After years of marriage couples plan romantic outings carefully designed to rekindle the flushed feelings of first love that went dormant over time. Though we hastily fling money at flowers, food and booze, the most essential factor present at love’s inception and absent afterwards is ignorance. Romance dwells in the candlelit verandas of our minds, where we regard others solely on their qualities of character as initially presented, prior to any validation, and free of the history, habits and attachments recognized since. No waterfront hotel room with jetted tub for two can erase years of dishwashing squabbles and mother-in-law intrusions from the memories of those soaking within.
Since many of us wade in the shallow end for a few years before taking the plunge, the ‘newlywed’ period has shifted to the inaugural year of the relationship, an age of discovery, possibilities, little hurdles, and healthy reconciliations. Back then our arguments fondled the divisive issues, but with a scope still so small, we gauged the value of the debate as not worth pursuing.
For example, as Derek knew quite well, I had not factored a child into my lifestyle. I spouted out this philosophy to all who knew me with the surety of a conviction that one has formulated but never tested, boasting confidently about the faults of family values and those mired within them with the superiority of someone who knew better. That attitude, mingled with memories of the many would-be stepfathers who raised and dashed Derek’s childhood hopes led him to propose that we not advertise our couple status to his family (namely his daughter) for one full year.
This arrangement, while sparing me from succumbing to what I swore against for now, did have its disadvantages. We had a set schedule which limited our activities to two weeknights and every other weekend, which, based on his ex’s whims or a common cold, could change with a moment’s notice. Also, this gag order seemed to apply to all of his associations. While this suited my minimally social temperament, the evasiveness became increasingly irritating as we neared our anniversary. I hated hearing him dispense lies in regard to his whereabouts. He would also avoid taking me to places where he might encounter anyone familiar and always parked a block away from my apartment. I had never even stepped foot in his house for fear of his roommates seeing my face.
I never requested some grand announcement, and could think of no good reason why he would resort to such extremes to hide our relationship. This, of course led me to suspect nefarious causes for my concealment, which motivated me to push for recognition the day our year anniversary released us from the agreement.
When the honeymoon ended, I came to learn that Derek’s family and friends consisted mainly of what we would call ‘townies.’ Townies reside in the same place where they grew up, and have never spent a significant time anywhere else. They have jobs, not careers, care little about life outside of their circle, but inside of which, they gossip, criticize, and pass judgment with abandon. I have many beloved townie friends whom I visit when I return east so townies only irritate me when they make ignorant comments about people, places and things foreign to their limited perspective. However, it explains why Derek could never casually mention our relationship to anyone, because the knowledge would spread like wildfire from a whisper.
I also came to learn that Derek’s ex had major emotional issues. Now, everyone has a crazy ex. I never dated a guy who didn’t have a wacko in his past. Women call their former lovers scumbags, losers or the like, while I find men tend to describe their past relationships as either bitches or crazy or a combination of the two. Chances are somebody slapped that description on me somewhere down the line. But it would never occur to me to harass my ex’s girlfriend at work, stalk her apartment, or try to procure firearms from a mutual friend who would tell my ex about it. I wouldn’t call my ex on redial until his battery died. I wouldn’t tell my 9-year old daughter (that I wouldn’t have anyway) that I would kill myself if she liked her dad’s girlfriend.
Lastly, I learned that Derek had recently turned a corner. Shortly before we met he had made a conscious decision to improve his life. He quit smoking, changed his eating habits and started working out. Over the past decade the best of his friends had saddled themselves with responsibilities and faded into acquaintance while the worst of his friends saddled themselves with the consequences of their irresponsibility and clung to him for support. He now sought to escape from their association and seek out more positive connections and companions, and I was just one element in this transformation, which had yet to completely take place. He still literally resided in his old life.