You’re sleeping right now; the sounds of the air purifier and your heated breathing machine filling the otherwise silent morning air. Nothing else seems to exist when you’re asleep. Nothing but quiet — a brief respite from the clang of reality. Like I’m a mile underwater, looking up without the mildest indication of the hurricane that boils on the ocean surface. Between the tanks and the tubes and the chargers and distilled water and O2 regulators and blood oximeters and pills and appointments and disappointments, it’s easy to forget the peace that silently flows beneath and above it all, sometimes cruelly out of reach. And for a time that won’t last long enough, here is peace: you, with your hand on my forearm, softly sleeping through the ticking of my keyboard.
Sleep on, my love; remembering the sleepless nights behind us and the ones we’ve yet to share, knowing you can reach out, at any point of any night, and find me there. I’ve already passed the crossroad in my life of weighing the two worlds before me; life with you and life without you. You’re my path, not so much by choice, but as a matter of survival. For the love you’ve built around me is a house only you can haunt.
Sleep on, my love; keeping at bay our unvoiced wish to banish these dark days, rather than welcome their refinement. For sadness, like rage or diffidence, is just another way to love each other, providing deeper shades to paint with.
Sleep on, my love; forgetting the fear, the injustice, the stains these moments are leaving. Because I can’t imagine a life that is walked with offense producing anything but. Because this thing in our life is an opportunity that too many have let rot. And we can’t do that, because someone else, maybe not too far off, will go through this too and will want to know the why’s and the how’s and the what now’s that we’re only starting to answer for ourselves. We should forget whatever we feel this world or its people may owe us, because resentment is a backyard bone best left buried, and a sense of what’s owed is perhaps merely runoff from a lack of giving.
Sleep on, my love, and don’t fear waking. There are more than just hurricanes on this side of it all. There are answers slowly forming, lives your story is touching, hope you’re helping grow in the world around you. There are trips to the beach to be had and half-read books to someday finish, recipes waiting to be perfected and lazy Wednesday afternoons longing to be spent wandering the endless aisles of Target. There are more good times ahead. There are more bad times too. But there’s an armor I see forming around you, a chainmail of all the hundreds of times your heart broke and forged back together, only to be found running toward the next fight. You’re the strength from which I draw, for relief and for courage (how dare I be so afraid, when you’re so strong?). And it all waits for you, as you warmly sleep; the wars and peacetime of our inevitable landscape. But for now…
Music is one of those things. Like a time machine, it takes you instantly back to the smells and the lighting and the textures of the time tied to a certain sound of a certain song. Eventually, instead of certain times, songs and artists start to tie themselves to certain people. Like you. And when you’ve been with someone for enough years, the songs start to pile up. Like with us.
There’s probably a song for every major moment in my life. More importantly, there’s probably a song for every hour we’ve spent together. But that’s most likely because, at any given moment, we’re either listening to music or youtube-ing music videos or googling random lyrics we can’t remember or simply singing louder than we should in the middle of a thrift store. And maybe that’s because when there aren’t words, there’re lyrics, and when there aren’t lyrics, there’re melodies. And that’s sometimes just what’s needed.
For times like when I skipped class to go with you to see Jurassic Park in 3-D, times like when we played Edith Piaf and made omelettes at 6:00AM while you’re roommates slept, and times like when it just hurts too much – inside and out – to make your own music… those are some of the times when melody and lyric and chorus and bridge does what nothing else can: capture a single or series of moments, forever to be called upon in times when the outside noise drowns everything else out.
It’s not exhaustive, but here’s a working playlist of some pretty great moments we’ve had so far…
1. For the Summer, by Ray Lamontagne
This is one of the first songs you used to introduce me to Mr. Lamontagne. And my life has never been the same ever since. For good and for bad. About 32 seconds into any song by Ray Lamontagne and I begin seriously contemplating a vegan lifestyle, teaching post-war French literature at an Appalachian liberal arts college. Also, this is your ringtone on my iPhone.
