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RUST ON MY SOUL (A Novel) (Published by Bridge Press in 1985 & Distributed Internationally)
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INTRODUCTION (Repeated for those new to the series)
In an old loose leaf notebook, Thomas Kettering wrote when there was a cry from his heart. He wrote when his inner longing spilled over into the reality of his days. He did not write every day, only when he felt he must. How often he wrote or when is not important. The journey is what counts, for it is a diary about all of us, to all of us. “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,” and even a stumble is a step.
MorningI took a good look at Nancy this morning. For the first time in quite a while I really looked at her.
The years have treated her well. She has managed to win, well, if not win at least reach a compromise with, the battle of the bulge.It’s probably worry as much as diet that has kept her weight down and also caused her frown lines to become firmly etched. She says Connie is giving her more grey hairs than the years are.
Perhaps I looked more closely today because of late she is making more noise about going back to work.At first I dismissed her comments as only a passing fad. Then I tried to convince her it wouldn’t look good for me if she joined the labor force.
I figured that ploy would be sure to work since she’s always so concerned with other people’s opinions. But it hasn’t.I cringe at the thought of some of the inane remarks I’ve come up with lately, “Nancy, go buy a new hat and you’ll feel better.” “We don’t need the money; I’ve got a good job.” Fact is, we are at our usual crossroads of differing opinions and about to have another train wreck.
I know she doesn’t want to go to work for just the money, and she has assured me she isn’t trying to exert her independence, she says it’s only that she needs more in her life than she has.
What then should I care if she’s away from home working? She’s away at the country club or playing bridge often enough, so what is the difference?
Why do I feel so threatened by this? Is my manhood so shallow I feel emasculated by the very thought of her bringing home a paycheck? Is my self-worth so meager that being the breadwinner is the only viable role I see for myself?
Evening
“Honey” is dead. “Honey” and “Darling” and “Sweetheart” are words that have died and been laid to rest.
It was a slow death. The first symptoms showed up twenty-some years ago but we ignored them. I rationalized. There were added responsibilities. I worked hard and overtime and came home tired.
We’d lost our child and, though no one was to blame, anger toward God spilled over into other moments and anger at ourselves for what we might have done, whatever that was. The anger lingered and wore our patience thin.
Why have I Thomas Kettering let myself reach this point in my life where I have become a past master at emphasizing negatives and conflicts and everything that is wrong with life. Why don’t I put out equally as much effort looking for some good things?I know that by the time I recognized where we had let ourselves go it was too late to return to what we had had before. I know I wasn’t willing to talk about it and unsure of what to say if we did.
Togetherness has diminished. There never was enough time, or if there was we didn’t spend it together. Occasionally one of us would try. “Tom, would you read this article? It’s us, you know.”Oh I remember. I remember the title – MARRIAGE LIMBO A REALITY - and felt a twinge. But my pride wouldn’t let me admit that a magazine article could teach me anything. Hadn’t I minored in psychology in college?
We got along all right I convinced myself…whatever that meant…and , after all, the days of wine and roses don’t last forever.I knew better than that. There are couples who find time to play tennis together, or work in the garden together, or walk quietly in the last soft light of evening.
But I childishly rationalized that I had tried in the past to talk about our lax behavior toward each other, she hadn’t been willing to talk then, so why should I read that article for her now?All our love isn’t dead, but how on earth do you resurrect a hot flame from a flicker in the ashes?
That’s all our love is now.
TO BE CONTINUED
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