NAILED IT

Till death, do we part.

I know, but still…

“You opened a hole in the universe, and a constellation dimmed. What were we supposed to do with that, fumbling about in the dark? You never said it plain, and that's the point."

Her razor-thin lips, always good for slicing a moment deli-thin, were glinting pink stripes under her reworked nose. Blonde became brunette, then black, then back again. Never happy, this woman in a red paisley summer dress always looked cold, the scarf in August a dead giveaway. Any cardiologist available for a consult said her resting heart rate was excellent. She never breathed through her mouth, and her posture was as resolute as a flagpole.

I know, but still…

“If you had said it, would you have meant it? Would you ever find the balls? Or would it have been another bowl of watery gruel from your mouth? Chew your food, chew your words, carefully, I warned you, and you did, until pureed."

He was a rescue in her eyes, which was difficult to argue. Never one with a hand on the pulse of the day, he was a bobbing head in a sea of bobbing heads. From the sky, no GPS coordinates could be used to locate him. He was just there. Then he was somewhere else. On a good day, you might get a whiff of his cologne, a little citrus, and a dash of pine. He slathers ketchup on his well-done steak. He was the kind of man who still ordered root beer floats, and she would stare past him, and he knew it. He was an expert at watching others not seeing him, comfortable with it but softly resentful when it happened, and it happened all the time. He was a ghost, a floater, and she loved him for his complicit transparency. And he loved her, too, sucking on that paper straw. His Mom died birthing him, and his Dad never got over it, so invisibility became a handshake agreement, man to not-yet-man. He knew she was a keeper when he hugged her after their first date. She smelled like mist and has glided through his fingers every day since.

I know, but still…

“It's probably good you kept your trap shut. There’s enough pollution filling our ears. I know mine burn more than ever, hot as a skillet on glowing coals my ears have become."

She considered cheating on him. But you must detest someone to do that, and she still valued him. Like an amputee romances the memory of an arm or foot. He was more an appendage than a partner, and she despised that word. Partner. She wanted to call him husband or significant other, but he was not that, likely never was. Partner, she learned to live with it. Antiseptic and business-like, a three-piece suit, she wore him. He fetched groceries, walked their ridiculous poodles, mowed the lawn, and did the dishes. He was useful in that regard.

I know, but still…

“So do it now if you are of a mind to finally do it. Finish what you never started. Like when you pounded two nails and left the lumber to rot.”

His libido was low, and she was a woman inside a cast iron overcoat protecting tawny pearls and a prim black dress. A woman who claimed to be misunderstood, she was the love of his life because she said yes to his overture, though he knew he was marrying an anchor. She knew he would willingly sink to the depths of her. His lungs were weak, and she was ballast in Prada. All involved could see the truth scrawled in this ill-conceived contract, but they were happy for them, eager to unburden themselves from reality and lies. Thumbs up all around. Glassy smiles. Toast the happy couple!

I know, but still…

But still what? Say the words.

I know.

You know what?

I know you.

Get on with it.

I know you are a bottomless pit.

I know you devour and deceive.

It only took two nails to accept it.

To accept what?

That we are perfect for each other.

To be buried together and discovered again?

Yes, till death, we do part.