, but his reaction to it is not ingrained, has to be processed consciously as an unfamiliar situation. At least now Ginsberg will have a framework for why he responds differently to certain things than the average person.
And it seems that Ginsberg understands that that was what he was aiming for. He wasn't looking for pity, or attention; he just wanted to give Ginsberg an idea where he comes from.
The comment about him not deserving it catches him off-guard. He'd never even brought up the topic of deserving it or not, so how had Ginsberg intuited or guessed or reasoned out that he does think he deserved it? What gave him away? But he rapidly discovers that no, he really can't think about any of that right now. If he does, he's sure he'll lose the battle and start bawling, and he really doesn't want that. So instead, face pale, he shakes his head as if to scatter thoughts of blame and guilt and decades-old self-hatred.
He lets out an uneven sigh and, not sure how else to express his gratitude for Ginsberg's patience, curls forward in his direction, resting his head on Ginsberg's shoulder. Not quite hugging him, but getting into his space, as if he wouldn't mind being hugged. What Ginsberg said about dealing with it by himself strikes a chord and he admits, quietly, "Never actually told anyone all that, before."