Issue 5, April 2010
{
}+previous || next story+A Love Story Of Sorts
Melanie Roeder
Steve and I have two things in common: Bud Light and online poker. We have them in common because when we started dating I began drinking Bud Light and playing poker. Don’t misunderstand me, Steve isn’t controlling or demanding (except when he demands things like coffee or my blind devotion). I took up Steve’s hobbies because I was eager to make him happy and become part of his life. I mean, isn’t that what true love is all about—the meshing of two people’s worlds? And Steve likes being a part of my life too. Well, at least he tried his hardest to be involved, and it means a lot to me that he tried. Before Steve and I began dating, I enjoyed things like yoga, nature walks and having friends, but many of my activities were difficult for Steve to participate in because they occurred during the day when he was asleep or hung over and unable to endure the light of day. What can I say—he’s sometimes a little irresponsible when it comes to alcohol. But, we’re young and in the throes of passion! Well, I’m young. Steve’s actually forty-two. And when I say forty-two, I mean forty-two at heart. At a bar, I once saw his driver’s license and discovered that he’s really fifty-three. Steve would be so embarrassed to know that I know this (he’s such a sensitive soul), so I just continue to think of him as forty-two—a very haggard and exhausted forty-two. But his lackluster appearance and fatigue are not his fault—those ailments are caused by the cirrhosis, which he inherited from his father. Of course I don’t mean he physically inherited the disease. That would be impossible. I mean that his father drove him to drink by having unusually high standards for him like finishing high school and driving sober. Steve told me his therapist says the best way for him to heal the wounds of his past is to never again have to deal with the demands of others. To help him, I make sure to never express to him any of my personal thoughts or desires. Basically, I don’t speak unless Steve asks me a direct question. And this seems to be working out really well. In fact, Steve recently asked for my hand in marriage! The proposal was not what I was expecting. Steve couldn’t exactly get down on bended knee since he was on a gurney and hooked up to an IV, but he was teary-eyed. This could have been a reaction to the news that he needed a liver transplant, but it’s hard to know because we were both filled with so many emotions—joy, love, terror. And how lucky for us that I had just become eligible for my company’s health insurance—it’s as if our union was meant to be! Steve and I are so thrilled about this new stage of our relationship, and we are pleased to invite you to our wedding, which will take place this weekend. I’m guessing that many of you are having trouble responding to this invitation since Steve and I don’t have a permanent address per say, or a working phone, so let’s just say that I’ll see you all this weekend! And thank you so much for the kind words I know you meant to send. We couldn’t be happier. Honestly. I’m overjoyed.
Copyright © 2007-2009 Storyscape Journal ISSN 1941-3157