“Can I come home for the summer? I could slow down for a little while Get back to loving each other Leave all those long and lonesome miles behind”
2. Turning Page, by Sleeping at Last
That one time we’d “broken up” and you came over to my mom’s house so we could “talk” – which usually only ended in tears and more confusion – but instead, we just listened to music in the kitchen and when this song came on, we danced with the lights off and didn’t bother to ruin anything with pointless talk and just swayed in each other’s arms and wiped each other’s tears. And maybe you couldn’t see it, but I was floating.
Also, this is from the Twilight soundtrack. So, 500 points to us.
“I’ve waited a hundred years, but I’d wait a million more for you”
3. ***Flawless, by Beyoncé
LOVED this song when it first came out (because I’m a closet female Black Panther). But now it’s our morning alarm tone so now I HATE this song (because even human rights activists need a balanced sleep schedule).
“I woke up like this, I woke up like this. We flawless.”
Was Ashton Kutcher your computer wallpaper when I first met you? Was it?!
4. Brighter Than Sunshine, by Aqualung
Had we had the big wedding we initially wanted but thankfully avoided, this song from the A Lot Like Love soundtrack would have been the song used for our first dance. Even though I was firm in my desire to use Sade’s By Your Side. Small wedding = many avoided fights.
“It’s brighter than sunshine, let the rain fall, I don’t care”
Did he? There were no other options?
5. Wide Open Spaces, by The Dixie Chicks
Our commute home is about an hour long. And you can fill every one of those hours for an entire year just singing Dixie Chicks songs. Especially this one. It’s fun for the first 37 minutes and then I slowly start to go to a dark place. But then I see the absolute bliss plastered on your face and I’m allowed a glimpse into the life of 15 year-old Mackenzie and I melt and cherish seeing you so free and happy. And then I speed up because we’re almost at our exit which means were closer to ending this torture.
“Many precede and many will follow A young girl’s dreams no longer hollow It takes the shape of a place out west But what it holds for her, she hasn’t yet guessed”
True artists don’t have gifs.
6. Glory Bound, by Martin Sexton
For my 26th birthday, you took me to his concert, our first one together. He came out looking like the fourth member of the lollypop guild, but then opened his mouth and plucked his guitar and threw his head back in pure musical surrender and I wanted to throw myself at his feet. This song. Holy cow on a hot tin roof. You know what I’m talking about.
“I’m taking my chance on the wind I’m packing up all my bags”
I’m guessing none of these guys have an IRA or Costco membership
7. Rivers and Roads, by The Head & the Heart
If there were theme music for all the people we know, this would be the song I’d pick for your brother Chandler. You LOVE your brother Chandler. I do too. He’s 200 lbs of muscle and tears. And he’s taught me to see the beauty of buying a VW van and living the life of a beat poet on the road. Someday.
“A year from now we’ll all be gone All our friends will move away And they’re going to better places But our friends will be gone away”
8. Is This Love?, by Bob Marley
Yes, Bob. It is.
“We’ll share the shelter, of my single bed, We’ll share the same room, for Jah provide the bread.”
#swag
9. Don’t Rain On My Parade, by Barbra Streisand via Funny Girl
Because I know all the words and can comfortably hit all the notes.
“Life’s candy and the sun’s a ball of buttah!”
Who conceptualized this photoshoot?
10. Blackbird, by Bobby McFerrin
I missed that whole period in history when a man singing in and out of every orifice in his head was a thing. Apparently, it was. But you did NOT miss out on it. And every time Bobby comes up in Spotify or Pandora, you grab my forearm and – with every muster of your buster – tell me, “this is my childhood”. With tears in your eyes. And I just don’t get it. And that’s okay.
“Mmmdeep, mmmboop, mmmpop, mmmskee“
11. Kathy’s Song, by Eva Cassidy
This is your favorite song. And it fits you. And who’s Kathy?
“And as I watch the drops of rain Weave their weary paths and die I know that I am like the rain There before the grace of you, go I”
12. Hold On, by Wilson Philips
That one time I was vacuuming the hall and you were brushing your teeth and this song came on and I dropped the vacuum and danced my little, not-so-little butt off for you while you watched in awe that I knew all the words as I followed the natural flow of my body to the beats and rhythms. And then we hugged and forgot about the chicken burning in the oven. And that’s life and vacuuming sucks (#pun) and every once in a while we just need to be reminded to hold on for one more day and break free, break free from the chains.
