In my little corner of the library it's dark today. The overcast day banishes any hope of window light. I love how I just fade into the background here, everyone is too intent on their books to notice me - almost like I was a fly on the wall.
A couple walk by me and turn into the next row. Out of the corner of my eye I catch the woman thumbing through books and the man looking at his watch. A belch breaks the relative silence of the room, and to my surprise the woman excuses herself. It's funny how marriage changes as you get older. When you first meet that special someone you try to do everything right, so afraid that somehow you'll mess things up. But once marriage happens, and you're more or less stuck with each other, and you can finally be yourself.
"Almost done?" the man asks.
"I can't find it. The numbers say it should be right here.... I don't understand why I can't find it."
"Here, let me see." One thing doesn't change with time: men like to fix problems.
Through the shelves I can see the man read the little srcap of paper and rub his scruffy chin. "We're on the wrong level. This is upstairs."
With that, they walk away from my little corner and around the bend. I love this kind of relationship. They accept each other and help each other, neither pretending any virtues or hiding any faults.
"But once marriage happens, and you're more or less stuck with each other, and you can finally be yourself....They accept each other and help each other, neither pretending any virtues or hiding any faults."
ReplyDeleteI'm not sure if the first ssentence is unduly cynical and the second unduly optimistic--or whether there's a big kernel of truth in each. 45 years married--you'd think I'd know!
A lot of people use this assignment for big, loud, primary colors conversations (or dark, mean ones) that they then get to tsk-tsk or sneer at. I like the quietness of this, the writer's (or the fly's) control of the material.
Thanks. :)
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