Poem

     I knew,
Not because I thought I saw you at the other end of the room
every time I glanced up,
Not because I thought I heard your voice coming from a distance
when I wasn’t quite listening,
But because I never did.
I knew you too well for that.
In these few months, I have memorized you.
     I know
every curl of your hair, and its exact color (in every light)
the tilt of your chin,
the line from your forehead to the end of your nose,
the angle of your arms whether you sit or stand
– and the bend of your back.
     I can recognize
the easy rhythm of your speech,
the way that words roll off your lips
your bored rejoinders, ardent dissertations, sleepy silences
– their tones ring in my head.
     and I can hum
the melody of your laugh,
the cadence of you breath.
     You were my soul mate,
     I knew this because
I never had to look for you, listen for you in a crowded room;
You came to me, unhesitatingly, wrapping warm arms around me,
Knowing me as I know you.

Mazel Tov

I was sorting my way slowly through the book store meandering through towers of books on the way to my final objective, a new journal. I stopped at the Romance section, not the novels, but the how to. I laughed at book titles and read the book jacket promises. ‘Get over him in 10 simple steps.’ ‘Reading this will save your marriage!’ ‘Need to spice up the bed room? 50 moves that can’t go wrong!’ ‘Find your soul mate in 100 days.’ I had just picked up this last book and was still in my own world of silent mockery, when a voice broke through.

“Looking for your soul mate?”

Dang, this isn’t what it looks like. But she’s here too so I can’t tell her that I’m here to laugh at quick fixes and nebulous promises. So I laughed, filling the silence as I scrambled for a glib reply.

“No, I’m just doing my research. Always good to plan ahead.”

Simple, cute, hopefully she’ll leave and I can be alone again. But no, she still there looking at me, settling herself in for a conversation.

“It is good to plan ahead, but it all depends on Mazle. I would know. Oh, I mean luck, mazle.”

Okay, so either I can be rude or hunker down and listen to whatever she wants to tell me.
I finally look at her and try to guess where this conversation is going to go. Her figure is not an hour glass, or a pear, or a rectangle (whatever the heck that is). No, it’s what is more commonly known as matronly. One of those ‘made to have kids.’ (I’ve been told on numerous occasions that I won’t have an easy time if I choose that path. Me and my narrow hips). Her hair is pulled back under a blue hat. Her smock dress is the same blue: the color of old blue jeans, watered down from too many washings. Her shirt was white, with the inevitable embroidery that accompanies outfits like these. Looking at the matchmaking book I just put down wistfully.

My guess, she never found her man and is wondering if the 100 day promise comes with an age limit.

“Sometimes I wonder if it’s all been worth it.”

Okay the…, she’s married. Disgruntled. Wanted to be married so bad she went for the first guy who asked her.

Laughing again, “Yeah, that’s why I’m researching now. You can never be too careful”

I’m joking, she’s not.

“Want to see a great family? She pulls out an album from her purse. Not a wallet fold out, an album. That one is my son. He’s been married 5 years. That one is my daughter in law. And that’s my grandson. And they have a new one. Right there he is. Oh, and this one’s still single. Are you Jewish?”

“No”

“Too bad. I converted. He did too. At least I thought. But if he really believed it, he wouldn’t have given up like that. If it really was in him. No, he just had it on the surface. Oh, and there is my other son!”

“Yeah,” Her enthusiasm makes me smile. I’m used to this kind of thing so I pull out one of the trite responses proud mothers seem to love so much - “I guess that’s what makes it worth the gamble. The kids you have. Loving them.”

And unexpectedly her eyes water.

“No, no. I don’t know if that’s true. That’s what they say. But I’m not sure it was worth it. 25 years. So softly I have to lean forward to hear the repetition 25 years! I’ve been married to my soul mate for 30 years. 30 years. And 25 years later he still wrote me Passionate…. passionate (softly, again) love letters. The pride in her eyes as she says this is unmistakable. She still had that, she had inspired him for 25 years. We dated five years before we were married. He loved me. He is my soul mate. And now he wants to leave me. For twenty five years he wrote me Passionate there it is again love letters.”

“But we were so busy. I was raising the kids. Four of them, and then going through puberty! The look she gave me is priceless And he was always working. He was in the office till 10, left for work at four. The only time he was awake was at lunch. So he met someone.” And for a few moments she stops – it’s her turn to be in a world all her own. Then she’s back.

“You should never get a divorce. It’s so hard on the children. Kids growing up in a divorced family have it so tough. Never divorce. Unless he drinks or does drugs. Or if he hits you. But getting a divorce because ‘I’ll always love you, but I’m just not in love anymore’ - that’s stupid.

Her eyes are tearing up again, I glance away I don’t know what to say or do. I want to give her a hug, tell her it will be okay. I had thought she was giving me a comedy, but it isn’t funny anymore.

Her eyes, filled with tears are the same color as her dress and hat. Did they used to be darker? Maybe her tears washed out the color, like an old pair of jeans, the color bled out. And as she turns her head, I see her hair under her cap. Brown, beautiful. Not grey yet and soft looking. She’s nearing fifty and has no wrinkles. She’s been a mother all these years. She probably made him lunch every day.

“No one ever would have thought. Nobody would believe it. The kids didn’t. I didn’t. I didn’t! He’s not that type.”

“I know, I should have found more time. I should have told him he worked too much. Don’t fall into a routine. Her eyes have turned misty again. Even if it’s a beautiful routine that makes you happy. A routine that is the life you always dreamed of - he’ll get restless. Watch for that.”

“And if you think he’s getting restless, be careful. You should by a book.”

“There is a book by a rabbi (he ties spirituality into it, but you can ignore that if you want), it’s called Kosher Sex."

OH MY GOODNESS. I will not laugh. I will not laugh. I want to laugh. I don’t even know her and now she’s offering me sex advice! For my future married life. I’m not even dating. I came here to laugh at all the quick fix love books. Now I’m being given sex advice form a woman whose husband wrote her passionate love letters for 25 years. Then left her for the office floozy. Well, maybe not. Maybe I’m being harsh and judgmental. Maybe she was a fine upstanding good girl type who made the only mistake of her life when she first slept with him. HA.

“And then there’s Kosher-Sutra. But don’t let a man read it until after you’ve been married at least 5 years. It can give you some ideas, but there are some disgusting ones in there too. Ones I would never try.” She shudders, and gives me a long-suffering look that tells me more than I needed to know about her sex life.

“Did you know that the infatuation period of a relationship can last between 3-5 years. And divorces take about two. Did you know that 1/3 of people who get divorced are depressed for 2 years. 1/3 stay down there for 7 years. And one third never get out. The divorce courts should think of that.”

"Twenty-five years of love poems. They were beautiful. And now he’s leaving me."

She looks at me again, I don’t know what to do. I want to do something! But I can’t tell her it’s going to be okay. I don’t know anything about this! I was just standing here, laughing at the people who were desperate enough to buy these books, but she isn’t funny. And I don’t know what to say, how to make it hurt any less. How to give her hope for- I don’t even know what.

“It’s all about mazel. So mazel tov to you.”