Every relationship should come with monthly statistical reporting. For example, I’d like to know exactly how many times I’ve had to tell you to buckle your seat belt only to have you glare at me, shun my request, and pretend to ignore the beeping of the car telling you to listen to your husband. Likewise, how many times do you think you’ve told me to simply follow the recipe instead of improvising as if I’m Rachel Ray? (How was I supposed to know mushrooms, flour and vinegar wouldn’t make gravy?) But more than anything, I’d love to have a perfect recount of all the fights, arguments, petty snips, and under-the-breath snarks we’ve shared over the years.
Oh, the bombastic reasoning of two lovers in quarrel. For some reason, nothing seems to matter to me as much unless I’m arguing about it with you. Then EVERYTHING becomes life or death. Like that one time I soapboxed about Ruth Bader Ginsberg, arguing with you about her merits and contributions to the judicial landscape and fourth-wave feminism. First of all, I couldn’t even spell “Ginsberg” until I googled it 7 minutes ago. Second, we had that argument when I was 3 seasons into The WestWing,which led me to believe I had a law degree. Lastly, you didn’t even care about the argument, you just knew talking ill of Ruth would get a rise out of me. So, that one’s on you.
But without looking through the records of our fights, I know for sure we’ve had some pretty pointless doozies, most of which have been my doing. So, maybe chronicling them here in their ridiculousness will help us (mostly me) from repeating them. And it’s also probably a large comfort to know that plenty of other couples have similar spats. I’ve been to enough relief society meetings to know we’re not the only ones.
I’d first like to add that, for most of these fights, either 1) I hadn’t eaten in the past 20 mins 2) I just got off the phone with Comcast or 3) I just came out of a dressing room that had wide-angle mirrors. So, I’m partially justified in all of these instances. Right?
1. The fight we have right before walking into a social gathering
That one time we went to a birthday party at Thai Village and we got into a spat on the car ride there about “something” and had to put on a smile before walking in the doors because 17 people were at this party and we’re the “funny” couple and everyone holds us to that, forgetting we’re human and sometimes want to smash a pie in each other’s face. Well, we didn’t disappoint, because sometimes the show must go on and because you can turn a scowl into an angelic smile faster than I can judge a grown man wearing Abercrombie and Fitch. And after our second serving of red curry and pad thai, we’d forgotten what we fought about and after dinner we spent a moment in the cold car telling each other how sorry we were. And then I told you to buckle your seatbelt before the car was even on. And we were back to square one. And I’m an idiot.
2. The fight we have when one of us keeps falling asleep
That one time our dinner conversation carried over into the living room and then started to turn sour as we were getting ready for bed. And while you were in the shower, I was pacing the floor, formulating the perfect response. And then you came out of the shower and I watched as you brushed your teeth and puttered in the bathroom and I instantly forgot my point because sometimes I love you more than I like being right or being heard. And then you changed into your PJ’s and turned out the lights and came to bed and we started to resolve our discussion. And just when I remembered the 15 reasons why I’m right, you fell asleep. And stayed asleep. So, I won by default.
3. The church fight
Sometimes fast and testimony meeting seems like the perfect place to discuss why you spent so much money at Hobby Lobby the day before. It’s not. I know that now.
4. The fight we have in hushed tones at the grocery store checkout line
The difference between you and me: I have a hard time deciding what cereal to get, so I buy one and see how it goes. You have a hard time deciding what cereal to get, so you buy 12 boxes but only end up liking 2 of them and throw away the other 10 boxes a few months later. Exact quote: “Why do you need 3 boxes of Cinnamon Chex?” Exact quote, in response: “Because Henry, you’re not my dad!”
We took naps that day.
5. The hangry Fight
That one time we were held up by a late delivery, so we barely made it to Blue Lemon before they closed and when we ordered our food there was no blood in our faces or love in our voices. And then we swallowed our food like maniacs and looked into each other’s eyes and apologized for everything that happened in the hour prior. Yes, cheese is the 6th love language.
6. The fight we have about socks but it’s really about my daddy issues
Me: “It just makes me feel like you don’t validate me as a grown man”
You: “Fine, Henry…you can have another underwear drawer…”
7. The rush hour traffic fight
Me: “Hey Kenz, we should start looking at houses?”
