heavy lifting

He came back. In fact, he came back many times, which also means he left many times. Once, he disappeared on his own and once she said, You need to leave. There were other times. All of that leaving blurs into one big gone. There was the physical gone, of course, but the bigger gone was inside her, and between them. It still comes back now and then. She calls it, The Abyss. There would be no Abyss, if there weren’t closeness, and thank God, there is still closeness after all that leaving, being gone, and coming back. But it’s exhausting. She never knows when it will all cycle through again.

Recently, she asked her husband, If you were stopped by the Meet Cutes NYC Instagram guy and he asked you what is the secret to your long marriage, what would you say?

It's all her. She did all the heavy lifting, he said.

She was not sure this was good or bad. But she did appreciate that he noticed her effort.

The Abyss arrives slowly, and even though it is a regular occurrence, she is still surprised when she finds herself in it. The Abyss feels like walking dead in a dead marriage. The marriage is still there, but everything else that makes up the marriage is absent. The marriage shell remains, and she thinks that it may be the shell that has kept them together. The Abyss is where all the years of hurt and resentment boil and curdle. The only way out of The Abyss is to force through, or cry. Usually, one of them must cry. It’s been even between them on that front. Forcing through The Abyss, though, is brutal. Sometimes it can be done with a hand on a hand, or a leg thrown over another leg in the middle of the night. But usually that is not enough. Most times, it takes many small incremental steps which, though miniscule, feel like moving ten-ton weights. It’s amazing how standing close, lingering a gaze longer than usual, or helping in some small way can feel, in her body, like relocating an ancient Egyptian pyramid two feet to the left.

While reaching, Here let me take that. One inch to the left.

Stepping up to the kitchen counter, Want me to chop those onions? Two inches to the left.

These gestures and words beget other gestures and words. A thigh next to a thigh while sitting on the couch. Oh, this dinner is so good. Two smiles facing each other. Hi Honey. It can feel painfully slow. Especially, after all these years. She wonders how they can still be doing this dance.

I hate you. Come here.

Arms crossed. Eyes down.

You scare me. I need you.

Legs open. Eyes closed.

Don’t go. Get away.

Stomach taut. Eyes staring straight ahead.

He will go again, be gone, and come back. The shell will remain, the house for their love. They carry the marriage shell on their backs, their heads and feet disappearing into it on occasion. The Abyss will open up under her, and she will do the dance, or cry. And so will he.