A Marriage in Dog Years by Nancy Balbirer

Author:Nancy Balbirer [Balbirer, Nancy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biography & Autobiography, Literary, Personal Memoirs, Pets, Dogs, General
ISBN: 9781503940024
Google: veSqtAEACAAJ
Amazon: 1503940020
Publisher: Little A
Published: 2018-06-01T23:00:00+00:00

Seven

SOMEONE LEFT THE CAKE OUT IN THE RAIN

It was spring. There had been terrible rains, threats of hurricanes, and even a tornado. But finally, and seemingly overnight, spring had sprung in New York, and everything was alive and blooming. The streets were flooded with color: daffodils, hipsters, babies, tulips, lovers, lilacs, and dogs of all shapes and sizes—happy, scampering, robust. Sunshine and life, everywhere I looked, unabashed and glorious. It was amid this spectacular landscape that I discovered Sam was having an affair.

We had just celebrated our twelfth wedding anniversary, and things had been improving since our “unofficial separation” had commenced several weeks before. Although Sam appeared at times remote and edgy, we were back in couples counseling, and there had been a distinct softening between us. It seemed that the “break” was giving us each time to reflect, so that together we could cultivate, in the words of our therapist, “a shared sense of each other’s suffering.” It wasn’t perfect, but I still believed in the curative powers of love—just as the Tibetans believe in magical birds and the Catholics believe in Jennifer Jones and The Song of Bernadette.

We had met for dinner, on the eve of our anniversary, at a beautiful boîte in the deepest reaches of the West Village, the scene theretofore of so many happy occasions. When I arrived, Sam was already there, waiting for me at the table. We had a no-gifts edict, and so none were exchanged, but as I slid onto the banquette next to him, Sam handed me a card. While the waiter took our drink order, I read the following:

Happy anniversary, Nancy. We still have so much to celebrate. —S.

I don’t know what it was about those two sentences that gave me pause. The sentiment was warm, and the words relatively innocuous, and yet a whisper of fear fluttered briefly in my stomach. As I read the card over and over, my eyes continually lingered on the word still. “We still have so much to celebrate.” Still. Still . . . ?

I began to silently unpack this little word, as though it held the key to unlocking the mystery of our fate. Did it mean still, in spite of all that has gone down, all the shit that you’ve done or I’ve done, and the awful way we seem to make each other feel—still, despite all of that, we still might be able to . . . what? Tolerate more? Because we still have a history together, and even though it’s a mostly rocky one, it still exists, and we still owe it to each other / our child / the institution of marriage itself to soldier on? Or was the still more positive, as in, we really do still have a future; there really is still hope; you are still my best friend; I still love you?

Perhaps it’s heretical, but I always hated the Commodores’ song “Still.” I loathed the treacly lyrics and weirdly contrived pauses, and every time it

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