These dancers make it look easy. They are even smiling. This is a performance, a chance to show their stuff without the tedious effort inherent in a rehearsal. They both know the number cold, and are having fun.
I wish I could hear the clicking of their shoes. It is a sound that helps me forget the pile of bills on the counter and
the uncertainty around the news. For a moment in time, there is only the dancing.
At first glance, you might think there are only two people on stage. But if you look in the corners you will notice the shadows of more. We do not know their names.
Marriage is a dance. There is a lot of behind the scenes practicing to learn the routines, like who handles social invitations, who navigates on long trips. There are always mistakes to go
over and try to smooth out. Sometimes music is playing in the background, to help you stay in time, and other days it is too faint to hear. Like now.
One of the mistakes I remember was when our car suddenly began to choke out gasping noises while we were locked in heavy traffic on the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. John was driving and I was in charge of feeding and entertaining small children. I abandoned my position to pelt John with
questions.
"What is wrong? Why is the car making that sound? Are we ok? Can you fix it? Will we crash?"
They seemed like crucial questions to me, ones that would prepare me for an untimely death.
But John was using every available brain cell to figure out how to safely get us to the other side of the bridge, given the circumstances and lack of a shoulder to pull off on. He had none to spare for verbal
reassurance. So I asked more loudly.
Other times we crossed the bridge of a move from one state to another, or the bumpy launch of one or more children.
Still I find enormous relief in knowing that there are others on stage with us. They are inconspicuous enough, and I do not recall their names, but I feel their hands on my shoulders when I forget the
steps.
