Marriage – Page 4 – PurplePretoria

Last night was foggy. She had jumped out of bed that morning, her hairstyle still brushed and firmly lying upon her head and it made her furious. He had rolled out of the bed next to her but today he had not asked her why she too was up early. Then he went to read for his exam and she could vaguely remember him murmuring, about two hours before about if she could take the baby to his bed. And even in her sleep she had made a mental note to keep calm about it because there was little room for feminism in marriage.

It would come out later though at the cocktail evening he would plan for her, calling her while she sat in the boardroom of her workplace, filling out her desire to be wanted, to be seen, to be important- working on a project she had just happened to be dropped into that morning. He said it as if he had planned it all along. Are you free for lunch? What about later on this evening?

It always came out, -the frustration, even though it was never supposed to. When she did think about it, he seemed to enjoy it. She had asked him once, how a man like him who found excitement in danger, risk and the forbidden had decided on marriage. Things were not exciting until the steam was a halo above her head and she had calloused her tongue from chastising him.

That morning, before he rolled out, she had whispered, loud enough for him to hear.

Why do you like doing things in reverse? You couldn’t wait for me when I wanted you to and now you have me and you are waiting for me. He didn’t respond. He never did. He was cunning in that way, just like his eyes. It was both a learned defense and a compliment to his nature. It left her brewing while he waited patiently for her to burst. But things were changing because she was studying him too.

It didn’t help that his dark black skin was smooth and gleaming at lunch time, his square intelligent face passionately butchered by her words. And, on a whim, he had taken her to a place of her choice which she would never have chosen had she not been annoyed. It was the type of place she usually reserved for her father’s- where should we go for dinner?, because no one looked at the price when he was paying. But this time, she didn’t feel sorry for him, she didn’t care about being the considerate wife.

“I’m learning how to spend money now. Why don’t you just give me the money and I go and eat it? I don’t care anymore. You go work hard. I’ll go work hard. And we can take care of our child,” she stung. It was the last thing she wanted and yet she threw at him often.

His eyes were the last thing she saw before she disappeared. That was how she wanted it. He lived for danger and excitement. He insisted she take the dry martini. Another one maybe?.. No! she replied. The people at the table behind them had stopped what they were doing. She could tell they were listening in on their conversation and by the sudden soundlessness from their conversation, they were highly entertained.

You can’t take half of me and leave the other. If you want me to be the guy I used to be, then I can’t be the guy you want me to be now-

Is that a threat? she interjected.

You know how I used to be. And I changed for you…

I changed you? she exclaimed.

I’m trying to be kind and listen to you. But now if I tell you anything, you refuse. I hate that. I hate it. Fine, you are not taking that green juice. Have a drink. And then-

And then what? I’m not that 19 year old girl anymore. I do what I want.

Fine. Then go.

She shifted her legs under the table and her legs brushed against him. It irritated her that his legs were too close.

I just – I’m going through a lot. But you won’t understand. Let’s go to the parking lot. This is not the place. These people can hear us.

No. Tell me, what are you going through. I planned for us to come here and chill and spend time together. He was using her words against her.

How was your day, she asked.

It was the refresh button. He understood this.

She followed behind him, the cocktail making everything woozy and mildly blurry. She loved that restaurant. He knew she did. The Indian man who handed him the keys stole a few glances at her. Finally he took a picture of his I.D and promised to send the password to the WIFI. He directed this last statement at her, as if she was only here because of the WIFI. She wanted to tell him, that she was not here to be murdered. But what else could he think? She sat there quietly on the dining room chair, with no eye contact, hiding behind the expensive glasses his insurance had bought her, desperately wishing she could be found.

This place is fancy, she said, when the door had been closed. She had already began to wonder if she had wound herself up too tightly earlier before.

It is, isn’t it?

The fog had waned by morning. He jumped out of bed uncharacteristically when she said she was already on her way out.

I just wanted to say Good morning, he said, holding her closely.

She checked his face. Why?

