State of the (Dis)Union

They had nothing to say to each other. The silence had since swallowed them whole. Ten years of loving, learning and loathing. She sat, arms folded against her crisp, gabardine suit. He watched her from across the varnished oak table. It was only a few feet, but it might as well have been a mile long. Scenes from their lives together replayed themselves in his head. When he carried her to the car. She twisted her ankle in the ‘Grand Canyon’ of potholes behind the restaurant. He saw it; why didn’t she? Those damn platform sandals of hers. He didn’t even believe she was hurt until her ankle was the size of a softball the next day. ‘Just doing the chivalrous thing.’ he reflected. But did she really need me to carry her to car? And he never seemed to hear the end of it. God, she really was too outspoken back then. She held her tongue for no one, especially not him. But he never could control her. He tried, and succeeded at times, but she never did quite bend the way he needed her to. She had no respect for him. That was it. Suddenly, all the memories came flooding back. Washing away any trace of affection he held for her. He realized she was a shrew that could never be tamed.

She meets his gaze with icy resignation. ‘Why look away? Let him see that there is no hurt left. That there is nothing left. Let him know that love can be extinguished.’ All those years wasted. So many years spent locking away all that she truly was. Stifling everything that was meaningful to her...just for him. So many years of holding her tongue to portray a united front in the name of loyalty. And for what? How many meaningless apologies and empty promises filled their years? She felt the chill of the rain on her neck of that night so long ago. “I promise. I’ll be back to pick you up when you get off.” He had her car, her keys and it was his world. She finally had to call a cab home in the wee hours of the morning. Locked out and freezing, calling and getting no response, she had no choice but for him to tire of his revelries and finally come home. And when she twisted her ankle behind the bar. Of course, he never seemed to remember that it was bar they were leaving that night. Or that he was walking so far up ahead that she had to break her own fall. The first of many in their time together. She learned to brace herself. The very thought of him left a sick, metallic taste in her mouth now.

She lifts her arm out of its comfortable place and picks up the elegant, silver pen. It is a magic wand between her fingers. Her signature is swift and final. It is over. Their representatives go through the formalities. They do all the talking. Ten years coming to a close. She feels the heaviness shrugged off of her slender shoulders like the Titan Atlas. The whole unlovely tale concluded. No longer needing to personify endurance for one so undeserving- a wisdom with no name envelops her. With both hands she rolls herself away from the table and rises. They had nothing to say to each other.