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 our youngest son. 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.
These days we find ourselves navigating another bridge. Events with Benjamin have been painful, and we recently admitted him to a residential facility to help him get stabilized. We are both focused on staying on the road, and I try not to hammer John with questions.
But 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 feet when I forget the steps.
