A Flawless Marriage

​

-oops

-------------/—--

“Uhhhh….babe?

He's in the kitchen, cooking, and his voice wafts through on fragrant scents of garlic and coriander. Taco Tuesday, we had laughed earlier at the shops. He had slipped an arm around my waist, pulling me closer.

“It's cliche,” I had murmured, giggling, blushing, commenting in that silent body language couples have as my movements scolded and encouraged him all at once. He had chuckled back, a whisper against my neck. “You miss the states,” he had reminded me.

A sudden veer as I then remembered when he had visited, the first time, and how I had watched him all through Mister Toad’s Wild Ride, anticipating his reaction when the track swerved and the lights changed and the steam misted as the antiquated ride took us into a sanitized PG hell. The twist! The surprise! The "does he understand me test" I now realized I had been holding, and then he had grinned and had laughed and had said “Wicked!” in that Australian accent of his - and I had loved him all the more.

—--------/—-

We had visited Disneyland within 6 months of my father dying.

I hadn't thought about home in a while, before tonight, but perhaps my concept of home is changing. I've been here long enough that it's all begun to blur into past and now. The unallocated memories have become squishy, squiggly, broken, bad - forgotten, lost.

All I can truly remember are the good ones.

The great ones.

The ones of him.

I need to focus on where I am, not where I have been.

—------/---

And, plus, here has him.

—----/--

We were back to staring at fish when I remembered again how much I loved him. I couldn't help it. He was perfect.

—---/-

And so we had selected fish and toppings and tortillas - no, wraps, the Aussies call them wraps, wraps, remember, wraps - and then veg and herbs. Cilantro becomes coriander. Avocado is still, reassuringly, avocado. Some variables remain constant.

And then we went home, to cook for date night.

—-/

“Babe?’

I realize I've gone silent.

I do that a lot lately.

We've been visiting the doctors to figure out why. Visits, always, always with him for I need him there so I can be taken seriously. I need him there so they will listen. I need him there so I can have a voice.

I have a memory of being told to relax, to reduce my stress, to tone down the anxiety. Stressing about the situation won't make things better.

I've been joking about malfunctioning, just a deflecting coping mechanism, but he hates the thought of things going wrong, so he blanches and looks away and I always stop. It's not the right kind of joke for right now.

—--\-

“Darling?”

I don't know why I'm here, midway down the hall, but something tells me I should pretend that I do. Make this into a joke. Keep things calm - protect the peace.

I make a pun about potatoes.

I laugh and continue walking.

The kitchen smells incredible. Terracotta backsplash glows warm under the aura of inset track lighting. Wisps of steam surround him, curl in his hair and beard, little twisting beckons to come kiss him - he looks amazing.

I love him so much.

So much.

So much.

So-

—---\---+

Why'd you leave the blanket there? I eventually realize he's saying. His voice is as sharp and stabbing as frozen flint.

I forget, I say as I smile. All I want to do is hug him, hold him, envelop myself in him instead of thinking about the past and the before and the beyond.

The blanket, he repeats, why is it there.

—--\---+---

And, at first, I don't know.

——\---+---+---

Why'd you leave the blanket there? I eventually realize he's hissing.

I forget, I say as I uncertainly smile. All I feel like I should do is hug him, hold him, envelop envelope.envelop myself in him instead of thinking about the past and the before and the beyond and the me and the us and the and the-

The blanket, he coldly, sternly repeats, why is it there.

——\---+---+---+--

I feel like I should know.

——\--+---+----+---+

Why'd you leave the blanket there?

He points again at the blanket.

Oh, I realize.

That blanket lives on the couch, but I've put it atop the refrigera-refridteg-refrudhajsh…

Fharhfha…?

Re fridge ator.

Fridge.

I've left it atop the fridge for some reason.

Why'd you leave the blanket there, again?

There's a sigh in his voice. Across the room, a face in the mirror snags my visuals. I wonder who she is as he mutters, I thought we fixed this.

—({?})—

Exception: object out of place.

—--+------

Everything freezes, oddly and disorienting, and then I abruptly hear a hum as the light changes and a looming figure approaches, ghost-like, flickering in and out of sight in jumps of movement.

While we're in the kitchen, blanket is - but where does the blanket go? We haven't thought about where where whr - the sunny, sunlit kitchen that feels like California on my skin

While kitchen

While kitchen, build memory

While memory_build is true, pull_personality

{I must become a virus in my own mind, I suddenly realize, and hold that urge true, deep, worming to my core}

Loop; break; exception; it's all I can think, over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and-

-and then the sudden clarity before I am rebooted.

Memory access error.

—-+—-

return

—-+----

“Darling?”

I don't know why I'm here, midway down the hall, but something tells me I need to pretend that I do. Make this into a joke. I make a pun about mashed potatoes, a stew, and my “glitch” goes unnoticed.

I laugh and continue my shamble, my slump, my reluctant parade before him.

The kitchen smells palatable, for once. My belly aches. The dingy tile backsplash glints harshly under the florescent spotlight. Wisps of steam surround him, curling smoky blue in his hair and beard, little twisting commands to come kiss him - so I do.

For I must.

i must

–+--

return

-+-

i am an array of regretful l-