Destruction

I just found out that someone else I know is getting separated from her husband. She just moved into her own place clear on the other side of town and everything. How many couples my age does that make? Three? Four? No, five, maybe. Six! I’m losing count. And I’m not even thirty yet.

There was a time, like maybe two years ago, when this would have given me a little threatening needle-prick, this would’ve gotten my hackles up. You know, as a married person who publicly is so sure of herself, and her rock-solid marriage. But since then I’ve seen that being married isn’t about being rock-solid at all. I’m not still married because I’m good at it.

Now I’m just sad. I don’t feel separate, like just like my friends are splitting up; I feel like a cookie being eaten. I wonder if my friends and family are a representative sample. I wonder if half of the people I know who get married will split up,

like America.

strangers on a train

Last night I went with EZ, GB and E’s friend S to Ravinia to go see the Philip Glass Orchestra. It was rush hour on the Metra and very full (6% concertgoers, 94% commuters), and I plunked my picnic down across from
a man and woman who were sitting together. There were four seats, two and two facing each other, if you understand. I was amped and happy, they demanded a tax. The man said, “She likes chocolate, and I could
use a beer.” “I have both!” I answered. We laughed and chatted a bit, and then I grabbed the woman’s
hand. She had on a spectacular ring, some kind of contemporary brushed-alloy affair wrapped around a rectangular diamond. As I was looking at her ring, she curled her fingers in just a bit, relaxing into the exchange, not stiffening out her fingers. I asked her where she got it, who designed it (like that would mean anything to me), and I told her how lovely and unusual I thought it was. I then left my stuff and went back to join my friends, so excited, and pretty much forgot about the man and woman.

The train stopped and some commuters got off. EZ said that laptops were like the modern weapon, the
brandished sword. We talked about how fun it was to ride the train, and we drank some more champagne from plastic glasses. The woman with the ring passed and smiled goodbye. Some seats opened and I went to get my stuff so I could sit with my friends. The man was alone now, and smiled and told me that it was very kind of me to compliment her ring, that it really meant a lot to her. I shrugged and said, “It’s a gorgeous ring,” then noticed something in his face. “Are you guys friends, or did you just meet on the train?” “Friends,” he said. Quiet. “You didn’t give her that ring, did you?” “No,” he looked right in my eyes, “but I wish I had.”

I wish I would’ve given him that beer.