Week Three
I was there when they sat at church with enough space for a small child between them. The preacher was talking about marriage. He was talking of challenges, of a lost job, an unexpected child. They pushed two people from each other.
“I pray for a rebound for those struggling here today.”
Mrs. Jones bent her head and closed her eyes. She put her hand on the red cloth of the pew.
Mr. Jones stared at the slender fingers decorated with a slim golden band and the diamond he had presented to her six years ago. On an instinct that he was sure had died years ago, he placed his hand over hers and squeezed it lightly.
They had no financial trouble, quite the opposite. They had no children. What had ruined them?
Week Four
I was there when they joined a group and acted like everything was fine, like that bruise on Mr. Jones' arm was from playing baseball instead of the hairdryer she had thrown at him. They sat side by side, legs barely brushing against each other, but he didn't put his arm around her, and she didn't rest her head on his shoulder. They laughed too loud and smiled too big. Mrs. Jones kept twisting her engagement ring.
The group leader sat across from them with his wife. They were close to each other, whispering into each other's ear and laughing softly.
Mr. Jones studied them thoughtfully and frowned.
The group leader cleared his throat and beamed at all of them, though he met Mr. Jones' gaze as he announced, “Today is the twenty-fifth anniversary of my marriage. As most of you know, we had some hard times, some times of separation, but here we are now, stronger than ever.” He kissed his wife, and the room burst into congratulations.
Mr. Jones jumped as Mrs. Jones put her hand on his knee and stared at it again. He looked at her and smiled, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her closer.
They both smiled easily now and gave their joys to the older couple.
They were no different. What could they have that the Joneses didn't?
Week Five
I was there when they were walking back to the car with grocery bags in hand. They were quiet and walked on opposite sides of the car.
The cashier had commented on the gossip going around the small town about their floundering marriage. In such a small town, the busy bodies would jump on any irreleguarity or misdemeanor. And the Jones' prolonged coldness toward one another and one whispered fight at a dinner party had set the gossip mill turning.
For a time, they had lived in a blissful truce, agreeing not to mention their problems, going through the actions of marriage, overlooking the fact that Mr. Jones had taken to sleeping on the couch. The cashier had thrown them out of their peace.
Mr. Jones saw the cashier come out for a smoke break and placed his bags on the roof of their car. He walked around the car, glancing at the cashier who was nonchalantly studying them. He grabbed his wife and kissed her.
Mrs. Jones dropped her bags in her surprise and wound her arms around his neck.
The white plastic slowly became yellow with the yolk of broken eggs, but no one cared.
The cashier openly gawked and put her cigarette back in it's place in the box, stumbling into the store to share the new development.
Mr. Jones didn't see. Mr. Jones didn't care about the cashier anymore.
They were just two people, just a married couple. Why did people care about what they did?
Week Six
I was there when Mr. Jones got back from the night shift at the hospital early. Mrs. Jones still lay in bed, a bed that had gone from theirs to hers. He stared at her, frowning.
Normally, she was up by five to get to work at six thirty. She rolled over restlessly, murmuring in her sleep.
He moved to sit beside her and felt her forehead gently, so he wouldn't wake her. His brow wrinkled in another concerned frown. He reached for the phone and called her office, telling them she wouldn't be at work today.
Hours later, she woke with a start. She still lay in the room, darkened despite the midday sun. Noises came from deeper within the house. She got up and shuffled toward the door just as Mr. Jones opened it with a tray in hand.
He blinked in surprise and grinned with the boyish smile that had once been endearing to her. He sat the tray on the dresser and felt for a fever again. He pushed her into bed with the firmness of a practiced caregiver and pulled the blankets up to her waist, sitting the tray upon her lap. He sat beside her and watched her eat the chicken noodle soup and grapes he forced on her.
They stayed there the rest of the day, watching movies and laughing with each other.
They were like that once. Why couldn't they do it again?
Week Seven
I was there on Valentine's Day when Mrs. Jones studied herself in the mirror for hours, trying on different dresses, putting her hair up, only to tear it down again. She did the same with the table, adjusting the candles, comparing napkins. She checked on the food every five minutes.
