Last week John left his lights on. The sky faucet was on and walking home sounded like a soggy idea. He called, trying to read the temperature on my franticometer, wondering if I would come help him jump the battery. 

 

I hopped in the car and spun over to his office. He hooked up the red and black clamps with an umbrella over his shoulder, while I prayed fervently that water plus electricity would not equal cooked hubby. I am fond of his brain the way it is. 

 

He survived to drive home and I was pleased to have helped in a small way. 

 

This morning he sent a short text.

 

"Got guitar?"

 

I replied that there was one in the Lunch bunch room and one here at home. 

 

"String broke"

 

I nabbed the closest instrument, drove half a mile and walked into the room where he was teaching. He was grateful.

 

I did have the reinforcement of his smile each time I showed up, which is enough to increase the frequency. But sometimes marriage asks us to give with no one watching. When I swallow a snide remark, or let go of an expectation there is no thank you forthcoming.

 

I wish I could orchestrate such a flash mob for wives who listen without interrupting, or husbands who muffle their anger. Truth be told, I believe with all my heart that the throngs are indeed cheering. It is just that their voices are in a frequency not yet discernible by human ears.