16 minutes of discussion later…
You: “Stop the car, I’m getting out!”
8. The fight we have about the names we will and will NOT give our future children
Crypton is not a name you give a baby, my love. It’s a coding language used to navigate drone strikes.
9. The double-edged sword fight
That fight we seem to sometimes have where you’re talking about “A” and I’m talking about “B” and we don’t realize we aren’t even arguing the same topic until we’re in the middle of IKEA and a fabric decision on an ottoman is about to give us a brain aneurysm.
You: “Well, I think the way you chew is stupid!”
Me: “…Wait, I thought we were talking about Benghazi”
10. The nothing fight
Let’s face it, they’re all “nothing” fights. Because really, all of our arguments share a simple theme: we’re sick of wearing pants everyday and we just wanna be panda bears. And what’s wrong with the name Shoshana?
This past weekend was the first time we’ve been apart for more than eight hours since we’ve been married. I initially thought it would offer some welcome time to relax and unwind and listen to Luther Vandross in dim lighting while soaking things (y’know, “me” time), but rather found myself knee-deep in the five stages of grief – particularly the “eat-until-the-voices-stop” stage. Alas, however, you did come back home and brought back with you the essence to my constitution like a once-neglected waiting room Ficus plant after a desperate splash of water. Yes, much like Michele, Kelly, and Queen Bey, I am a survivor. And as a survivor, I walked away from this tragic experience with some blood-earned lessons. And I feel a duty to share those lessons with you in the hopes that you will 1) Appreciate the level of unhealthy attachment I’ve grown for you and that 2) You’ll never leave me for a whole weekend again (until your next Roommate Reunion with five of the rad-est chicks I know).
Lesson #1:
When a husband is left alone for the weekend, anything more than 6 minutes of vacant silence is automatically filled with phantom sounds of Adele ballads. Complete with sepia tone filters and clumps of mascara tears. So, from this past weekend I’ve learned the need to keep all and any silence at bay. Suggestions: Netflix, a table saw, or the muted ruffles of wrestling puppies. Or a playlist of Adele ballads.
Lesson #2:
Grocery shopping is impossible if either you’re not there with me or if I’m not there on a specific wife-errand with a list you handwrote. Having neither, I showed up to the checkout line with a cart full of refined carbs and beverages that the Marines use to clean toilets and hummer engines.
Lesson #3:
I have no idea where you keep anything. I even googled “common storage places for X-Box controller batteries” (which, it turns out, are simply AA batteries). I was an English major.
Lesson #4:
My movie-seeing etiquette is solely based on the customs we’ve cultivated together and, taken out of coupled context, simply becomes a lone man crying, squealing, and pointlessly talking to himself and the irritated people around him. For some reason, the stranger next to me wasn’t interested in the fact that my left butt cheek had fallen asleep. Or that it was the first time I’d spent a weekend away from my wife; he was probably able to tell on his own.
Lesson #5:
I should not be left unsupervised with an Amazon Prime account.
Lesson #6:
The movie Moonstruck is grossly underrated. I watched it for the first time at 7:00PM on Saturday night while the rest of the world’s 20-somethings were outside self-actualizing their dreams. And I was floored by its New York-Italian charm. Not only does it capture that brief moment in history before Nicholas Cage became the headliner in all of my daytime nightmares, it highlights three of my favorite pastimes: middle-aged love triangles, grown men crying at the opera, and Olympia Dukakis. May she rest in peace. She’s actually not dead, according to IMDb.
Lesson #7:
It doesn’t matter how many Chipotle tacos I eat, how many iPhone covers I buy from China, how many episodes of Gilmore Girls I watch in secret, or how many hours I chose not to spend in the gym even though I’ve had a membership since the Bush administration. Nothing masks the absence of you stealing my covers at night, moving all my things from the floor to places I can’t find, or leaving every single light on in the house when we’re already late. All those things you do that I pretend annoy me, I actually love (with proper retrospection). And putting my macho, Gaston-esque stature aside, I so much missed all those millions of small things that fill our walls, fill our inboxes, and fill our lives.
Brave Little Lungs 