Mr. Jones was on call that day and had gone in, to the relief of Mrs. Jones.
She was still frowning at the dining room table when he walked in, tired and ready for supper. She looked up, surprised
He stared at her, all exhaustion disappearing. She was beautiful. He smiled and shook his head. He had forgotten.
She waved away the lack of roses, happy with his dumbstruck expression. She danced into the kitchen, leaving him to light the candles.
He studied her face, glowing with the flame of the candle and grinned at the dimple that appeared in her cheek. The food was good. They looked nice. They were happy.
That night the couch was abandoned. They slept together, just to feel the other close for the first time in a long time. They used each other when one couldn't possibly go another day without an intimate touch. Now he had his arms wrapped around her silk clad body, and she rested her head against his chest in sleep.
They were doing it again. Why couldn't they keep it up?
Week Eight
I was there when they walked around the mall and entered a jewelry store. Mrs. Jones smiled at the rings that were simple in their beauty. She sighed and twisted her engagement ring.
Mr. Jones noticed and wondered if maybe he had misjudged his wife six years ago when he had proposed with the ornate ring she wore today. He waved a clerk over and pointed toward a ring with a turquoise teardrop surrounded by leaves and berries. He noted his wife's awed reaction and nodded in thanks as the clerk began his selling pitch.
He noted her longing look as they walked away, leaving a very dissatisfied salesman in their wake, and pulled her close.
. . .
He came back alone the next day on his way home. He waved a clerk over and pointed to the ring, nodding his thanks. He watched them put it in a black box as he swiped his credit card. A new phase in the marriage, a new ring.
He used to know her so well... Did he know her at all?
Week Nine
I was there when they began to fight again. She was more temperamental now, more tired. The secret she was keeping was eating at her, begging for a release.
They screamed until they forgot why they had started fighting.
But that had already happened. It had been so long ago. Neither remembered what the other did to begin with. The whole thing was a twisted mess that no one could decipher.
She burst into tears, and he grabbed his coat, storming out of the house.
She tore her engagement ring from her finger at the slam of the door and threw it into the entryway, shouting curses. As soon as it bounced out of sight, she went on her hands and knees to search for the sparkling jewel.
He didn't come back...
They had come so far. Why couldn't they make it?
Week Ten
I was there when Mrs. Jones got the call from the hospital. She hadn't heard from Mr. Jones all week.
“Your husband has been in an accident. He is in surgery now. We suggest...”
She held the phone to her ear, mute in horror, deaf to all else the nurse said. She hung up without responding and left her office at a run.
. . .
She studied the black box that had been found in her husband's coat pocket and glanced at Mr. Jones, still asleep on the hospital bed. She turned it over in her hands and weighed her options. She looked up again and gasped.
Mr. Jones watched her sleepily. He smiled and shook his head at her tears.
She walked up and handed him the box, too relieved for words.
He took it and laid it beside him. He picked up her hand and took off her engagement ring.
Her throat tightened in fear, and she made a strangled sound as he looked up with sparkling eyes.
He opened the box, revealing the ring she had mooned over the other week. He took it out of the box and placed it on her finger. “I love you.”
. . .
The Joneses stood on the bridge he had wrecked on and looked down at the cold water. He leaned on crutches and watched as she pulled out her old ring.
She let it sparkle in the sunlight for a moment and remembered all this ring had seen. With a murmured prayer to bless the new ring and the marriage it symbolized, she threw it over the bridge and watched as it fell, flashing. She looked up at Mr. Jones and smiled.
Now was a good time as any.
She stood on her tiptoes and whispered into his ear.
He looked at her, not believing. Finally, that boyish grin that was so endearing appeared, and he kissed her.
Week Thirty-eight
I was there when Mrs. Jones was crying out, and Mr. Jones was pacing nervously. I was there as he brushed the wet hair from her face and encouraged her softly. With a last push, the doctor was holding a red faced baby, and I was screaming, “I'm here! I was conceived in anger and darkness, but I'm born in love and light!”
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