exactly right."
"Of course it is. It's what I wore. It's what we all wore, those of us who wore `good clothes.'"
Paul's attention, I noticed peripherally, had intensified. Pearl had moved out of the kitchen, encouraged by a gentle shove from Susan, and now sat on the floor beside my stool, her shoulder leaning in against my leg, – her eyes still fixed on the bowl where the chicken was marinating.
"Sure," I said. "Anyway we'd dance sometimes, and dance close, but no kissing, or protestations of affection, except cloaked as badinage. I never took her out in the sense of going to her house, picking her up, taking her to the movies, to a dance, that stuff. We never had a meal together except in the school cafeteria."
"Why didn't you take her out, kiss her, take her to dinner?"
"Shy."
"Shy?" Susan said. "You?"
"When I was a kid," I said. "I was shy with girls."
"And now you're not."
"No," I said, "now I'm not."
Susan was struggling with the seal on a box of prepackaged couscous.
Pearl was leaning more heavily against my leg, her neck stretched as far as she could stretch it, to rest her head on my thigh.
"Well, weren't you weird," Susan said.
"It's great talking to a professional psychotherapist," I said. "They are so sensitive, so aware of human motivation, so careful to avoid stereotypic labeling."
"Yes, weirdo," Susan said. "We take pride in that. What happened to her?"
Paul reached over to pat Pearl's head. Pearl misread it as a food offer and snuffed at his open palm,and finding no food, settled for lapping Paul's hand. Susan got the box of couscous open and dumped it in another bowl and added some water.
"She told me one day that a close friend of mine had asked her to the junior class dance, and should she accept."
"And of course you told her yes, she should accept," Susan said. "Because that was the honorable thing to do."
"I said yes, that she should accept."
"Now that you are sophisticated and no longer shy with girls, I assume you understand that she was asking you if you were going to ask her to the dance, and was telling you that if you were, she would turn your friend down and go with you."
"I now understand that," I said. "But consider if I had been different.
What if I had not panted after the sweet sorrow of renunciation? What if
I'd gone to the dance with her, and we'd become lovers and married and lived happily ever after? What would have become of you?"
"I don't know," Susan said. "I guess I'd have wandered the world tragically, wearing my polka dot panties, looking for Mister Right, never knowing that Mister Right had married his high school sweetheart."
Paul put his hands over his ears.
"Polka dot panties?" he said.
Susan smiled. She transferred the refreshed couscous from the bowl to a cook pot. Neither Paul nor I asked her why she had not refreshed it in the cook pot in the first place. She put the cook pot on thestove and put a lid on it and turned the flame on low.
I rested my hand on Pearl's head. "I think," I said, "that even had Dale and I gone to the dance and lived happily ever after, we wouldn't have lived happily ever after. Any more than you were able to stay with your first husband."
"Because we'd have been looking for each other?"
I nodded.
"That's what you think, isn't it?" Susan said. She was no longer teasing me.
"Yes," I said. "That's what I think. I think your marriage broke up because you weren't married to me. I think neither one of us could be happy with anyone else because we would always be looking for each other, without even knowing it, without knowing who each other was or even knowing there was an each other."
"Do you think that's true of love in general?"
"No," I said. "I only believe that about us."
"Isn't that kind of exclusionary?" Paul said.
"Yes," I said. "Embarrassingly so."
The room was silent now, not the light and airy silence of contentment, but the weighty silence of intensity.
Paul was choosing his words very carefully. It took him
"Of course it is. It's what I wore. It's what we all wore, those of us who wore `good clothes.'"
Paul's attention, I noticed peripherally, had intensified. Pearl had moved out of the kitchen, encouraged by a gentle shove from Susan, and now sat on the floor beside my stool, her shoulder leaning in against my leg, – her eyes still fixed on the bowl where the chicken was marinating.
"Sure," I said. "Anyway we'd dance sometimes, and dance close, but no kissing, or protestations of affection, except cloaked as badinage. I never took her out in the sense of going to her house, picking her up, taking her to the movies, to a dance, that stuff. We never had a meal together except in the school cafeteria."
"Why didn't you take her out, kiss her, take her to dinner?"
"Shy."
"Shy?" Susan said. "You?"
"When I was a kid," I said. "I was shy with girls."
"And now you're not."
"No," I said, "now I'm not."
Susan was struggling with the seal on a box of prepackaged couscous.
Pearl was leaning more heavily against my leg, her neck stretched as far as she could stretch it, to rest her head on my thigh.
"Well, weren't you weird," Susan said.
"It's great talking to a professional psychotherapist," I said. "They are so sensitive, so aware of human motivation, so careful to avoid stereotypic labeling."
"Yes, weirdo," Susan said. "We take pride in that. What happened to her?"
Paul reached over to pat Pearl's head. Pearl misread it as a food offer and snuffed at his open palm,and finding no food, settled for lapping Paul's hand. Susan got the box of couscous open and dumped it in another bowl and added some water.
"She told me one day that a close friend of mine had asked her to the junior class dance, and should she accept."
"And of course you told her yes, she should accept," Susan said. "Because that was the honorable thing to do."
"I said yes, that she should accept."
"Now that you are sophisticated and no longer shy with girls, I assume you understand that she was asking you if you were going to ask her to the dance, and was telling you that if you were, she would turn your friend down and go with you."
"I now understand that," I said. "But consider if I had been different.
What if I had not panted after the sweet sorrow of renunciation? What if
I'd gone to the dance with her, and we'd become lovers and married and lived happily ever after? What would have become of you?"
"I don't know," Susan said. "I guess I'd have wandered the world tragically, wearing my polka dot panties, looking for Mister Right, never knowing that Mister Right had married his high school sweetheart."
Paul put his hands over his ears.
"Polka dot panties?" he said.
Susan smiled. She transferred the refreshed couscous from the bowl to a cook pot. Neither Paul nor I asked her why she had not refreshed it in the cook pot in the first place. She put the cook pot on thestove and put a lid on it and turned the flame on low.
I rested my hand on Pearl's head. "I think," I said, "that even had Dale and I gone to the dance and lived happily ever after, we wouldn't have lived happily ever after. Any more than you were able to stay with your first husband."
"Because we'd have been looking for each other?"
I nodded.
"That's what you think, isn't it?" Susan said. She was no longer teasing me.
"Yes," I said. "That's what I think. I think your marriage broke up because you weren't married to me. I think neither one of us could be happy with anyone else because we would always be looking for each other, without even knowing it, without knowing who each other was or even knowing there was an each other."
"Do you think that's true of love in general?"
"No," I said. "I only believe that about us."
"Isn't that kind of exclusionary?" Paul said.
"Yes," I said. "Embarrassingly so."
The room was silent now, not the light and airy silence of contentment, but the weighty silence of intensity.
Paul was choosing his words very carefully. It took him
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