And that I love you… And, I forgot to tell you that I was leaving for work today.

It was always like that with him.

An old friend from High School I met for tea once asked me, if I was happy. He meant happy with my marriage. It was such an uncomfortable question that he winced and looked away after he asked. I wanted to tell him that if it was on a day to day, the answer would vary but if it was on the grand nature of things I would say yes. Definitely Yes. So I just basically said, yes. Although I did wonder about it soon after, what his backup plan would have been if I had said no and whether I had not looked dazed or happy enough.

Did you get your fairytale ending? O asked. For the Queen of Day time TV, she really did not give her guests much opportunity to talk. She cut them off at the most important angles and directed them to her own answers.

Yes, M replied, staring reassuringly at the Prince as she squeezed his fingers in a tight grip. “I did. And its greater than any fairytale you ever read.”

The culture of being in love in America is very overt. You must always be staring longingly into your lover’s eyes, squeezing their hands, touching their knee, nodding in agreement, saying the same thing at the same time, in continuous agreement, bathed in a halo of light and apparent joy. You must affirm to your spouse that you love them, once a day, twice, three times maybe. Anyone who does less than this is suspected of not being in love.

This is so different from the African context- where there were no I love you‘ s in the household before the millennials were born, certainly not between man and wife. Desire was expressed through the shyness of the wife- her inability to look into her husband’s eyes, through symbolic gestures and poetic words of victory. Love was submission, love was provision and protection- and in a sense it would not be described as ‘love’, those giddy telepathic synchronized sensations. It was more a sense of duty, responsibility for the continuation of life and community.

I listen to this podcast called Goop by Gwyneth Paltrow, which, although controversial in American society for its lofty high end ideas, and controversial to me for some of its strong leftist ideas, is mostly very educational and entertaining. On this date, the guest was talking about the mundane-ness of married life and how Elizabeth Gilbert never quite finds the one because of the very idea of The One. She leaves husband no.1 because the fireworks have died out. She goes on a quest to find herself. She finds a handsome aging hulk who guides her into his hammock with his smooth rainy day music and his exotic ways. This is supposed to be ‘the long marriage’ and yet, somewhere along the way, it does not work out and Elizabeth is off to find another adventure on a completely different channel. The guest on the podcast suggested that this view of love and marriage is not sustainable because marriage in its day to day is ordinary. He suggested that the things that end up holding up are unromantic – how you handle disagreements, how you step up and support each other during difficult times.

This is why cringed when M said she had found her fairytale. It is because I knew that something someone somehow would fall short for her and I hoped that the disappointment would not remove her from her real life Prince.

Of course, it is psychologically debatable as to why we invest in these people whose lives are so different from ours, whom we will never meet and whom society (media) has placed on a pedestal as super human. I think for me, it is because in the grandeur of their existence, I see a deeply vulnerable humanity and also, there is something Prince H said, about an invisible social contract between the media and the Royal- to create a sort of perception that attracts the ba kopi to follow the lives of the rich and famous. Although, this very perception, he implied, is like a quid pro quo, a symbiotic relationship, where both media and the monarchy (famous) maintain each other’s relevance. It once again proved how flawed and calculated the artificial creation of the untouchable, unreachable mogul, celebrity- the cult of the demigods. Financial empires have been built on thia and now actual empires are hanging onto it for their very existence.

But, what happens after the Prince saves the Princess and they live happily ever after? They never told us. The story always ends at the wedding party, or with the two riding into the sunset on a white horse-driven carriage. They do not tell us whether the Princess forgets her shoes at the wedding venue. Or whether the Prince continues to go out with his friends the way he did as a bachelor. Or what happens when the Princess forgets to flush the toilet. Does the Princess ever need a C-section? Do they ever get robbed in the middle of the night and have nightmares about it for several months afterwards? Do they ever misunderstand each other, forget who they were when they first met and attempt to start from scratch?

Tag: Marriage

A foggy night

Happily Ever After