Prose 01/08/10

It was a warm day in April. Slightly above average in temperature, sunny with a recent rain dripping from the eaves trough. She sat with her husband on the enclosed porch, together, in matching chairs crafted of white wicker. They were both dressed in their best.
Reading the paper, her husband patted the ashes off of his cigarette and into the small dish on the table next to his seat.
I just can’t read anymore articles by Mr. Thomas, said the man.
He folded the paper down and lifted the cigarette to his face. The woman just sat staring out into the garden, watching as a butterfly fluttered with such nonchalance.
Did you hear me? her husband asked, in an unflattering tone.
What?
She was startled.
Oh, no, I’m sorry. I guess I was somewhere else for a moment.
The man blew smoke, Yes, well. I was just saying that I can’t read another article by Richard Thomas. He’s outlived his wit, if you ask me. But isn’t that just how it goes.
The man had failed to notice how his wife had slipped away again, to wherever she was before.
I think that’s how people often are, he went on. So much more interesting when you first get to know them. When you meet them, you always have things to talk about. You talk about your favorite books, you talk poetry, you talk art, you talk about life and what it means to live. And then, one day, after one period of time or another, you’ve heard it all. They’ve run out of clever things to say, and now it’s just a record on repeat.
His wife returned her gaze to him
Really? asked the woman. You don’t think that means that you’ve simply reached another stage with that person? Something deeper, more meaningful? I mean, we’ve been married for ten years now. We’ve been sitting on this porch for over an hour, not saying much at all. But there is still something enjoyable in just being with someone, isn’t there? Even after you’ve run out of silly things to say?
The man laughed.
Honey, my goodness, I wasn’t saying I’ve grown tired of you. No, no, it’s not like that.
He set the paper on the table and leaned forward in his chair.
I just think that we get so possessive. We don’t just want to love a thing, we have to own it. I don’t just have to care about you, I have to keep you forever, and I damn well better be happy about it. Friends forever, ‘til death do us part, all of it. It’s all silly.
He looked at this wife.
I can tell you’re confused, the man said. Let me continue.
We foolishy hold onto people, so maybe it’s okay that these people begin to bore us. Maybe it’s okay that they’ve run out of things to say. It’s not that anyone is wrong, or that it’s their fault. It’s just that maybe people need to know when to let go, when to move on, and try learning a thing or two from someone else. Someone more stimulating. I mean, everyone would benefit so much more if we stopped putting up with things that bore us, and we just moved forward.
His smile returned wide across his face.
But I wasn’t talking about you, for Christ sake.
He laughed merrily and patted her knee. He took her hand in his.
Do you see what I mean, now? he asked, cheerfully.
She smiled a faint smile, looking into her husband.
Yes, I think I do. Yes. You’re quite right, she said. Maybe some people really do run their course with you. Maybe some really do ‘outlive their wit.’
Excellent, said the man. I knew you’d get there.
He sat back in his chair and smoked his cigarette with a look of pride. The woman didn’t move, continuing to stare through her husband and ponder.