The Bed

The bed was, and is, as it lay,  a foreign land waiting to be fully conquered. Only half of its territory was claimed for full use. The other half lay dormant, rejected, uninhabited. The wife refused to sleep in it, to be there, to relax there, to engage in this partnership of what it took to be a married team. In fact she procured another bed in another room, at times on opposite sides of the house, at times on another floor entirely, that she called her safe haven. She did this the entire time they were married. She did this the entire time that the relationship changed from "just having fun" to "suddenly serious".

She knew that it was not supposed to be a forever. In her minds eye, she tallied the decision, weighing pros versus cons. She checked boxes, and crossed items off systematically. She decided that based off of  a 1 out of 3 ratio, that this situation worked for 2/3 so therefore being in the 66th percentile (almost 67th if you round up the recurring partial decimal)  that this relationship and continued establishment of this association benefited most parties and therefore should continue for the greater good of all. She did this because she didn't want to cause heartbreak, or upset or anger. She did this because she thought perhaps the flaw in being unhappy lay within herself. And that just like other serious character defects, she could work on herself, and correct said flaw.

In between the hours in her bed, her quiet space, she was up frantically often before dawn. She washed, she cooked, she swept, she raised babies, and then kids. She iced birthday cakes. She blew up party balloons. She worked, she studied, she set goals for herself, and she achieved them. She hugged her friends and her family, she lay in the sunshine at the pool and often times thought that life was fine, just so. She retreated to her quiet space behind her closed eyes, and slept. Alone.

Her mind often went back to that mental spreadsheet. The odds were now 3/4. This worked for 3/4, her vote didn't count. This was a majority rule. A democracy. She slept, she wept, she swept, she kept, she dreamt and she left herself somewhere hidden away.

By the twist of some strange fate, indeed a paradoxical miracle of sorts, she found herself alone in that married house. The husband moved on to another master bedroom in a new abode not even five miles from hers. The children were frantic with worry and she sought to console them in any way she could. But she could not invite their father back into the space where he had been before. For as much as she loved her children, and the odds were still in their favour, that magic ratio she had concocted all this time, the reason why she had to stay, why it was her lot to endure this life, she could not utter the words.

For she had moved her bed into that master bedroom. And in fact she had bought a new bed, and new linen too. She had painted the walls. She had taken up all the drawer space in the adjoining bathroom and spread out all of her clothes and shoes across the master closet. And for the first time in a long time, she no longer felt like she merely endured. She felt like she was this person, in this house, that was hers. She was not a voyeur to this life happening about her. She felt like she could be herself for the first time. And despite all the heartache, anger and pain that this would cause. She just had to be free.

Second Hand Wife

"Special Today: Second Hand Wife, gently used"... Is that even appropriate? I just don't even know anymore.

Everyone should have a friend like my Stacey. I fall into her house, three days before Christmas, with both of my kids and their bags packed for a sleep over. As they rush up the stairs, their mother already forgotten, I slouch onto the couch next to her Andrew, to catch the tail end of a nature documentary, replete with little baby birds. Their home is a sanctuary of love, happiness and childhood memories. Stacey fills up their stomachs (and memories) with delicious Italian meals and fills  their hearts with happiness, mirth, and girlie shenanigans, excitement, trepidation, anxiety, counting down the hours until Sugar Plum Fairies dance in their heads and reindeer hooves scratch the eves of our houses.

They kept my children for three days, two nights, and I rushed to them the day before Christmas to gather my girls back, hopefully in a better state than which I left them. But I really don't know, my objectivity is always the first to go.

Who are these people who have so much to give? Who are these people who live and laugh and are pillars of support? How do some couples just work. From their time in high school until their days now. They just are. Together they are StAn (Stacey and Andrew)... And I really couldn't have done this without them.

"Stacey!" I said.... tears rolling down my cheeks.... "Stacey, I am a used wife"... "I am a second hand wife!"!!!! "No, bern... You are not a second hand wife! You are a certified pre-owned model, like at the BMW dealership!".... The words just roll off of her New York tongue like this is God's honest truth, pages out of the bible. And in an instant I feel alright again. Well hhmmm... I didn't look at it that way. I am so glad I am not a used wife at the $99 per week no credit check, buy here pay here lot in Gainesville! Suddenly I feel alright. I am not used. I am merely "certified". Stacey told me so!